I spent the better part of an hour shooting the shit with Roush. We both wore big, friendly smiles when we were through, but I left feeling like ten pounds of shit stuffed into a five-pound bag. I could only talk about wives and kids for so long.

On the way out, I considered taking a peek around now that the offices were shut down for the night. I still knew my way to the record rooms and still knew where careless officers were liable to leave keys, but Roush walked me out of the building, so I never had a chance to betray his trust.

I wasn’t sure I could go through with it anyway. Roush wouldn’t be able to save me from punishment twice in one night—nor would he want to—and I needed to keep things copacetic between us. He might not help much on this case, but if I found Ethan, there was sure to be more. The wound from the events leading up to my resignation still stung, but it was starting to heal.

Roush offered to drive me back to my car, but I told him I’d need someone to come out and kick the carburetor before Delores would move. Even if I could find a guy this late, I wasn’t in the mood for any more headache that night. I demurred again when he offered to drive me home, reminding him he had a wife and kids to get back to. He tried to convince me, but I didn’t want him to see how I lived.

Was I embarrassed? Or did I just think it would hurt my credibility by highlighting how far I’d fallen? I suppose it was a little of both.

Roush needed to give me something, so I conceded to his offer of calling me a cab. We parted with a wave through the cab’s window, and I let out a long sigh of relief, allowing my mask of humanity to slip. I was a slug, a worthless lump stewing in my shame.

It was late, and the bars were still open. I could have called up to the driver and gotten him to take me to the deepest, dankest dive in the city so I could commit to the wallow, but I didn’t say a word. Roush and I had killed the bottle from his desk, so I had enough of a buzz on to sleep.

I’d get what rest I could manage, but I needed to get up early tomorrow and start pounding pavement. Seeing how logy the police were, gummed up by upper management and the letter of the law, had incited my need for expediency. The grim statistics Roush referenced were at the forefront of my mind, but there were always exceptions.

I had to tell myself there was a chance. If I didn’t believe that, there was nothing stopping me from crawling back into a bottle and setting up camp.

Some mental math told me a ride to my office would be cheaper than a ride to my apartment. With my budget stretching out to shoestrings, I had the driver take me there instead. I did a bit of pacing in the waiting room and tried to plot out my next moves, but I was dog-tired and ended the night curled up on the under-stuffed couch in the shared lobby. I might have spooked one of Cal’s clients, but I woke before the gecko got in, lifted from murky dreams by a powerful need to find Ethan and an even more powerful urge to piss.

After a quick run to the bathroom, I wasted time waiting for coffee to brew. I peeked in the window of Cal’s office, trying to make sense of his obtuse charts and instruments. There had to be some method to his madness, and he must have gotten some results or he wouldn’t have so many repeat customers. I briefly entertained the idea of asking him for help. I didn’t have enough money to pay him, but I could offer to take it off his rent. The ship had all but sailed on paying my mortgage that month anyway.

I tried, but I couldn’t make myself believe his bunk.

The lobby’s exterior door opened when I was already leaning back, so I didn’t have to jump far to act casual.

Cal wasn’t bothered by my prying. “Rethink my offer to help?”

“Not this time,” I said. “I’m on my way out as soon as I’ve got some coffee in me.”

Cal jammed his suitcase under his armpit to unlock his office, then watched me while I filled one of the last paper cups. I tried not to stare when his wet tongue snuck out to probe his lidless eyeball. “You know, you really shouldn’t sleep on the couch. It’s bad for your back.”

I felt a twinge about a foot up from the base of my tail, but it was hard to be sure it hadn’t been there before. Anyway, no man in his late middle-age needed a psychic to tell him his bones were shot.

I put on my coat and hat, raised my cup in a salute to Cal, and left the lobby. A frantic canary hurried into the antechamber, clutching a sheaf of loose papers and chirping dainty little curses packed with frustration. Thinking she might be there for me, I hung back to hold the door open, but she shot straight through and made a beeline to the open door of Cal’s office. He welcomed her and gave me one last nod as he closed the door and his new client settled her feathers.

I caught a cab, but didn’t take it straight to my car. If the police weren’t going to help me, I needed to find someone who could. I knew just the person, but if I had tried to drive myself, I would have chickened out before I made it three blocks. With someone else driving, all I needed was one moment of courage to spit out the address. The cabbie, a seal with a bristly mustache and a rumpled flatcap pulled down to shade his eyes, would handle the rest.

I watched the numbers on the meter climb as the cab took me out of Moire Park and onto I-18. We got off again after a few exits, bringing us above The Fold and into a quaint subdivision of cookie-cutter houses sprawled out for blocks on end. The trip was only a few miles, but it felt like a hundred.

The car pulled up to the curb in front of a house only differentiated from the others by the numbers on the mailbox. I told the cabbie to keep the meter running and threw myself out of the back seat. Just getting out the door exhausted all the energy I’d gotten from the few hours of sleep and the cup of coffee.

It took a lot of grit to force myself down the sidewalk. I meant to knock on the door, but I couldn’t hit hard enough to make a sound. If there wasn’t a doorbell, that would have been the end of my journey. I would have slumped back to the cab with my tail between my legs.

I pressed the button and the muffled ding-dong resonated in the pit of my stomach. When nobody came to the door immediately, I glanced back to the cab and saw Isabel’s Buick parked in the driveway. It was in good condition and recently washed. Five years wasn’t as long as it had felt.

I wanted to give up, to tell myself I had tried, but it would have been a lie. I indulged an unlikely fantasy wherein I went back without talking to anyone and the cabbie asked what had happened. The driver was the gruff sort who wasn’t interested in hearing any more from his riders than where they wanted to go, but the fictionalized version in my head—judgmental as a nun—gave me the strength to ring the doorbell again.

Footsteps approached the door, and my instincts told me to dive into the hedges. Fortunately, my body had seized up, frozen by fear and locked down by crashing waves of the past.

I was relieved for a second when a male marmoset opened the door and gave me a blank, quizzical look. My horror returned when I recognized him—which happened about the same time as he recognized me.

I had forgotten Mark. I guess I had a hard time imagining he and Isabel stayed together after what happened to Growl.

“Jon?” he said once he’d picked his jaw up.

“Morning, Mark.” I scratched myself behind the ear, working out some of my nervous energy. My mouth was mushy as wet moss, and I suspected it smelled just as bad. “Izzy around?”

The way I mumbled, it sounded like I said, “Is he around?” My heart skipped a beat when Mark’s face blanched, but he figured out what I meant.

“Honey?” Mark called over his shoulder. “You’d better come here.”

I heard a faucet shut off and a woman’s voice answered. “What is it, dear?”

When Mark didn’t respond, an aardvark came out from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. Mark stood back from the doorway so Isabel could see for herself. She stopped dead and stuck there for a second. She looked like she might crack and fall apart like crumbling porcelain.

Her long nose quivered as her body trembled. I thought she might snap, replay one of the lectures she used to give whenever I came home late as a kid and she had to cover for me.

Something did snap, but it was only the tether keeping her rooted. She floated across the living room and didn’t stop when she reached the door. She ran right into me and I caught her, as soft and gentle as a cloud.

“Jon,” she said, her voice airy. She pulled herself together as she pushed out of the hug, becoming more solid. “I didn’t know you… You should have called.”

“I know.” I hung my head. “I’m sorry to drop by unannounced I just had to…”

“It’s okay,” she said with a bright laugh that burned away the outer layer of my shame like the sunrise melting the fragile rime of a season’s first frost. “I’m glad you came.”

Mark drifted back into the kitchen. He was a smart man. He had the logical wherewithal to make sure their breakfast didn’t burn and the emotional intelligence to know we could use some space.

When I shifted uncomfortably, Isabel stood back and swept her hand inside, pointing at the living room couch. “Shit, sorry, I should have invited you in. I need to go into work today, but fuck it, it’s Sunday—I can spare a few minutes. Why don’t you sit down and—”

“No, please,” I said. “I don’t want to impose. Besides, I’ve got a car waiting.”

Isabel saw the cab idling on the curb.

“I know we have a lot to catch up on, but I’m in a hurry.”

Isabel blinked at me for a second before her expression hardened. “It’s the kid, isn’t it? Virginia Crane’s son.”

“You heard?”

“Who hasn’t? It’s been on the news. The TV’s too busy running campaign ads to get into the details, but I saw you mentioned in the Daily Glyph.”

“Yeah? I’ve been meaning to check that out.”

“I think I still have the issue lying around. I could…” she tipped away from the door, but I shook my head before she committed.

“That’s all right. I’ve got a copy. I just haven’t sat down to read it yet.” I took a deep breath, gathering what spine I had left. “I’ve been wanting to drop by for a while”—it was true in a lot of ways, just not the ones that counted—“but the kid gave me the courage to do it. I need your help.”

“Me? You think I can do something?”

“Maybe you can, maybe you can’t. I don’t want to force you, but do you still work at the DA’s office?”

I didn’t think it was a hard question, but she cocked her head like I’d asked it in Latin. “You could say that… You haven’t been keeping tabs on recent elections, have you?”

“Only the bits I can’t ignore.” As far as I knew, the only matter on the ballot this cycle was the congressional seat and the only candidate was Regis Fellini. “Why?”

“Jon, I am the DA.”

“Shit.” My stupefaction gave her a self-satisfied smile. “I mean, congratulations.”

Isabel laughed again. “I’m afraid you missed the party.”

“I’ll bring a card next time.”

“Thanks. But what about this time? What do you need help with?”

“You know I hate to be a bother…”

“Aw, but you were always so good at it.” Isabel’s smile widened as she remembered the way we used to banter back in happier times.

I scuffed my feet, unable to make eye contact. “It’s the kid. Like you said, I’m still on the case, but nobody’s talking.”

Isabel’s face fell as she realized what I was asking. I pressed on despite the violent twisting in my gut. Each word made it exponentially worse, so I kept it brief. If I didn’t, I would have ended up bent over and heaving a slurry of stale bourbon and errant coffee grounds on her welcome mat.

“Think you could take a peek at his records?”

“Jon.” Her voice was a pitying, a quiet reprimand. “You know I can’t do that. It would be a breach of ethics, not to mention the law.”

I gulped down a rush of heartburn blocking my throat and nodded. “You’re right. It’s just… I thought… Maybe it’s better to bend the rules than to find a dead kid. Really, I wouldn’t have asked if I knew you were the DA. I wouldn’t expect you to risk your career like that.”

Isabel reached out. I shivered at her touch, but relaxed when she rubbed my arm. “It’s okay. I understand how you feel, believe me. I wouldn’t have worked so hard to become DA if I didn’t want to help kids. After Grant…”

She her mind took a walk as she trailed off, so she didn’t hear the sharp breath that hissed through my teeth when she said Growl’s name. Whenever I failed to block the thoughts and memories constantly throwing themselves at my consciousness, I always used his nickname in my head.

We were silent for too long. The atmosphere had completed its heel turn from the joyful levity of reunion to the mournful pall of memorial. I might have been stuck there all day if I didn’t feel the meter in the cab running and the ornery seal in the driver’s seat tapping his finger on the wheel.

“I have to go.”

Isabel’s eyes were swimming when she looked up. I wanted to stay and comfort her, but I couldn’t.

“Maybe we should get together for dinner sometime.” Her words warped around a sizable lump in her throat.

“I’d like that.” I stepped off the porch and felt a palpable drop in pressure. With the elephant off my chest, I could breathe again. It gave me the strength to turn around before Isabel closed the door.

“Izzy?” I said, my voice barely audible. If she missed it, I wouldn’t have to keep prying, but her aardvark ears were sharp. The door stopped and creaked back open.

“I’m sorry to keep harping on, but I have to try—”

“Jon. No, I can’t.”

“I know you can’t get me his files, but maybe you hear something. You know, off the record. All I need is a few names to get me started.”

Isabel pinched her brow. She was a column about to buckle, stuck between reaming me out and caving in.

“Just keep your ears open. One of our kid’s partners in his drug business has to know something.”

Isabel stopped kneading. “His what?”

“I’m sure everyone at work will be talking about it. Just let me know if you hear anything suspicious or catch any of his collaborators besides Sidewalk Wally. I already talked to him.”

“Shit. That sounds heavy.”

“Now you know why it’s so important I know more. I talked to Roush, but he wouldn’t give me anything. I’m all on my own out here.”

She looked thoughtful. She wouldn’t need breakfast after all I’d given her to chew on. I didn’t think more words would help her digest the situation, and the low rumble of the cab’s engine reminded me of the driver’s ticking clock. My wallet was scraped to the lining as it was. I needed to go.

“I haven’t moved shop,” I said as I started away. “My fax and phone numbers are in the phone book if you want to Send me anything.”

I got in the cab and looked back up the driveway. Isabel had closed the doors, but I saw the curtains part—felt somebody watching me. The cabbie said something, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the house. I imagined the door opening again, a pup in a red baseball cap sprinting down the sidewalk to greet me with a hug. It was more than my shriveled, plaque-clogged heart could take.

“Ay, pal!” the cabbie barked. “Meter’s still running. Where to next?”

The shout jarred me from the daydream, but I was glad to be free of it. I shook the clouds from my eyes and looked at the meter, doing some rough calculations on where I could afford to go.

“Get us pointed toward The Margin. I’ll let you know when we’re closer.”

“The Margin, eh?” I saw the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview as he yanked the gearshift. He watched me for a minute, then shrugged to himself. “Don’t know why you’d want to go there, but it’s your money. Your funeral, too, most likely.”