The coffee at the precinct was far from good, but it was miles better than the sludge the machine at my office spat out. When I sipped it, looking through the two-way mirror at Ethan, who sat at a steel table under a solitary bulb in the shoe box room on the other side, I was transported back to my first interrogation as a police officer. I felt the rush of adrenaline, the insatiable need for answers, the tension. One misstep could be the difference between a confession and the perp clamming up for good.

It was exhilarating, but there were no perps on the other side of the glass now. Just the victim.

The door unlocked with a weighty clunk, and Ethan sat up straight. An officer tried to hold the door open, but Virginia exploded past him. Ethan rose from his seat and the two collided in a loving embrace. Virginia’s beak knocked against Ethan’s horns as she nuzzled her chin into the top of his head.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she said. “I thought I was— I didn’t know— If Howl hadn’t—”

I heard a rush of air pulled through teeth beside me. Roush pinched his lower lip as a pained cringe warped his face. He had apologized to me, but I didn’t hold any ill will. I knew the pressure someone in his position was under. I just hoped he was still malleable enough to make the changes he needed to make. Fixing the system was almost impossible, but finding Ethan had put me in an optimistic mood.

I had presented my evidence against Regis while they processed the Steel Polaris thugs and got Ethan checked out. Roush had done about as much as he could by sending a group of officers around to his apartment to ask him to participate in the investigation. Regis claimed he was too busy, but would help where he ccould, then slammed the door on the officers. Now Roush was preparing for the onslaught of lawsuits, countersuits, and attacks—both legal and extra-legal—that were sure to follow. Regis would try to gum up the works so badly he never saw trial.

A testimony from Virginia could make a difference, but getting her to talk had proved tough. She just got Ethan back. She wouldn’t jeopardize that in pursuit of the abstract concept of justice.

I felt like a voyeur watching the mother and son from behind the mirrored glass. Their hug didn’t break until Officer Spangler entered and took a seat opposite them. With all its rolls and folds, Spangler’s purple face remained soft even in the hard, focused light of the lone bulb overhead. Maybe the rookie had found his calling in victim advocacy.

He opened a folder on the table and pushed aside some already filled forms to get to a blank notepad. When Ethan was done sniffling, and Virginia had her skirt smoothed back out, Spangler looked up and addressed them with a gentle voice. “Good morning, and thank you for talking to me. I know this last week has been hard. Are you both comfortable?”

They nodded as Spangler got out his pen.

“Do you need anything? Snacks? Coffee?”

They shook their heads.

“All right, you’ve both talked separately, but now the department wants to hear from you together, just to see if anything else comes up. Is that okay?”

Virginia squeezed Ethan’s arm, as much to comfort him as to prove to herself that he was there—that he was real. Ethan nodded.

“Excellent. So why don’t you two walk me through what happened last week? On the day Ethan was supposed to fly out to California.”

“I…” Virginia needed a moment to compose herself before she could talk. Spangler scooted a box of tissues across the table, but she pulled through without. “I should have been there, but I—”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Calhoun. Take your time.” Virginia grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. She stared at the table as she took a stuttering breath, but she was solid again as soon as the convulsion was over. “Now, why couldn’t you or Peter go with Ethan? Work?”

“Peter was on tour.” Scorn gave Virginia a bit of strength. “I was supposed to be at work, but I had an appointment. I had to go to the doctor.”

“Your cancer treatment?” It was only half a question; the police already knew the answer.

Ethan’s mouth fell open, and he stared at his mother. Apparently, she hadn’t said anything to him.

“I was sick when I got back and fell asleep. Ethan should have landed by the time I woke up, but there were no messages on the machine. I panicked. Ethan was missing, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“So you went to Detective O’Howell?”

I groaned at the inaccurate title, but Roush smirked. Virginia swallowed hard and nodded.

“Why not go to the police first? It wouldn’t have cost you a thing. Were you worried someone in particular would find out?”

Virginia shook her head. Thought for a second, on the verge of saying something revelatory. The words were on her tongue, but she let the air meant to voice them come out as a sigh. “No. I just… I didn’t know he was missing for sure. I was embarrassed already for letting him go on his own.”

“Damn,” I said, quietly enough so my words didn’t bounce off the glass. “So close.”

“There’s still time,” Roush said.

Virginia got misty-eyed again. This time, it felt forced.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Calhoun,” Spangler said. “Ethan’s back now, that’s all that matters. Ethan, why don’t you give us your version of what happened that day?”

Ethan scooted in his chair. He looked nervous, but his natural aptitude for the stage shone through. “Al came by the house with that big town car and picked me up. He was quiet, but I thought that was part of the schtick—you know, make it seem all serious. Everything was going all right until he turned off the highway early.”

“Did you ask him where he was going?”

“Sure. He said he needed gas, but I know my way around The Margin.” Virginia’s feathers ruffled and she looked down at Ethan. “There were no gas stations around there. He pulled into that alley by the warehouse and went even quieter, got fidgety.”

“He didn’t say anything to you?”

“Nope, just sat there, staring at the street until another black car pulled in. We got out and Guy got out of the other car.” Virginia’s face went whiter. “I tried to ask what was going on, but he grabbed me before I could say anything.”

“Guy grabbed you?” Spangler asked, looking up from the waves of scribbles on his notepad.

“Al did. He stuck a gun up to my head—” Virginia gasped and her hand jumped like a spider to grab Ethan’s hand. “He said if they didn’t pay him another ten thousand dollars, he’d kill me. Only he used a lot more cusses.”

Spangler’s head bobbed as he wrote.

“Another ten grand?” I said. “Jesus. They were really cheaping out when they offered me five.”

Roush side-eyed me. I had told him about the phony offer, but he wasn’t amused by the implication I might have taken it if the reward was higher.

“Then what happened?” Spangler asked.

“Guy shot him.” Ethan’s words were flat, matter-of-fact. Virginia’s grip tightened, squeezing Ethan’s hand in hers. “Got Al right in the head. When he staggered back, Guy pegged him twice in the chest to be sure. I tried to leg it, but didn’t get far. Guy’s a lot faster than he looks. He dragged me back to his car and explained it all to me.”

“What did Guy say was happening?”

“He said some dangerous people caught on to what me and Douglas were up to.” Virginia’s brow furrowed, and she cocked her head at Ethan. “He said there were people after mom and dad and Tommy, too, but they were safe as long as I stayed away. He told me I had to lie low for a few days, then I could go back and everything would be roses again.”

Ethan was quiet for a few seconds before he felt the need to clarify. “I was suspicious, but I didn’t know what to think. After seeing Al bite it, I knew something heavy was going on.”

“It’s okay,” Spangler said. “You were scared. We understand.”

“Sure,” Ethan said. “It didn’t hurt that he brought me pizza and let me watch cartoons all day.”

“Don’t suppose you had any luck digging anything up on the Steel Polaris guys,” I said to Roush.

He thought about it, but no amount of meditation was going to bend reality enough to make things that tidy. It was all such a mess. “No. Their records are squeaky, and they won’t talk until their thousand-dollar-an-hour lawyer gets here.”

“They’re bought up,” I said. “Got a whole cabal behind them: congressmen, deputy mayors, media magnates…police commissioners.”

Roush glared at me in the ghostly reflection of the window. So far, it was all unsubstantiated.

“Shit, even Howard Heifer is better off keeping Ethan’s parentage under wraps. The longer the controversy lives, the longer Barnyard will be at the front of people’s minds.”

The interview went a few more rounds, but Ethan didn’t have much more to give. He had hidden out in blissful ignorance the whole time.

“What happens now?” Virginia asked as things were wrapping up.

Spangler took a deep breath. His chest puffed out, then flattened when he let the air escape in a rush. “I’m not sure. We can offer protective services for a while, but I don’t think the people after you will try anything now that it’s such a high-profile case. If we don’t get any new information, they might get away with it as long as they don’t make any sudden movements.”

It was a subtle trick, casually highlighting how crucial Virginia’s testimony would be, but she didn’t bite. “No. I don’t think we need protection. I just want to live a normal life again.”

“Yeah, lady,” I said to myself. “You and me both.”

“Thank you for calling Shady Eaves Motel,” a pleasant woman’s voice said through the telephone wires. “Our staff are unable to answer the phone at this time. Please leave a message at the tone with your name and number, and we’ll get back to you. Thank you.”

I cleared my throat as the phone beeped, then dialed my voice to the proper gruffness. When I started the mascot circuit, I had turned up my natural gravel, now I had to turn it down to get the same level. “This is Detective O’Howell, Delinquency Dog. I’m calling to remind Rebeca and all her friends to stay in school. If anyone offers you drugs, remember: say no, tell an adult, then punch the degenerate cocksucker in the jaw.”

I thought she might appreciate a more mature update to the slogan, but it sounded juvenile in my ears. It was too late to take it back; the message was already inscribed on the magnetic tape at the other end, so I let it go and flipped my notepad closed. I smiled at the thought of Rebeca squealing when she came into work and heard the message.

I took another sip of my scotch. It wasn’t quite as good as the stuff from Club Callout’s top shelf, but it was better than the swill I usually drank.

Virginia had brought it around with a bulging wad of bills to pay off her perceived debt. She had been embarrassed when Marcella spilled all the sordid details of the case, but she had been overwhelmed with support since the story came out. Admirers of Virginia—and detractors of Regis who had come out of the woodwork—had showered her in encouragement and financial assistance. They had fully funded a course of chemotherapy at a place that didn’t spay and neuter pets in the other room, and there had been plenty of money left over.

I wasn’t going to take any of it—mortgage be damned!—but she had insisted. I negotiated her down to only what I was owed for the seven days I had worked the case and a bit more tacked onto the back end for the time my aged body took to recover.

I should have turned the scotch down on principal, but I didn’t want to be rude. We had shared a glass and griped about the many Fellini fanatics calling us liars and slinging mud at us. She was happy to talk about it with me, but was still afraid to say anything in public for fear of what retribution it might draw if she confirmed any of the rumors.

Marcella took the brunt of the abuse. I don’t know what blackmail she had on her boss, but it must have been something big. On its face, the story was too sensational to print in a tabloid, much less a respectable press like the Daily Glyph.

I glanced at the stack of clippings on my desk. When she started following the case, I worried I’d fail and come off looking bad, closing the casket on my career. Reality had taken things the other way, and Marcella had nudged it one step further by portraying me as a goddamn hero. My phone had been ringing off the hook and those who weren’t calling to curse me out or beg for an interview came bearing jobs: missing belongings, cheating spouses, background checks, even a few cold cases the police had given up years ago.

They were the kind of jobs I had started this business to pursue, but the mass influx was bittersweet. I could only accept so many, and my over-stuffed schedule was already starting to tear at the seams.

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and realized I had been staring at the red baseball cap next to the door. The pebbled glass window darkened for a moment before the door opened without a knock.

Marcella paraded in. All the abuse she’d gotten over the last two weeks hadn’t broken her down. It had given her strength.

“Howdy, Front Page,” she said.

“Miss Fursone. Come to bathe in my gratitude?”

“Just passing by. Thought I’d stop in for a quick gloat. But you really should be thanking me. I bet all sorts of dames are breaking down your door now.”

“Mostly damsels in need of saving.” Marcella beamed, and the sunlight through the blinds glinted off her sharp teeth. Without the frustration of having her underfoot, I had started seeing her differently, more objectively. She was tall, slender, fierce, and had a great bushy tail. What wasn’t to like?

“But if it’s thanks you want, I wouldn’t be opposed to buying you dinner.” The words slipped out of my mouth, prepackaged with a suggestive eyebrow lift.

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Marcella said with a light-hearted laugh. “I’ve seen that look enough times to know just what you’re thinking. I’ve gotten used to telling you slavering dogs you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

My face scrunched, more at the slavering dogs comment than the rejection.

“Come on, now, don’t give me that look. You just aren’t my type. Actually, I was just on my way to talk to Virginia. If some of the dirt I dug up on her is true, she might be more my speed.”

“Hmph. Just my luck.”

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘Best of luck.’” I should have known Marcella wasn’t keen on men. “I have dinner plans tonight anyway.”

“So, you are back on the prowl?”

“Reconnecting with my past.”

“Ooo, exes. You had better be careful.”

“There’s no story here,” I said. “No need to worry about me, but you can sit down for a drink if you’d like.”

I gestured with my whiskey, but she didn’t take the seat.

“Thanks, but I’d best be getting on. I just stopped by to make sure you weren’t crushed under the riot of adoring fans.”

“Or skewered by the mob…”

“Or that.” Marcella marched back to the door and leaned in the frame. “Try to keep your head above water, Detective O’Howell. I’ve got a feeling this is the beginning of a very fruitful relationship.”

“I’m not so sure I…” I wanted to convey that this was a one-time thing, but Marcella was already gone. With my good ear, I heard her say goodbye to Cal and head outside.

I shook my head and murmured to myself as I threw back another slug of whiskey. I gathered up the newspaper clippings and slid them into a folder already stuffed with police reports and scanned copies of my handwritten notes. It wasn’t the most organized pile, but it told Ethan’s story well enough.

I closed the folder, then straightened the picture paper-clipped to the front flap. It was one of the snapshots Virginia had given me on the day we met. Ethan was younger, with only nubs for horns, but he and Virginia were both smiling.

I dropped the folder into my desk’s bottom drawer, slotting it into the short, dusty row of cases I’d resolved with a happy ending since starting this agency. After Growl, I had tried to use the record to keep my spirits up, but it just deepened my self-loathing. Maybe if I got enough files in it—

That line of thinking was a deep, dark hole, one I was on the cusp of climbing out of. I couldn’t let myself sink back down.

I slammed the drawer shut, then polished off the rest of my scotch in one shot. It warmed me up from inside, girding me against what I saw when I stared out the window at the turgid Gutter.

Nothing I had done had scratched at the decrepit state of the world or even the city. The Gutter wasn’t going to get cleaned up any time soon. The ClearLife factory and all those like it weren’t going to stop pumping smog into the air. Thousands of unfortunate and mentally ill people would go on sleeping in the streets, brushed under the rug by those in charge. The police were going to go on bullying the little guy to protect the big fish they sucked on like remoras.

Regis still walked free, and his throne awaited him at the Capitol Building in Washington. His resilience was a testament to how obdurate corruption was. Not even a nationally publicized scandal involving a porn star, an illegitimate child, kidnapping, and murder could take down someone like Regis with all the charisma, connections, and blackmail he had on his side.

The alcohol buzz helped me entertain things I would have scoffed at a month ago. Maybe things could get better. Little by little, small changes, tiny sparks of light, stacked up like bricks, might build to a better future. It might not end up bright, but it would at least be less bleak.

As long as there were people looking out for kids like Ethan, there was hope. The outpouring of support Virginia had gotten was proof. If Ethan’s generation saw something that wasn’t all doom and gloom, they might push for something better—to undo the damage my generation had done.

Sure, acting in a public service announcement promoting the use of bicycle helmets wouldn’t fix up the ozone layer or refreeze the icecaps, but it was a start. Ethan would have a voice, and I hoped to God he used it.

The long, contented sigh of liquor in my veins dulled my senses. I didn’t hear the lobby door open. I only heard the sound of tapping heels when they were right outside my office.

I had just enough time to spin back around and sit up straight before the knock came.

“Door’s open,” I said, putting on a show of finishing up some paperwork.

A pangolin in a rose pink dress and matching sun hat opened the door tentatively. “I’m sorry. Is this Jonathan O’Howell’s detective agency?” She tapped her fingers together as she looked from me to the chipped paint of my name on the door’s glass. “I thought it was, but the sign outside…”

“You’re in the right place,” I said, gesturing to the chair in front of my desk.

She scurried over and I checked the clock on the wall. There was almost an hour before I needed to be at Isabel’s.

When the woman finished flattening out her skirt, I smiled at her. “Hello, miss. What can I help you with today?”

“It’s my husband,” she said. I leaned in to show I was listening. “He’s gone missing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. When did you last see him? This morning? Yesterday?”

“Twenty-five years ago.”

“Right,” I said, making a note on a fresh page of my notebook. “Go on.”