He smiled as if reading my mind. “Do I need to change my clothes? My leg?”

I winced. “I was not going to ask.”

“If I ever decide to try out for the Olympics or just want to ramp up my workout, I might need something more efficient, but this leg’s high-tech and all-purpose. It’s fine for jogging.”

“How long did it take to become fine?”

“A year and a half of physical therapy. A lot of appointments with a prosthetist, which are ongoing, a lot of adjustments, a lot of exercise. A whole lot of falls. I ended up on my nose or ass more times than I can count.” He paused. “A lot of money.”

“You forgot a lot of prayer and a lot of cursing.”

“More of the latter than the former. My mother did most of the praying.”

“I said my share of prayers for you, Teo, even though I didn’t know everything that was going on.”

“You were praying?” He sounded surprised by the act, more than the recipient.

“All those years of Catholic school come in handy.”

We walked along the corridor and out the gate to the parking lot. “I did say some prayers after I killed John Quayle,” Teo said.

Now I was surprised. “Asking forgiveness?”

“Forgiveness for saving your life? Never. Asking God why He created someone like Quayle in the first place.” We were walking faster now, and in a moment we broke into a slow jog with Bismarck running happily beside Teo.

“Did you get any answers?” I asked.

“The usual lack of them, unless you count a greater sense of peace with everything that happened. I don’t know why people like Quayle exist, if they’re born or made or somewhere in between. But I do believe that trying to stop them from hurting other people is a calling.”

“Training dogs for protection and security work seems like a good way to do that. Teaching criminal justice seems like a good way, too.”

“So does bringing cold cases to light so they can finally be solved.”

I was pleased he thought so, and warmed by such an immediate answer. “They aren’t though, not most of the time. Podcasts like ours, television shows, special newspaper series? Too often the cases were cold for good reason. Real evidence remains scanty. Investigators pull the cases back into the sunlight for a while, then shove them into folders and file them away again. Not usually because they don’t care. Because they have to concentrate on the ones they might actually be able to close.”

“So you don’t think you’re doing any good?”

I thought about that for a little while before I answered. “Not all police departments are good ones, so the publicity can make them take notice. Whatever we can add to a case might pay off someday. And there’s always the chance we’ll hit the jackpot.”

“A gambling woman.”

“Not just that. I also like to think people learn to be careful from listening to true crime reporting, that they pay attention to the way a crime happened, and they’re more alert in their everyday lives. They may not be able to spot a psychopath, but they may consider the possibility.”