As we drove back to the station, I was thinking about Lauten Hartley again and whether he’d still be hanging around.

The woman who’d led the police oversight board before Hartley was in that office only ten days a year. It would be the same for Hartley. Today was just a show of force. He’d set up that meeting to intimidate me. To get a reaction.

But why now?

As I entered the precinct lobby, a woman stopped me. She touched my elbow as Remy and I headed toward the stairs.

“Detective Marsh,” she said, and I glanced over.

She was in her thirties, pretty, with hair the color of a reddish-orange pepper, tied up in a bun. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her.

“I’ll catch up with you,” I said to Remy, and turned to face the woman.

“Can I help you?”

“My name is Kelly Borland,” she said.

On instinct, I took out the small reporter’s notebook that I keep in my jacket breast pocket. But as I did, I realized that I knew the woman. She was the teacher from the school shooting. The only other time I’d seen her was through my binoculars. That, and on the news.

“Sorry,” I said. “Your hair. I didn’t . . .”

She smiled gently, and when she did, small dimples formed on each cheek. She was five foot three and white. Attractive, with brown eyes. A curvy but athletic figure.

“I’m trying to lay low.” She pointed at the red bun. “Coloring the hair sounded like a good idea when my friend suggested it. I didn’t realize how red it would get.”

I smiled at the shade. “It worked on me,” I said. “Incognito. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” she said. “I mean, you know, given everything.”

I wasn’t sure what she was here for, but I could imagine the week that Kelly Borland had had. First, some psycho holds a gun to her head. Then a bullet rips through the glass inches away and lands in the man. Blood in her hair and on her body. And if that wasn’t enough, the media started accusing her of having an affair with the dead teacher.

“Listen,” I said. “I’m not part of the investigation. So if there’s something you’ve remembered, Detectives Kaplan and Berry are your—”

“It’s not that,” she said. “I know you and I haven’t talked. And Detective Berry has been great,” she said of Merle. “I just . . . I went to a therapist today.”

“Oh, that’s great,” I said. “It’s good to talk it out.”

“I wanted to come by and thank you. For saving my life.”

I got it now. Understood why she brought up therapy related to what she was doing here. “Not necessary.” I put up my hands. “I was just doing my job.”

She squinted at me. “Are you not on the case ’cause you took the shot?”

“No,” I said. “There’s other cases . . . other cases that need help.”