She had a corner cubicle area that wasn’t quite an office, but it was more than what most of the reporters at the Post got. A ten-by-ten space filled with books, magazines, newspapers, file folders, rolling duffels and backpacks, yoga mats and other fitness-related items, along with a few pictures pinned into the fabric of the wall of her cube.

Catherine had never married, never had children. She’d felt sure it would happen in her thirties, and when it hadn’t come to pass by her forties she felt sure she’d become too old and set in her ways to settle down. Now in her fifties, she threw herself into her only real loves: her work and her yoga practice.

This morning she’d come directly from her Sunday class at Georgetown Yoga, and she sat at her desk now in full loose-fitting exercise attire. She wasn’t concerned with her appearance, because the few people who worked in the office on Sunday afternoon had known her for years, and there was no one around she was out to impress.

Catherine focused on her article till a reflection in her computer monitor caused her to spin around in surprise. When she did she found a young man with thinning blond hair and a wispy mustache-goatee combo, a smile on his face and a backpack over his shoulder.

“Let me guess,” Catherine said as she stood and extended a hand. “You must be Andy Shoal.”

“A real pleasure to finally meet you.” He shook her hand eagerly. “I’ve followed your work since J-school. Before, even.”

“How nice.” Catherine forced a little smile at the comment, then she scooped a stack of manila shipping pouches off of one of the two extra chairs in her cubicle area and offered the seat to Andy. He plopped down and dropped his backpack on the floor, and she sat back down in front of her monitor, holding the pouches in her lap because she didn’t want to foul up her filing system by placing them on any other surface in the messy cubicle.

“Hope you don’t mind me dropping in unannounced,” Andy said, looking around at the mess while he spoke.

“Not at all. Apparently you not only work nights, but you also work weekends. Is that it?”

By way of explanation, Andy said, “I’m a cops reporter.”

Catherine understood. “I guess criminals don’t work bankers’ hours.”

Andy smiled. “Only bank robbers.”

Catherine returned a polite smile at the joke. “Did you find out anything new about the Brandywine Street murders?”

“The victims are all still in the hospital—one is in ICU—but I doubt they will be talking to me or the cops.”

“Why do you say that?”

“They are all getting charged with possession with the intent to distribute. They will lawyer up, and their lawyers will tell them to button their lips.”

“Any more from the police?”