This is taking too long but it’s not surprising. Things rarely go as quickly as we’d like, and in a difficult death investigation it’s the rule rather than the exception that very little goes as planned. But the world is less forgiving than it used to be, and already I’m preparing for criticism.

Someone will decide I didn’t show proper respect, that I carelessly left a dead body exposed for all to see. I’m callous and uncaring. Or I’m negligent. I’ll read about it in a blog or hear about it on YouTube. I always do.

CHAPTER 21

I SCROLL THROUGH THE LATEST news feeds, and so far so good.

There’s no mention of the police or personnel from my office working a bicycle accident, an assault or anything else at the edge of the Harvard campus. I see nothing about a dead body in a Cambridge park or even the most vague allusion to the developing situation on the waterfront that the alleged Interpol investigator mentioned to Marino.

I come across nothing I consider a cause for concern except what Benton told me earlier about the elevated terror advisory. I skim an online article in the Washington Post about the bulletin published earlier today:

… The Secretary of Homeland Security has issued a National Terrorism Threat Advisory alert due to an imminent threat against transportation hubs, tourist hot spots, and the sites of major public events such as sporting competitions and concerts. Of specific concern are possible planned attacks in Washington, D.C., Boston and their neighboring communities. This is based on detailed chatter U.S. intelligence has intercepted on the Internet suggesting these potential targets, and that self-radicalized homegrown actor(s) could strike with little or no notice …

When the status has gone from elevated to imminent the threat is considered credible and impending, and that makes me wonder about airport security. It will have been beefed up—especially in Boston. That may be why my sister’s plane was delayed. It could explain why the TSA was overwhelmed in Fort Lauderdale, the line of passengers out the terminal and on the sidewalk “unless you’re first class like me,” as my sister informed Lucy, who then passed it along to the rest of us.

I don’t have any updates directly from Dorothy. She can’t be bothered to tell me she’s running late or that she’s on the plane. I had to get the information secondhand, and even so I don’t know what to expect. I guess it really doesn’t matter since I’m not the one picking her up anyway, and I feel a twinge I recognize as disappointment with a sprinkle of hurt for good measure.