Marino ran a red light at West Cary and Windsor Way, and headed east. Grille lights flashed and scanner lights danced in the white Ford LTD. Ten-codes crackled over the radio as I envisioned Susan curled up in the wing chair, her terry cloth robe pulled tightly around her to ward off a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. I remembered the expression on her face shifting constantly like clouds, her eyes revealing no secrets to me.

I was shivering and could not seem to catch my breath. My heart beat hard in my throat. Police had found Susan’s car in an alleyway off Strawberry Street. She was in the driver’s seat, dead. It was unknown what she had been doing in that part of town or what might have motivated her assailant.

“What else did she say when you talked with her last night?”

Marino asked.

Nothing significant would come to mind.

“She was tense,” I said. “Something was bothering her.”

“What? You got any guesses?”

“I don’t know what.”

My hands shook as I fumbled with my medical bag and checked the contents again. Camera, gloves, and everything else were accounted for. I remembered Susan once saying that if anyone tried to abduct or rape her, they’d have to kill her first.

There had been a number of late afternoons when it was just the two of us cleaning up and filling out paperwork. We had had many personal conversations about being a woman and loving men, and what it would be like to be a like to be a mother. Once we had talked about death and Susan confessed she was afraid of it.

“I’m not talking about hell, either, the fire and brimstone my father preaches about. I’m not afraid of that,” she said adamantly. “I’m just afraid of this being all there is.”

“This isn’t all there is,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“Something’s gone. You look at their faces and you can tell: Their energy has departed. The spirit didn’t die. Just the body did.”

“But how do you know?” she asked again.

Easing, up on the accelerator, Marino turned onto Strawberry Street. I glanced in my side mirror. Another police car was behind us, light bar flashing red and blue. We passed restaurants and a small grocery store. Nothing was open, and the few cars out pulled over to let us pass. Near the Strawberry StreetCafe, the narrow street was lined with cruisers and marked units, and an ambulance was blocking the entrance of an alleyway. Two television trucks had parked a little farther down. Reporters moved restlessly along the perimeter cordoned off in yellow tape. Marino parked and our, doors opened at the same time. Instantly, cameras pointed our way.