“I generally don’t bring home the state car unless I’m on call.”

“You went to a scene last night when you supposedly weren’t on call. You’re always on call, Aunt Kay.”

“All right,” I said. “Why don’t we do this. We’ll go get the best steak in town. Afterward, we’ll stop by the office and drive the wagon home and you can take my car. There’s still a little ice on the roads in spots. You have to promise to be extra careful.”

“I’ve never seen your office.”

“I’ll show it to you if you wish.”

“No way. Not at night.”

“The dead can’t hurt you.”

“Yes, they can,” Lucy said. “Dad hurt me when he died. He left me to be raised by Mom.”

“Let’s get our coats.”

“Why is it that every time I bring up anything germane to our dysfunctional family, you change the subject?”

I headed to my bedroom for my coat “Do you want to borrow my black leather jacket?”

“See, you’re doing it again,” she screamed.

We argued all the way to Ruth’s Chris Steak House, and by the time I parked the car I had a headache and was completely disgusted with myself. Lucy had provoked me into raising my voice, and the only other person who could routinely do that was my mother.

“Why are you being so difficult?” I said in her ear as we were shown to a table.

“I want to talk to you and you won’t let me,” she said.

A waiter instantly appeared for drink orders.

“Dewar’s and soda, “I said.

“Sparkling water with a twist,” Lucy said. “You shouldn’t drink and drive.”

“I’m having only one. But you’re right. I’d be better off not having any. And you’re being critical again. How can you expect to have friends if you talk to people this way?”

“I don’t expect to have friends.” She stared off. “It’s others who expect me to have friends. Maybe I don’t want any friends because most people bore me.”

Despair pressed against my heart. “I think you want friends more than anyone I know, Lucy.”

“I’m sure you think that. And you probably also think I should get married in a couple of years.”

“Not at all. In fact, I sincerely hope you won’t.”

“While I was roaming around inside your computer today, I saw the file called ‘flesh.’

Why do you have a file called that?” my niece asked.

“Because I’m in the middle of a very difficult case.”

“The little boy named Eddie Heath? I saw his record in the case file. He was found with no clothes on, next to a Dumpster. Someone had cut out parts of his skin.”

“Lucy, you shouldn’t read case records,” I said as my pager went off. I unclipped it from the waistband of my abs and glanced at the number.

“Excuse me for a moment” I said, getting up from the table as our drinks arrived.

I found a pay phone. It was almost eight P.M..