“No reason not to,” DeMarco told her, being a man who took the cycle of life pretty much for granted. “They’re highly intelligent birds; we all know that now if we didn’t before. What they eat isn’t really relevant.”

Hollis eyed him. “Unless they’ve eaten some of our evidence. Flesh is just the shell, I know. Intellectually I know. But the people look the way they were physically when I see them in spirit, and I haven’t entirely gotten used to what’s too often done to their bodies before the spirits depart them. In fact, I don’t want to get used to that. Ever.”

Diana said, “We talk about the damnedest things over meals. Has anybody else noticed that?” And before she could be answered, she added, “Let’s hope he did bury her. Or otherwise hid her away somewhere the flesh couldn’t be got at. Because I want to respect the crows too, and I don’t know if I would.”

“I wonder if they make exceptions for friends,” Hollis mused speculatively. “Cats don’t. Then again, I’ve never been entirely sure cats would be bothered enough to make that sort of distinction. Dogs have masters; cats have staff. Or, alternatively, if they’re sensitive enough to know we’re gone by then, with just a . . . a tasty shell left behind. But if crows see us as individuals—physically, I mean—surely they’d make distinctions.”

“You’re getting morbid,” DeMarco told her.

“No, I’m just wondering how to make sure the crows like me. In case. You never know. Because if they tell their friends, one might say, ‘Hey, that one’s not lunch; she was nice to me once.’ Which I would prefer over the alternative.”

“Maybe you can just tell them that.”

“I still don’t know if I speak crow.”

“You speak Leo,” he reminded her.

“Not really, I told you. That was an impression, a concept or idea. Not really a thought, and definitely not conversation.”

Bishop, well aware that they were, in their various ways, bracing themselves for what was likely to be a difficult and unpleasant if not gruesome day, contributed his bit. “According to Gray, crows have a sense of humor. Possibly sly and even malicious, but there.”

“I should think malicious,” Diana said. “If they eat other birds’ babies.”

“I doubt they laugh while they do it,” Quentin offered gravely.

Hollis stared at him. “Cawing malevolently.” She tested the phrase, then shook her head. “Not a nice image. At all. Though these crows around here do seem eerily silent, so maybe not. And I’m having second thoughts about even trying to talk to a crow in that way. Not out loud, I mean. Don’t know that I want to hear crow laughter in my head, malicious or otherwise.”

“Gray said it was a bit unnerving. Still, you should try if and when you get the chance,” Bishop told her, serious now.

“Why?” Hollis demanded. “We have Nellie.”

“Nellie may be able to help at times, but she’s not only not a cop, being the head of one of the five families means she’s high on the list of potential targets; sticking to her normal working day at the bank is best.”