I’m slow picking my way down wooden steps that lead from the backyard to the water’s edge. It’s low tide and I smell the swampy odor of decomposing vegetation, and the hot flat air has gotten still, simmering with violent promise. To the south threatening clouds are building rapidly. We’re about to get a severe thunderstorm and I don’t want the damn FBI here when it hits. I don’t want them tracking water and mud in and out. They’ve done enough damage.

Our footsteps are hollow thuds on the weathered gray wooden dock. The boathouse is built on pilings, and underneath are colorful kayaks that are rarely used. Lucy has little interest in any mode of transportation that doesn’t include an engine. I suspect that anything requiring a paddle was Janet’s idea.

“How was your status conference this morning?” I lead us around to the front of the boathouse as I think about data fiction, about a case Donoghue apparently was discussing in federal court this morning.

Benton was there. Does data fiction have anything to do with why the FBI is here now? I don’t ask directly and Donoghue isn’t saying anything.

“I was just wondering because you brought it up.” I don’t say what she brought up but she understands what I’m suggesting.

“Yes I did,” she finally answers me. “There was a motion made that the case be dismissed because the evidence can’t be trusted.”

“Based on?”

“I think it’s the nature of digital media that we should assume it can be corrupted,” she replies, and as she continues to talk cautiously and shrewdly it dawns on me that she was the attorney who requested this dismissal.

Donoghue is a powerful, skilled attorney who wouldn’t miss the slightest opportunity to make a jury question the integrity of every aspect of the prosecution’s case. For her data fiction would be a dream come true. But I have to wonder about the timing. Why today? Why was Benton there? Why is the FBI on Lucy’s property?

“It’s all connected,” I say under my breath, and then I hear it again.

The C-sharp cord on an electric guitar. I look at the message that’s just landed on my phone and Donoghue can tell by my face that I’m upset.

“Is everything all right?” She stares pointedly at my phone and says very quietly, barely moving her lips, “Use extreme caution. I’m sure they’ve seized her networks.”

I stop walking. “I need a minute.”

“Is it anything I can help you with?” She continues her careful conversation.

“It’s quite a view Lucy has here.” I look out at the water and Donoghue knows not to question me further.