The sound of the lock and Lucy opens up, and my eyes involuntarily drop down to her gray T-shirt as if I expect to see blood, as if Carrie just cut her with the small blade of a Swiss Army knife that Marino gave to her. I remember it was after he’d begun taking her to deserted parking lots, teaching her to ride his Harley, and he told her she should never be without tools. Always have money in your pocket and some sort of blade handy, I remember him advising her in the early years.

Carrie picked that knife, Marino’s knife. She used it to mark Lucy, to hurt her, and I envision the delicate colorful dragonfly tattoo on the left lower quadrant of Lucy’s abdomen. The first time I saw it she explained that dragonflies are the helicopters of the insect world and that was the inspiration. It wasn’t. The inspiration was a scar she’d never want anybody to know about. It would shame her. She especially didn’t want me to learn the truth.

“Hi.” Lucy holds the door.

“You didn’t see us?” I ask.

“I’m not watching who’s on my property because I already know,” Lucy replies as Donoghue and I walk in. “And more importantly I know what they don’t.”

“Which is?” Donoghue asks her.

“What I know as opposed to what they know? It’s a very long list. I’m about to tell you some of what’s on it.”

“Only if it’s safe to talk,” Donoghue says.

“I’m going to get into that too.” Lucy shuts the door.

“This stinks.” Marino is seated on the couch and careful with his language.

What he really wants to say is this is fucked-up or it sucks. But he has a seven-year-old sitting next to him.

“Can’t you do something?” he asks Donoghue. “This is ridiculous. What about unlawful search and seizure? What about malicious prosecution?”

“Legally I can’t do anything. Not yet.”

“What damn judge would sign a court order allowing all this?” Marino reaches for a mug on the end table, and I spot the Keurig in the kitchen.

“One who probably knows Erin Loria’s federal judge husband,” I suggest. “Does anybody need coffee?”

“Well it’s not right. It’s like where the hell are we? Russia? North Korea?” Marino complains.

“I don’t disagree that this seems pretty extreme and outrageous. A coffee would be nice,” Donoghue says to me.

“Yeah. It’s totally f-ed up, that’s what it is,” Marino adds from his end of the couch.