She’s quiet and subdued. I don’t detect a note of fear. What I sense is combat calm. She’s in a mode to defend herself, her family against the enemy, which in this case is the federal government.

“Yes we got here as quickly as we could. That’s what you wanted.” It’s as much of an allusion as I plan to make about the video link that landed on my phone. “I’m glad you let me know.”

“Excuse me?” It’s as much as she’ll say but the implication is loud and clear.

She doesn’t know about the text. She didn’t send it. She wasn’t expecting us to show up like this.

“Marino’s with me,” I say plenty loud. “Does he have permission to be on your property, Lucy?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Lucy, you’ve just given Cambridge Police Investigator Pete Marino permission. You’ve given me, your aunt, the chief medical examiner permission. Both of us have your permission to be on your property,” I reply. “Is the FBI inside your house?”

“Yes.”

“Where are Janet and Desi?” I’m worried about Lucy’s partner and their little boy. They’ve been through quite enough.

“They’re here.”

“The FBI probably isn’t going to let us inside your house right now,” I inform her of what I’m sure she already knows.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. They should be sorry. Not you.” I stare at the agent, fixing on a point between his eyes and I’m further emboldened by my protectiveness of someone I love more than I can describe. “Meet us outside, Lucy.”

“They won’t like it.”

“I don’t care if they don’t like it.” I stare hard between the agent’s eyes. “You’re not under arrest. They haven’t arrested you, correct?”

“They’re looking for a reason. Obviously, they think they’re going to get me on something, anything. Littering. Jaywalking. Disturbing the peace. Treason.”

“Have they read you your rights?”

“We haven’t gotten that far.”

“They haven’t gotten that far because there’s no probable cause, and they can’t detain you if you’re not under arrest. Head out now. Meet us on the driveway,” I tell her, and we end the call.

Next the game of chicken starts. I hold my ground, sitting in my medical examiner’s monster white truck while the agent stands next to his dwarfed white Bureau SUV. He makes no move to get inside it. He intends to block the driveway, and I wait. I give him a minute, and I wait. Two minutes, three minutes and when nothing changes I shove the gear into drive.

“What are you doing?” Marino looks at me as if I might be a little crazy.

“Moving so traffic can get past.” It isn’t true. The truck is off the street by a good twenty feet.