The kid was turning into a man after my own heart. “Yeah, you can. One more thing, Stephen: up until this evening, he thought he was inches away from getting out. He thought he was about to buy the bike shop where he works, dump our da in a home, move out, and finally get his shot at a life worth having. A few hours ago, the world was this guy’s oyster.”

Silence, and for a second there I wondered if Stephen had taken that as an invitation to get his compassion on. Then he said, “If I can’t get him talking with that, I don’t deserve to get him talking at all.”

“That’d be my general feeling. Go for it, kid. Keep me posted.”

Stephen said, “Do you remember,” and then the reception went nuts and he turned into a bunch of disjointed scraping noises. I heard, “. . . all they’ve got . . .” before the line cut out and there was nothing left but pointless beeping.

I rolled down my window and had another smoke. The Christmas decorations were coming out here too—wreaths on doors, a “SANTA PLEASE STOP HERE” sign stuck lopsided in a garden—and the night air had turned cold and glassy enough that it finally felt like winter. I threw my cigarette butt away and took a deep breath. Then I went up to Olivia’s door and rang the bell.

Liv answered in her slippers, with her face washed ready for bed. I said, “I told Holly I’d come in and say good night.”

“Holly’s asleep, Frank. She’s been in bed for ages.”

“Ah. OK.” I shook my head, trying to clear it. “How long was I out there?”

“Long enough that I’m amazed Mrs. Fitzhugh didn’t ring the Guards. These days she’s seeing stalkers everywhere.”

She was smiling, though, and the fact that she wasn’t annoyed at me for being there gave me a ridiculous little flash of warmth. “That woman always was a fruitcake. Remember the time we—” I saw the retreat in Liv’s eyes and caught myself before it was too late. “Listen, is it OK if I come in for a few minutes anyway? Grab a cup of coffee, clear my head before I drive home, maybe have a quick chat about how Holly’s doing? I promise not to overstay my welcome.”

Clearly I looked like I felt, or at least enough like I felt to push Liv’s pity buttons. After a moment she nodded and held the door wide.

She took me into the conservatory—there was frost starting in the corners of the windowpanes, but the heating was on and the room was snug and warm—and went back to the kitchen to make the coffee. The lights were low; I took off Shay’s baseball cap and shoved it into my jacket pocket. It smelled of blood.