I have a hobby. I’ve never told anyone about it. It involves seducing men, then removing a small sliver of skin from their backs while they sleep. And yes, I preserve my souvenirs in formaldehyde, tucked beneath my closet floor.

Doctor, heal thyself, you think. Trust me, over the years I’ve sworn to stop, demanded of myself to be the person my adoptive father wanted me to be. But the little girl who spent the first year of her life sleeping on top of the world’s most gruesome collection of trophies simply can’t let go. She is the ultimate Exile, and all these years later, she is still demanding to be heard.

The service was wrapping up. Superintendent McKinnon walked over, looking especially regal in a severely tailored black suit.

“Detectives,” she said by way of greeting.

“Superintendent.”

D.D. had personally met with the superintendent just the day before. Not at the MCI but over coffee. Two women, sharing memories of an old friend.

The superintendent’s feelings had been hurt by Adeline’s actions. It had taken until that moment for D.D. to realize that’s how she’d felt, too. Why hadn’t Adeline trusted more, asked for help, ever told either of them what was going on?

D.D. would’ve personally stayed over at Adeline’s condo if it would’ve made a difference. The superintendent muttered she might have been able to clear Shana for a family-emergency furlough, something. If they’d just known . . .

But Adeline had not confided in either of them. Instead, she’d formed a plan on her own. Leaving D.D. and the superintendent to sort through the wreckage of the aftermath.

“Things finally quieting down?” D.D. asked Superintendent McKinnon now.

“I think the reporters almost believe I have nothing to say.”

“What about the talk shows?”

McKinnon shrugged one elegant shoulder. “Initial demand has already passed. An escaped killer on the loose is exciting. One that’s now dead and buried . . . not so much.”

D.D. nodded. She understood what the superintendent wasn’t saying. That a highly dysfunctional relationship was still a relationship. After spending ten years managing, worrying and stressing over Shana Day, to have her just be gone . . . It left a mark, whether you wanted it to or not.

“How’s your shoulder?” McKinnon asked.

“Look.” D.D. gingerly raised her left arm. Not pretty, but better.

“Great!”

“Yep, anytime now I’ll be back to cracking heads and taking names. Or at least terrorizing my fellow detectives.”

Beside her, Phil smiled. He’d missed her being on the job. Neil, too. She could tell.

The superintendent waved in farewell, then worked her way across the cemetery toward her car. Phil’s cell phone was already vibrating at his waist. He unclipped it from his waistband, walking off.

D.D. and Alex stood alone.