‘You reach a certain age and you realise life doesn’t amount to much,’ the electrician said. ‘I’m no philosopher. I don’t know if being like this makes my life less meaningful. But I wake in the morning and don’t dread the day in front of me.’

‘So you’d recommend it?’ Harry asked. ‘Because I don’t have much to complain about, but most of the time I feel empty.’

The electrician stepped out of JJ’s cabana. Harry watched as he twisted a key in an access panel at the base of a metal post with a circle of Bose speakers at the top.

‘Well,’ the electrician said as he flipped a fuse switch, making the cabana lights and water mist come back on. ‘Maybe you should live a little longer before you start messing with your brain. What are you, a college freshman?’

‘High school senior.’

‘Just a kid,’ the electrician said, grabbing the remote for the TV he’d installed and flipping channels to make sure they were all tuned. ‘You have a good night. Go easy on the free liquor. That’s one thing I know won’t solve your problems.’

‘I’ll drink to that advice,’ Harry joked.

‘Enjoy your night, son,’ the electrician said. His permanent smile niggled Harry as he strode peacefully away.

43 KILLER-T

Charlie had moved out of Obama Independent Living when her supervised release period ended. She now lived with Iranian-American foster parents Navid and Jan Rahimi and their two tween sons.

Charlie’s room was an extension built over the garage, with its own shower room and kitchenette. Since she’d never given her foster parents cause to think she was anything other than a model student, Charlie came and went as she pleased.

It was the closest she’d come to normal family life. She ate with the family most evenings, helped with grocery shopping, drove the boys to Ju Jitsu and occasionally got drafted as the ten- and twelve-year-olds’ tutor.

When Ken Kleinberg retired with health problems, Charlie got assigned to an energetic young welfare officer, who bugged Fawn until she agreed to let Charlie visit her younger brother. It was officially restricted to once a week, but Charlie made friends with the nurses and they let her visit Ed on Tuesdays, Thursdays before school and first thing on Saturday. Fawn didn’t visit, so was none the wiser.

The fifteen-mile ride from the Rahimis’ modest home to the irritatingly named Care4Kids was mostly freeway, taking twenty minutes in light traffic. Charlie usually let the car drive and tried to kick-start her day with perky tunes and a travel mug of black coffee.

She’d lain awake most of the night, worrying about Juno, Mango and the LHV situation, and the 7 a.m. radio headlines didn’t help her mood.