“It’s an article from the New York Daily News. The headline reads, ‘Serial Monster Nabbed by Newly Promoted Detective.’ The article goes on: ‘David Gurney, one of the city’s youngest homicide detectives, put an end last night to the horrifying murder career of Charles Lermer, aka “The Slicer.” Gurney’s superiors give him the lion’s share of the credit for the clever pursuit, identification, and final takedown of the monster said to be responsible for at least seventeen murders involving cannibalism and dismemberment over the past twelve years. “He came up with a radical new approach to the case that led to the breakthrough,” explained Lieutenant Scott Barry, an NYPD spokesperson. “We can all sleep easier tonight,” said Barry, declining to comment further, indicating that the pending legal process made it impossible to release full details at this time. Gurney himself was unreachable for comment. The hero detective is “allergic to publicity,” according to a department colleague.’ It’s dated June first, 1987.”

Madeleine handed the framed article back to Gurney.

He held it carefully, with what he hoped was an appearance of suitable appreciation. The problem was, he didn’t enjoy receiving gifts—especially expensive gifts. He also disliked being the center of attention, was ambivalent about praise, and lacked any sense of nostalgia.

“Thank you,” he said. “What a thoughtful gift.” He frowned at the blue box. “Is this silver frame from where I think it’s from?”

Kyle smiled proudly. “Tiffany has great stuff.”

“Jesus. Well. I don’t know what to say. Thank you. How on earth did you get that old article?”

“I’ve had it pretty much all my life. I’m amazed it didn’t fall apart years ago. I used to show it to all my friends.”

Gurney was blindsided by a surge of emotion. He cleared his throat loudly.

“Here, let me have that,” said Madeleine, taking it from him. “We’ll have to find a nice prominent place for it.”

Kim was watching with fascination. “You don’t like being a hero, do you?”

Gurney’s emotion burst out in the form of rough laughter. “I’m no hero.”

“A lot of people see you that way.”

He shook his head. “Heroes are fictional. They’re invented to serve a purpose in stories. Media storytellers create heroes. And once they create them, they destroy them.”

The observation created an awkward silence.

“Sometimes heroes are real,” said Kyle.

Madeleine had taken the framed article to the far end of the room and was propping it up on the fireplace mantel. “By the way,” she said, “there’s a handwritten inscription on the matte border that I didn’t read out loud before: ‘Happy birthday to the world’s greatest detective.’ ”