I know it’s a petty thought, but I’m hoping that Dana doesn’t deliver a eulogy. I’ll understand if Richard asked McKenney to say something. He’s a public figure, after all. But I’ll feel aggrieved if Dana, rather than I, was tasked with extolling Lauren’s virtues as a boss and a mentor.

I strain my neck looking around for Richard the way you rubberneck to see a car accident on the shoulder of the road. I don’t see him anywhere. Then I remember that at Charlotte’s funeral, my father and I waited in a side room until right before the service began. No doubt that’s where Richard is holing up now.

A few moments later, Lauren’s body is wheeled into the well of the chapel. The casket is closed—I suspect because her wounds were too gruesome for the mortician to make her presentable. That’s probably also the reason there was no prior public viewing either. Richard walks beside her coffin, a minister across the box from him, a Mutt-and-Jeff juxtaposition. The minister, white haired and bespectacled, has a tall and thin elegance about him; the widower’s head doesn’t rise much above the casket. He’s looking just as Richard Trofino usually does—like he’s itching for a fight.

When they reach the front of the chapel, Richard finds his seat in the first row. The minister takes the three steps up onto the stage and situates himself behind the lectern.

I didn’t know Lauren to be a religious person. In fact, I would have been surprised if she attended church at all. Still, I think she would have liked this setting, with its formality. Charlotte’s funeral was much more of a bohemian affair, befitting her life. Lauren was a public servant in a relatively high office, so the pomp strikes me as appropriate.

The service begins with the minister welcoming everyone. I’m not looking at him, though. My eyes are fixed on the coffin. I can’t help but wonder what Lauren is wearing, imagining her the way she looked in court in one of her smart blue suits. Of course, it’s far more likely that Richard selected an outfit for her to wear for all eternity that was more in keeping with his wife’s life outside the office.

I lose myself in more macabre thoughts. How much her body has already decayed. Whether it’s cold to the touch like a piece of defrosting meat.

I don’t focus again until I see Drake McKenney walking up to the stage. Once he’s in place, he removes from his breast pocket the same three-by-five index cards I saw him fingering earlier and lays them down on the lectern.