“What do you mean, a flake?”

“Just, I don’t know, just different. Man, I can’t believe this. First of all, the kind of people who work in a tattoo shop”—and he touched his fingers to his chest—“myself included, are not your usual type who go to work in a bank every day. I’m not saying we’re all nuts and suicidal, only that we’re different.”

“How was Dolores different?”

“She got worked up about things. Like, she was pretty plugged into current events and shit, which I don’t care anything about. She talked about all the injustice in the world, stuff like that, people who got away with doing bad things. I mean, she was pretty funny, too, not serious all the time about it, but there were things that upset her, like global warming and those fuckers on Wall Street.”

“Was she always like that?”

Mike thought. “No, actually. She’s been, you know, kind of radicalized in the last year, I guess. I mean, not radicalized like all that Islam ISIS stuff, but just more fired up about shit.”

“How long had she worked here?”

He had to think again. “Four years?”

“Did you know her before that?”

He shook his head.

“So what happened a year ago that got her more plugged in to what was happening in the world?”

“All the shit that went down right here, for one thing,” Mike said.

“The mass poisoning?”

“Yeah. She said it never would have happened if we all just cared more for our fellow man. Remember the Olivia Fisher case? When she was being murdered and screaming and nobody came? What am I saying, of course you know all about that.”

Duckworth asked, “Anything else that might have had an impact on her, say, more recently? The last three or four months?”

“Maybe that guy she’s been seeing.”

“What guy?”

“Cory.”

Duckworth recalled the young man in the khakis who was sitting on the desk the first time he was here. “I met him,” he said. “You have a last name for him?”

“Calder. Cory Calder.”

“An address?”

Mike frowned. “How would I know where he lives? He doesn’t work for me.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Why are you asking? Did Dolly off herself, or did something else happen to her?”

“I don’t think Dolly killed herself.”

“Then what—was it a car accident or something?”

“No.”

Mike pondered what must have seemed like the only other possibility. “Wait, somebody killed her?”

“Yes,” Duckworth said evenly. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you want to know more, but right now the most important thing you can do is help me by answering my questions. Did you notice anything about her in the last few weeks or months? Anything different?”

“Uh, okay, well, I guess the answer would be yes.”

“Tell me.”