“This should help with the story. Copies of sixty-seven of the unsolved homicide reports. Also a copy of the Glover and Cardinal investigation. Note the number of detectives assigned to each. Check the case hours logged. You’ll see a huge discrepancy. That’s all I could get my hands on — but the other reports exist.”

“Why would this be happening, this malicious neglect?” he asked me.

I nodded at the wisdom of his question. “I’ll give you the most cynical reason,” I said. “Some Metro cops like to refer to Southeast as ‘self-cleaning ovens.’ That sound like the beginnings of malicious neglect to you? Some victims in Southeast are called NHIs — that’s ‘No Humans Involved.’ The latter is a phrase used by Chief Pittman.”

Zachary quickly leafed through the reports. Then he shook my hand. “I’m going home to my lonely abode, made bearable only by my single Pulitzer. I have all these fascinating police files on NHIs to read, then hopefully a chilling news exposé to write. We’ll see. As always, it’s been a party, Alex. My best to Damon, Jannie, Nana Mama. I’d like to meet them one day. Put some faces with the names.”

“Come to the next Washington Boys Choir performance,” I said. “All our faces will be there. Damon is a chorister.”

Chapter 38

I WORKED THAT NIGHT until eight-thirty, and then I drove to Kinkead’s in Foggy Bottom to meet up with Christine. Kinkead’s is one of our favorite restaurants and also an excellent place to listen to jazz and snuggle up to each other.

I sat at the bar and enjoyed the sounds of Hilton Felton and Ephrain Woolfolk until Christine arrived, coming from an event at school. She was right on time, though. She is punctual. Very considerate. Perfect in almost every way, at least in my eyes. Yes, I will be your wife.

“You hungry? Want to go to a table?” I asked after we had hugged as if we’d been separated for many years and thousands of miles.

“Let’s just sit here at the bar for a few minutes. You mind?” she asked. Her breath smelled slightly of spearmint. Her face was so soft and smooth that I had to lightly cup it in both my hands.

“Nothing I’d rather do in the whole wide world,” I said.

Christine ordered a Harvey’s Bristol Cream and I had a mug of beer, and we talked as the music flowed over, around, and right through our bodies. It had been a long day, and I needed this.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day long. I couldn’t wait. Am I being too corny and romantic again?” I said, and grinned.