Bradshaw stepped forward and caught her as her knees buckled. “Help me get her inside.”

Ethel pushed the door open wider as Bradshaw grabbed Susan under her arms to keep her erect.

Susan was a small woman, slim and not more than a hundred pounds. They escorted her to the living room on the right and eased her onto the sofa.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ethel saw the frightened face of a boy no more than seven peek around the corner of the adjacent dining room and then disappear.

Susan Finch struggled through sobs in an effort to speak. “He didn’t take his own life, did he? Please tell me he didn’t take his own life.”

“No, Mrs. Finch,” Bradshaw said. “But I’m so sorry to say your husband has been killed. We’re not sure what happened, but we think he was conducting some kind of investigation. If he was,” Bradshaw paused, seeking the right words, “then he died in the line of duty. You have my word we will bring those responsible to justice.”

“Davie. I need to be with Davie. He won’t understand.”

“He was just here,” Ethel said. “I’ll find him.”

“Through the den to the hall,” Susan said. “His room’s the first one.”

Ethel left the more formal living room and crossed the foyer into a paneled den, which featured a white brick fireplace and a wide-screen television. Beyond, the hallway ran perpendicular to the den. Ethel knocked on the first door. No reply. She turned the knob, found it unlocked, and gently pushed the door open.

A single bed ran along the opposite wall. The bedspread displayed the solar system with the sun covering the pillow and the planets orbiting to the bed’s foot. There was a chest of drawers with a mirror over it. Two windows overlooked the front yard. A small table was between them.

Davie sat at the table, his hunched back to Ethel. He was connecting Tinkertoys, not in a simple rectangle or tower, but an intricate three-dimensional structure with rods and hubs of different colors interconnecting in a sophisticated crystalline design. On the floor around him lay pieces of similar shapes. There were also multicolored LEGO bricks snapped together in abstract patterns.

Davie pushed away the creation in front of him, picked up two of the fragmented sections on the floor, and started dismantling them.

Ethel hoped she could come across as a kindly grandmother, a role for which she was definitely unqualified. “Davie,” she said gently, “your mother needs you.”

The child said nothing, just kept separating the Tinkertoy components.

Ethel walked to the foot of the bed, not wanting to crowd him. She noticed a small walker beside his chair.

Davie started mumbling as he grew more frantic in assembling and disassembling the Tinkertoys. “Mommy’s crying. Mommy’s crying. Mommy’s crying.”