Detective O’Hara was quiet for a bit, just drinking her coffee. “Snow’s getting heavy,” she said finally and signaled Benny for the check.

“Chief Henning gave me this chance,” she said as she rummaged in her bag for money. “He’s not all that keen on psychics, you know. A politically sensitive man, our chief is. Worries a lot. Wouldn’t want to be accused of pressuring you. I had to convince him it was worth a try to just ask nicely.”

Rose wondered if this was the good cop, bad cop routine.

“Am I supposed to feel sympathetic?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Sympathetic? Sure, you should feel sympathy. For the victims and their families, not for me.” O’Hara shrugged. “Hell, I gave it my best shot.”

She pulled the heavy glass door open, and they clomped out to her car, which was covered with snow. She made Rose get in while she brushed the windshield off.

O’Hara was a cop; it was her job to get information. Rose couldn’t hold it against her, but she didn’t like it. She felt exploited and dirty. And worried. They had found Carla this morning. But when had she been killed?

“You know,” O’Hara said when she’d got in, “my family was dead set against my joining the force. I think I did it out of spite at first. I was no crusader. But now, I know I can do something worthwhile if I keep pushing myself.”

The main road had been plowed, but the side roads were bad. O’Hara was a skillful driver. She maneuvered the car back in line whenever it threatened to slip. She drove confidently as she talked, not like Rose’s mother who hunched nervously over the wheel and made everybody keep quiet.

“There’s a DA in New York … does a lot for abused women, rape victims. She’s on their side one hundred percent. I’d like to be like her.” “My brother would tell you to start playing the violin about now.”

“Believe me or don’t, Rose. The point is I’m a human being and I care about whether girls stay alive or not. I want to get this killer.”

“Okay, okay,” Rose cried. “But what can I do?” O’Hara took her eyes off the road for the briefest moment to look at Rose. “Contact Nancy. Don’t wait for her to come to you. Go to her.”

“I … I don’t know how to do that,” Rose said truthfully. “What am I supposed to do?”

“There must be ways,” O’Hara said confidently.

“There must be people who know. We could talk to them, find out what you should do.”

Rose felt scared. People who know. People like the kooks they wrote about in the newspaper. People who predicted earthquakes and disasters. She didn’t want to associate with them.