She said, ‘It’s just the worst thing to have to do. Because you just have to say it. You know. You can’t ease your way in. And then you have to keep saying it. It’s like … uh.’ She shook her head. A wobble in her voice, but she was holding it together. ‘Honestly, it’s like you’re pushing them under, and then just holding them down.’ She ran her hands through her hair. ‘I don’t know how people do it. We’re only three hours in, and I’m feeling … God. I don’t know. Empty, I guess.’

He wasn’t sure if he should go over there, put a hand on her shoulder, or if that would be stretching the client–driver boundary too soon. She’d been sure of herself earlier—asking him to work for her—but now she seemed to have lost her footing slightly. He couldn’t blame her.

He said, ‘Why don’t you give them Freeman’s phone? At least it’ll be one less thing to worry about.’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not doing that.’ Then, softer: ‘I think finding who did it will be the thing that gets me through. Give me a purpose for a while.’

She had the sunglasses up on her head, and she lowered them now, covering her eyes. She turned to him and said, ‘The problem is, when I have all the answers, am I going to feel any different?’

Perhaps he should have been clearer about the terms of his involvement. He wasn’t signing up to get justice for Lamar, he was helping Erin investigate her father’s murder. There was a difference, at least in Vincent’s mind. And it raised the question of his level of commitment. It would be hard to keep her safe and maintain his no-gun rule. He had already said he would help, so he couldn’t exactly renege on an anti-weapon basis, especially given he’d just shot two people. The edict was well and truly trashed. He wondered if maybe a principled exception was the way to go. Better than steadfast observance of a blanket injunction.

He got a ride back to the house in a patrol car, and this time he sat up front. His cop driver was early twenties, newish to the job, and seemed pleased with the hype. He told Vincent about how he’d attended a jewellery-store break-in during his first week in uniform. The thief had even pulled a gun—pretty wild, right?—but this was definitely a step up. Vincent nodded along and listened to radio traffic. It was all shooting-related: requests for crime-scene units, requests for Sheriff’s backup, an APB on Sylvester Crow and his two friends. A patrol unit had checked out Sly’s Stanwood Drive address but hadn’t found him.