“What’s the deal here, Jason? And I’m not talking editor to reporter. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.” Another lie. There would be many lies in the days to come. “I’m talking as a member of your journalistic family, the guy who’s seen the photos of your family and knows how much you love them. Are you doin’ all right?”

“I’m taking it one day at a time,” Jason recited evenly.

“Any word? Gotta say, the police were pretty damn vague.”

“We are hoping the public can provide clues,” Jason filled in dutifully.

“And your daughter? Clarissa? How’s she holding up? Need any help, buddy?”

“Thank you for your offer. We are taking it one day at a time.”

“Jason … Jason, my man.”

“I won’t be able to work tonight, Greg.”

“Of course not! Holy crap, of course we understand. You need to take a week off, maybe a leave of absence. You name it, we’re there for you, man.” Just don’t forget about us, right, buddy? Front-page scoop, the inside skinny straight from the husband’s mouth to our front page, right, buddy?

“Thank you for your understanding.”

“We’re there for you, Jason. You name it, you got it. We believe in you, man. Why, the thought of you doing anything to harm Sandra …”

“Thank you for your understanding.” Jason hung up the phone.

“Who’s that?” Ree demanded from the back seat.

“Daddy’s former boss,” Jason said, and meant it.

The BPD’s headquarters was a glass-and-granite monstrosity that had been plopped down in the middle of the housing projects of Roxbury. The hope had been that the overwhelming police presence would help jumpstart the gentrification process of this particular inner-city. Mostly, it made both workers and visitors to the building fear for their lives.

Jason eyed his parking options with much trepidation. He did not expect to come out to find his Volvo intact. And honestly, he worried for the cat. Mr. Smith had obviously spent the past thirty-six hours using up at least one of his nine lives. Who knew how many the cat had left?

“We shouldn’t be here, Daddy,” Ree said when she climbed out of the back of the car, clutching her bunny. The parking lot featured a lot of broken asphalt, framed by concrete barriers. Interior decorating by way of Beirut.

Jason thought about it, then reached inside the car for his notebook and Ree’s red Crayola marker. He tore out two sheets of paper and wrote in big block letters: QUARANTINED: Rabid Cat. Warning. Do Not Touch.

He placed one sheet of paper on the front of the car and one on the back. Then he looked in at Mr. Smith, who opened one lazy golden eye, yawned, and went back to sleep.

“Be a good rabid cat,” Jason murmured, then took Ree firmly by the hand and headed for the crosswalk.