“You’re pretty organized yourself.”

“Oh, I’m not, trust me, I’m a total slob.”

“Your dad tells me you’re quite a runner.”

“What he means is I’m a freak. My mother thinks so, too, ’cause I like to get down at least three hundred miles a month, more if I have time.”

“Impressive.”

“They think it’s nuts. Like an OCD thing, even though they bugged me to do sports in high school. Even though she’s at the gym six times a week and he’s there like three, four times, lifting weights and hurting himself all the time. I run ’cause I’m good at it. First time I tried I could go five miles without even breathing hard. I thought it would take time but it was easy. Felt amazing. Still does. When I run, it’s like I’m flying, nothing else makes me feel that way. That’s why I switched from Spanish to P.E. I want to be a coach or a personal trainer.”

“Makes sense.”

“So,” she said. “What should we talk about?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

“Would you like me to talk about yesterday?”

“If you want.”

“What do you want?” she said. “Being with the police.”

“I’m not here as a police representative.”

“Then what?”

“To make sure you’re okay after what happened.”

“Okay? Sure I’m okay. It was a great experience, seeing a dead person, let’s do it again tomorrow.”

She looked at the carpet. “Will talking to you help with my dreams?”

“You’re having nightmares?”

“Just last night. First I saw her face, then it kind of blended into a skeleton. Then I saw babies, tons of babies, with teensy little faces, all looking at me. Like they needed help. Then they turned into skeletons, it was like a mountain of skeletons.”

“Babies,” I said.

“Babies turning into skeletons. They told me about the skeleton across the park and it probably got stuck in my brain. Don’t you think?”

“Who’s they?”

“The two cops that showed up. They said there’d been another case across the park, a baby skeleton, maybe it was connected to the woman. Till then I was holding out pretty good. But a baby? Just thinking about it freaked me out.”

She smiled broadly. Burst into tears.

I fetched tissues from a spotless powder room left of the front door, waited until she’d composed herself.

“Wow,” she said. “I really thought I was okay. Guess I wasn’t.”

“Crying doesn’t mean you’re not okay, Heather. Neither does dreaming. Yesterday was a lot to deal with.”

“It’s weird,” she said. “Seeing her again. It’s not like I knew her but now I feel I kind of do. Like finding her made us … connected us. Like her face will be with me forever. Who was she?”

“We don’t know yet.”