“It takes like, a couple of months to form a new habit. So we have to pack for a couple of months. And when I’m working, who’s going to look after Abby, until we find her a new school?”

“A new school?” Neither of them had noticed Abby standing in the doorway.

While he waited for the barrier to open, Johnny Boy looked at the picture on the large box belted securely in his passenger seat. It showed a space-age warrior dressed in high-tech black body armor and a Darth-Vader–like helmet. So that was how a bringer of death should look? Interesting. The Yo-Yo did wear a helmet these days.

He drove out of the depot and headed for Chandler Park.

Batiste followed the winding, empty road that was his back way to the gym at Sterling Heights. He needed a workout. If the day’s unexpected development in the McGrath investigation had come through a few minutes later than it had, which was just as they were about to bust the Burnham guy, then everything might really have gone south.

He dropped the windows and switched off the air, allowing his left hand to ride the warm breeze.

The car behind pulled over to allow a motorcycle by. The guy was flying. Made Batiste thankful he didn’t work in the traffic division. Imagine chasing down guys like him. Now that would be dangerous.

“Is this where you do all your work, Melvin?” asked Johnny Boy.

“It is, Mister Pace. This is the center of the empire,” said Melvin, making a grand gesture that encompassed his room, a room that contained a single bed and walls lined with action figures and spaceships. No pictures of women, no football team paraphernalia, no posters of bands beloved by rebellious teens.

Johnny Boy nodded. Melvin was a happy soul, in his own world.

Melvin pointed at the box on the floor by Johnny Boy’s feet. “Can I see the goods?”

“Sure,” said Johnny Boy. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about, right?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

Johnny Boy started opening the box. “That was great work you did finding the name of my wife’s, uh, friend.” He extracted the space warrior figure and handed it to Melvin.

“D-u-u-u-de,” said Melvin.

Johnny Boy nodded at the state-of-the-art computer on the desk in front of them. “So, is this the one you do all your work on?”

“The Beast? Yep.”

“You erased the history, right?”

Melvin gave him a sideways look of mock pity. “Mister Pace, really? I mean whaddya think it is here? The peewee league?”

He started taking some shots of the Death Trooper Specialist with his phone. Then, as an afterthought: “Anyhow, I don’t just delete history. I shred that mother. Not even the FBI could get the Beast to give up her secrets.”

Ah, so at least there’s one woman in your life, Melvin.

“Good to know.”