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procedure—we never want to leave any stone unturned.”
    “Our relationship was—fine.”
    “Not great? Just fine?”
    “We had our ups and down like any married couple. But no, he wasn’t cheating on me. And we never talked about divorce.”
    “Did he ever threaten you, Mrs. Heller?”
    “Oh, this is ridiculous.”
    “Look, Mrs. Heller, we all want to find out what happened to him, too, but we can’t do that without your help. We really can’t. I know this is a stressful time for you, and I know you’re in a lot of pain, but time is really crucial here. The faster we move, the more likely we are to solve this thing.”
    “Isn’t it possible that my husband was attacked, too, and he’s wandering around in a state of amnesia or something? Or maybe he’s been badly hurt. Or . . . or worse. And meanwhile you two are sitting here spinning out all sorts of wacky scenarios. You’re guessing, that’s all. Guessing. ”
    “Yeah, well, guessing is a lot of what we do. I get good at guessing. And yeah, maybe we’re clutching at straws. But that’s all we got at this point, Mrs. Heller. All we know is that you were the victim of a random-seeming attack in a part of the city where that doesn’t happen very often. You weren’t mugged, and apparently they didn’t try to rape you. We have no reason to believe your husband was killed. He’s gone, and we don’t know more than that. Without evidence, without a motive, we’re not going to get anywhere, do you understand?”
    “You don’t sound very optimistic.”
    “I don’t want to give you false hope, is all.”
    Someone made a throat-clearing sound, and they all turned around.
    Gabe was standing there. His dark ringlets wild and scraggly. He was staring at her, an expression of grave concern in his liquid brown eyes. Black jeans and a black hoodie sweatshirt with a weird cartoon character on the front: Invader Zim, she remembered. He looked even scrawnier than usual.
    “Gabe,” she called out.
    “Excuse me, Officers,” he said sternly. “My mother needs to rest. You need to leave now.”
    The younger cop grinned until he caught the sharp edge of Gabe’s adolescent glower, then the two detectives began to gather their things.

6.

    H ey,” she said hoarsely, when the cops had left.
    “Hey.”
    Tears in his eyes, she saw. In the last year her sweet boy had become a remote and often surly teenager. But once in a while there were flashes of the adoring son he’d once been and would, she hoped, be again. Her love for him swelled in her chest, like a physical object, expanding her ribs, her collarbones.
    “Thanks.”
    “I’m serious. They shouldn’t be here.”
    She noticed the dark circles under his eyes. They appeared whenever he was sick or overtired or just worried. Which was often. More than a few pimples on his cheeks, which hadn’t been there two months ago.
    In his right hand he was clutching his beat-up school notebook, spiral-bound, ST. GREGORY’S on the cover. The notebook had nothing to do with school, though. She wasn’t allowed to look at it, which made it all the more tempting, though she never had. All she knew was that it contained some epic-length comic book he’d been working on for a year or more. She’d caught a glimpse once before he snatched it away and was astonished at the quality of the drawings.
    “Thanks for lending me Jaffee,” she said. She reached out a hand, held his. He squeezed her hand back. That was about as much affection as he ever showed her anymore. He hated being kissed or hugged, tended to shrink from her caresses as if she had some grotesque infectious disease.
    “Your blood pressure is really bad,” he said.
    “Why do you say that?”
    “That machine keeps beeping.”
    “It’s supposed to do that. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
    “You don’t look fine.”
    “I look worse than I feel.”
    “Lot of flowers,” Gabe said.
    “From Lee.”
    She meant Leland Gifford, the CEO and son of the