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totally honest, no one at that school much misses the kid,” Joel said. “Or anybody in town, for that matter.”
    “I’m feeling drunk enough that that doesn’t even make me mad,” Dooley said. “Did this kid have a name?”
    “Guy Edmond. The word from the school was that he was one Grade-A pain in the ass. Parents, too. We knew him pretty well at the station.”
    “I guess Guy deserved it then,” Dooley cracked. “That makes you and me irrelevant.”
    “I didn’t mean—”
    Dooley shook his head. “I’m drunk enough to talk crap, too. Forget it.”
    “I can’t break through,” Joel said after a momentary pause.
    Dooley slid to a sit against the red brick surrounding the hearth and closed his eyes. The subtle blaze tickled hot on his right side.
    “You have,” Joel added solemnly.
    “It’s not like flipping some switch on,” Dooley said, reluctant eyes opening.
    “I know. I’ve tried.”
    “You’ve tried,” Dooley parroted.
    The remark had enough of an edge that silence was all Joel could immediately offer in response. After a moment of reflection he asked, “Was that you, or was that the wine?”
    “A little of both.” Dooley shook his head. “It’s a hell of a thing when your job requires you to prove that a kid can kill a kid.”
    “If I had that problem you’d be drinking alone right now,” Joel said.
    “Consider yourself blessed,” Dooley said. “It can mess with you.”
    “It’s a murder.”
    “It’s that, and it’s stuff you don’t even want to imagine.”
    “It’s still a murder. Someone has to pay.”
    Dooley nodded, the peace of the knowing in the gesture. “Someone always does.” He stared into his empty glass. “So, you came for advice from the man who put a twelve year old away for life.”
    “I’d like more than advice.”
    “I can’t give more,” Dooley said. “I know you want more, and I know you have to ask, so consider the question asked and consider the answer given. I’ll look at the file, I’ll answer questions. That’s what help I can give.”
    “Can you solve a case without getting close?” Joel challenged.
    “This isn’t my case to solve. Five and one, or six and oh; that’s up to you.”
    “Please.”
    Dooley stood and looked past his guest, out over the harbor to the black night spilling from the sky. “The roads are going to be tricky. Slick as snot on a doorknob.”
    Joel put his glass of wine on the simple pedestal table next to the chair. “Just let me...”
    Dooley walked off toward the living room. “You can crash on the couch if you want. There’s a throw blanket on the rocker. The lights are on a timer so don’t play with the switches.”
    Joel stood and took a few steps after Dooley. “Detective Ashe—”
    “Just Dooley. Got it?” He turned down a hallway in the dark and was gone. A door clicked shut a few seconds later.
    Joel Bauer fell back into the overstuffed chair and let his head burrow sideways into the cushion. He watched the fire slowly die and drifted off to sleep thinking of a poor little bastard of a kid with his head caved in.
    *  *  *
    A defiant burst of embers erupted from the hearth’s coal-black center sometime after midnight, batting a sharp crack through the darkened den. Joel stirred at the sound, eyes opening to see an orange glow struggle to live again on the brittle surface of the spent pine. He straightened in the chair, rolled the stiffness from his neck, and blinked to adjust his eyes to the din.
    When they had, he saw Dooley sitting across the cedar table from him, the hearth-side of his body cast a pale red—the red of a sunrise trickling over cold gray granite peaks.
    “Dooley? What time is it?”
    “Late. Early.” Bare above the waist, Dooley did not take his eyes from Joel. “What were you dreaming of?”
    “Dreaming? Was I dreaming?”
    “You were talking to someone named Julia.”
    “Julia?” Joel wiped his eyes.
    “Is that your wife, or your baby girl?”
    Joel shook his