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Lulinski in his late forties
or early fifties. He was tall, with a thin build; his gray suit
pants hung so loosely that I was glad he wore a belt cinching them
at the waist. He had on white long-sleeve dress shirt, the collar
opened, tie loosened. His hair was crew-cut short, and he scratched
at gray eyebrows while he waited for Diana to step out.
    “ Thank you, Ms. Grady,” he
said, finally able to grip her hand and help her as she
stumbled.
    She righted herself and stood, blinking in
the blue flashes. Her lips moved, working as if to say something.
She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again, her eyes
wide with childlike terror. “I . . . don’t have nowhere to go.”
    Diana had pulled her thick arms around her
waist, in an effort to close a too-small sweater around her large
frame. She lifted one hand to smooth damp hair behind her ear, and
her drooping lips trembled.
    The detective held her elbow, scanning the
crowd. “Who were those people who came to help earlier? Maybe you
can stay at their house tonight.”
    Like a little child who realized she has the
right answer for a trick question, she straightened, her eyes
suddenly alert. “Lena Szatjemski,” she said.
    I wiggled back out of the car’s smooth seat.
“That’s my aunt,” I offered, moving toward them. “She’s over there,
Diana.” I made an exaggerated “come here” gesture with my arm and
Aunt Lena swooped in to take Diana safely away.
    “ We’ll need to talk to you
again, later,” the detective said to her departing figure. I
doubted she or my aunt heard him.
    He turned to me and gestured toward the car
that Diana had just vacated. “I’ll be just a minute. Have a
seat.”
    I did. The backseat of this squad was
identical to the other, and the smell pretty close, too, though a
bit less intense.
    The detective conferred briefly with Officer
Randall and then returned to me.
    In the short amount of time he was outside
the car, he pulled a cigarette from a pack in his shirt pocket, lit
it and smoked it down to the filter, faster than I’d ever seen
anyone do that before. The entire time, he maintained conversation
with the uniformed officer, mouthfuls of expelled smoke
accompanying his crisp directives.
    He lowered himself into the back seat next
to me. Up close, I could smell the freshness of the cigarette he’d
just finished.
    I slid over, making room, taking in this
entire backseat experience. A clear Plexiglas panel separated us
from the front seat, and a small handle at its center could be used
to push it closed. Open now, I heard flat voices repeating
information on the radio, but I couldn’t make out all the
words.
    “ You were in the house
today?” Detective Lulinski asked me, jerking his head and eyes
toward Mrs. Vick’s home.
    I nodded.
    “ What time?”
    “ I left about six
twenty-five.”
    He’d flipped open a notebook—the kind with
the silver wire spiral at the top. From the looks of its bent
shape, and the leftover shreds of paper where he’d pulled sheets
out, he’d had this one for a while. “And the victim was alive to
the best of your knowledge?”
    My words caught in my throat. I wanted him
to call her Mrs. Vicks. Not “the victim.”
    Outside I watched raincoated young men lead
a black-zippered bag on the silver cart toward the open back doors
of the dark van. Next they’d be calling her “the body.” At what
point does death change a vibrant living person into “remains?” I
shuddered, and blinked. “I’m sorry,” I said. “This had been too
much of a shock. Can you repeat your question?”
    He did. He asked me several questions about
my relationship to Mrs. Vicks and then he asked me about Diana’s. I
focused my attention on him. Despite being a thin man, he had
paunch in his face. His jowls drooped ever so slightly, bringing
his mouth into a downward scowl. Close up I could tell this was
more a force of nature than of personality. His eyes were alert and
he asked me again about Mrs. Vicks