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Toby’d be doing the bulk of the installation anyway.
    They showed up forty-five minutes later, an army of six, carrying everything I’d asked for and more. I found out Toby’d promised them double time if they worked through their lunch hours in between their other jobs. And that’s all it took. We were done by one fifteen.
    ‘Is it finished?’ Sharon glanced at the retreating back of Toby and his workers.
    ‘All done.’ I led her back up the walk and inside to show her the numbered digital keypad we’d installed just inside the front door.
    ‘This is where you turn the system off when you come home,’ I told her. ‘You punch the code in. Here, like this. You’ve got four seconds after you unlock the door to get inside and shut off the system before the alarm kicks in. Think four seconds is enough time? We can make it longer if you’d like.’
    ‘No, no, honey. That’s fine.’
    ‘It’s a great system.’ I was proud of it. ‘It’s a central alarm. That means it’s wired over your phone line into the security office over on O’Shaughnessy. If anything happens, they’ll know it as soon as you do. A guard can be here in a matter of minutes. Guaranteed. If anybody cuts the phone line, the alarm goes off. If your power goes out, there’s a backup that’ll kick in. Nothing’s completely foolproof, but this one’s close.’
    ‘What about the police, honey? Will they come?’
    ‘Do you want them to? We can set it up to notify the local station simultaneously if you’d like.’
    ‘No, honey. Don’t bother. Leave it the way it is.’
    She smiled. I tried to remember if she’d smiled any time before, but couldn’t.
    ‘What a load off,’ she said, then invited me into the living room so she could write me and Toby the final check.
    ‘How’s the police investigation going?’ I asked as we trudged down the hall. I’d been wanting to ask her since I’d arrived.
    ‘Lieutenant Post called this morning, honey, with more questions. But I’ll be honest with you, nothing’s changed since Saturday night.’
    Not surprising given he had about three hundred suspects to slog through. Not too comforting, either. She sat down at the roll-top and flipped open her checkbook.
    ‘What about your assistant? Does he want a separate check?’
    ‘One’s fine.’
    Sharon filled in the amount, stood, then held on to the check. She was sweating: tiny beads of moisture covered her upper lip and forehead.
    ‘The funeral home called a minute ago, honey. I need to pick up the remains.’
    ‘The police released the body already?’
    I knew from other cases that Post always kept his homicide victims’ bodies at least five days.
    Sharon just shrugged.
    ‘Did Philly Post okay the release?’
    ‘Please don’t make this harder than it is, honey. I had to make the choice to cremate and that was tough enough.’
    ‘Did they do an autopsy?’
    ‘Sure, honey. How hard can it be? He died from being stabbed.’ She had a point. Still clutching the check, her face started to crumple. She dabbed at her eyes with a manicured finger. ‘I don’t think I can do this,’ she said between sniffles.
    My guess was that was my cue to offer to stick around.
    ‘It must be tough,’ I said, then stuck my hand out for the check. ‘I wish you luck.’
    In the end, she asked me to drive her over to the funeral home and I relented and said yes. They gave her an urn which we took out to the cemetery and locked up in a beehive vault that had a temporary label with his name on it. No priest, no rabbi, just me and Sharon and the caretaker.
    ‘That’s how he wanted it, honey. No ceremony.’
    I could understand that. I don’t want anybody to make a fuss over me, either. But Sharon didn’t even leave him flowers.
     

9
     
    B lackie was at his usual table at the Quarter Moon Saloon - in the back, away from the light, bent over a racing form. Five empties were scattered on the table and the ashtray should have been dumped three packs ago -