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were no longer normal. Even walking into her own house had become disorienting. She didn’t know who’d be inside. She didn’t know the protocol. She didn’t have any understanding of the world she’d just entered so unwillingly.
    “It’ll be open,” he told her. And when she didn’t move, he took the door handle and pushed. When it swung open and she still didn’t move, he said, “I’ll be with you every second you want me to be with you. Okay?”
    Abby nodded, and Justin acknowledged the briefest of grateful smiles, and then she stepped forward.
Death brings things to a grinding halt,
he thought.
But life starts moving around you again pretty damn quickly.
    As they stood in the Harmon foyer, Justin saw that Gary Jenkins was waiting nervously in the living room. His leg was jiggling and his right hand was flapping against his thigh. With him was a man Justin didn’t recognize. He looked to be about forty, rail thin; his hair was cropped close, probably to hide the fact that he was losing it. The man’s face was angular, almost gaunt, but at the same time there was something soft that shone through. He had a runner’s body, and Justin, sizing him up quickly, couldn’t help but think that he was running away from some kind of weakness. He glanced over at Abby, saw that she most certainly did recognize the man. And wasn’t all that crazy about him.
    Gary made his way quickly over to meet them. He turned to Abby, shifted his eyes so he could look everywhere but directly at her, and mumbled that he was sorry for what had happened. She nodded graciously. Justin touched her elbow lightly and guided her forward until they and Gary were back in the living room with the thin man.
    “Forrest,” Abby said. She did not do a good job of disguising her distaste.
    The gaunt man took one step toward her, holding out a hand and saying, “I’m so sorry,” but he had to stop because he was tearing up and could no longer speak.
    Justin gave him a few moments to compose himself. The man tried to stop his sniffling but wasn’t having much luck. Shaking his head, embarrassed by his lack of control, he put out his hand to shake Justin’s, and Justin saw just how badly the hand was trembling. “Forrest Bannister,” he said. “I—I—”
    “He found the body,” Gary said. “It’s upstairs.” He saw Abby’s expression and immediately said, “I’m sorry.
He’s
upstairs. Jesus, I’m really sorry. It’s just that—”
    “Gary,” Justin said to the young cop.
    “What?”
    “Shut up.”
    “Right. Sorry. Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying I’m sorry. I’ll—I’ll just stop talking.”
    Justin shook his head and let a small sigh escape from his lips. “Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Bannister,” he said. And to Abby: “Do you want some water?” She shook her head, but he followed up his question by saying, “I need to go upstairs to see Evan’s body. I’d like you to come with me and identify him.” When she managed a deep breath and a nod, he followed it up with, “Are you sure you don’t want water?”
    She was looking wobblier by the second. She didn’t nod or shake her head at his second question. She just went to a cabinet beneath an ornate mirror at the far end of the living room. Abby opened the cabinet door to reveal a bar and she reached in to grab a bottle of vodka.
    Justin thought about telling her she should stay sober, that she had important decisions to make, and then he decided what the hell difference did it make; she needed a drink and she should have it. He waited for her to pour a long one, then he motioned to Gary to step into the foyer with him. There he asked a few questions about the condition of the body, about any disturbance of the crime scene, about anything he should know that might await him upstairs. Gary gave him a solid, professional briefing, and Justin thanked him. He told Gary what he wanted him to do next—call one of two stations within an hour’s drive that