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through the door and announces a robbery—who come away never looking at life the same. People think of bank robbing as a victimless crime, an insured crime, but when a teller gets a gunpointed in her face—that can change a person’s life forever. I’m only telling you this so you can prepare yourself.”
    “I haven’t even cried yet—”
    “The adrenaline’s fading, you’re probably going to feel a little depressed for a while. Sort of like mourning—just let it happen. It’s normal. Some people bottom out all at once, others just gradually get better until one day they don’t wake up thinking about it. For a little while, you’ll see these guys behind every closed door. But you will get better.”
    She was staring at him, rapt, as though he were turning over tarot cards. He knew he had to watch himself here. A pretty girl, hurt, vulnerable. Taking advantage of that would have been like pocketing the bait bills from the vault. She was his vault now, his vic.
    “And stay off the Diet Coke,” he added. “No caffeine or alcohol, that’s key. Stick with water. In the breast pocket of my jacket, you’ll find my card.”
    She fished one out as he stood. “What about my car?”
    “You should be able to pick it up whenever. It’ll take a hand-washing to get all the fingerprint dust off. If you don’t have spare keys, you should be able to get them from your dealer.”
    She curled her toes. “And my shoes?”
    “Those, we’ll have to hold on to for a while. Crime lab people, that’s how they are. If they could wrap you up in a paper bag and put you on a shelf for a few weeks, they would.”
    “Might not be such a bad idea.” She slipped out of his jacket as she stood, smoothing the sleeves before returning it to him. “Thank you.” She read his card. “Agent Frawley.”
    “No problem.” He dropped it over his arm, its tempting warmth. “And don’t worry about those threats. Just focus on yourself.”
    She nodded, looking at the door, not yet moving. “Actually, my license—it had my old address anyway.”
    No point in telling her that the bandits had likely been following her for weeks before that morning. Frawley felt up his jacket for a pen. “Let me get your current.”
    F RAWLEY WATCHED HER HUG a pink-faced, white-haired man in a pin-striped suit inside the door fan.
    “Seemed like a good wit,” said Dino. “You want to handle the summary narrative?”
    Frawley shook his head, still watching her. “Gotta do my 430 case-initiation form for D.C.”
    “Uh-oh,” said Dino, coming up closer to Frawley. “That look in his eyes.”
    Frawley shook his head, watching daughter and father walk past the front windows and away. “I was ready to write her off completely, except…”
    “C’mon. I can take it.”
    “Except that she moved about a year ago. The address we had is out-of-date.”
    “So she has a new address. And?”
    Frawley turned back, watching the wise smile dawn on Dino’s seen-it-all face.
    “Nah,” Dino said, playing at disbelief. “Can’t be.”
    Frawley nodded. “Charlestown.”

3
THE SPLIT
     

     
    D OUG CARRIED A HAM and cheese sub from the Foodmaster out across Austin Street and up Old Rutherford Avenue to the O’Neil Memorial Ice Skating Rink.
    “Hey, hon,” said the oaken woman smoking behind the rentals counter, and Doug waved hello with a genial smile that belied his down mood. Nailed to the wall behind her was a yellowed newspaper photo of Doug in his Charlestown High hockey uniform, which he took care to ignore.
    The rink inside was only half-lit, Boston Bruins and Charlestown Youth Hockey rafter flags hanging high over the day-care kids leaning on milk crates and chop-stepping their way around the overweight instructor in a slow parade. Two teachers stood outside the boards, sloppy, elephant-legged neighborhood girls in long shirts and stretch pants who checked out Doug as he passed them for the skate-scored bleachers.
    Jem and Gloansy were halfway up