“Your Honor,” the other lawyer protested, but the judge waved it away.

“We need public servants. Now more than ever. We are perhaps only beginning to appreciate the enormous benefits provided to us on a daily basis by the law enforcement community. Their job is difficult and the hours are long. We should honor their dedication, not use it as a weapon against them. I’ve never heard of anyone losing custody because police work was inherently demanding. Or dangerous. And we’re not going to set a precedent in my courtroom.”

I only half understood what was happening. But I had the sense to know it was good. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

“I am aware that Ms. Pulaski is a behaviorist and that she is working on the current spate of killings that have plagued our community. I commend her for taking on this challenge.”

My God-was it possible? The judge actually liked me?

“The state’s concerns about her income and employment status seem to me totally without merit. I also note that you have found a new place to live.”

“Yes, sir. Although my job recently forced me to make yet another move. It’s small, but-”

He nodded. “We like our parents to have homes, but we’re certainly not going to evaluate their worthiness based upon square footage. Especially not for a dedicated public servant.”

For the first time, my spirits swelled. Maybe, just maybe, I had a chance to win this thing.

Of course, it couldn’t last. “I am, however, concerned about the state’s allegations regarding the personal problems that arose after the loss of your husband. According to the Human Services’ brief, you’re an alcoholic. Is this true, Ms. Pulaski?”

What to say? I didn’t like being labeled, and I didn’t think it was fair or accurate, but if I quibbled with him, they would say I was in denial. As I peered into the judge’s eyes, I realized that he already had all the factual information he needed. He had asked the question to see how I would respond.

“I have problems with alcohol, Your Honor. That is absolutely true. But I’m dealing with it. I’ve given up drinking. Totally.”

He looked at me intently but didn’t say anything.

“I’ve completed a detoxification clinic. I’m attending Intensive Outpatient classes downtown.”

He shuffled some papers. “I have a report from a… Dr. Coutant, who treated you at the detox center.”

I felt as if my heart had been stabbed with a dull pizza knife.

“According to him, you haven’t been attending the IOP classes. Is that true?”

“I… uh… I have been absent for a while. This case takes up so much of my time.”

“Surely your recovery comes first.”

“I plan to start up again, just as soon as-”

Judge Gaynor cut me off. “Alcoholics always plan to do something in the future. Just as they always say they’re not going to drink anymore. It’s part of the disease.”

“But-”

“I admire your work, Ms. Pulaski. Truly I do. But unless and until you’ve dealt with this problem, no court on earth is going to grant you custody. It would be irresponsible. And certainly not in the best interests of the child. Quentin?”

My lawyer rose. “Yes, Your Honor?”

“At our court date, I’m going to want full and complete medical records on your client.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll want attendance records from the IOP classes. And evidence of enrollment in a certified AA program. And I want periodic blood tests.”

He breathed heavily. “Yes, sir.”

The judge gave me one last look. “If those tests show alcohol in your bloodstream, Ms. Pulaski, you might as well not bother coming to court.”

The rest of the hearing was a blur. I don’t remember what happened. I know Delacourt got me to a car, made some inquiries about my state of mind, and entrusted me to the care of my security detail. Meanwhile, my brain stayed on one topic. What the judge had said. How he’d built my hopes up. Then cut them out from under me with a single swath of his vicious scythe.

The hardest part was not the embarrassment, not being called a drunk in open court. Nor was it the judge’s demands and requirements. Not even the blood test. Damned intrusive, but in my heart I knew it was a perfectly reasonable request under the circumstances. No, my problem was not the fact that the judge was trying to force me to give up drinking.

My problem was that I knew I couldn’t do it.

Why won’t the letters do what I want them to do? Normally they dance around and they tell me what they mean and I get it and I can tell Susan but this time I can’t tell her anything. I know the Bad Man made it harder because he knew I was good at this just like that teacher in the tenth grade who was mad at me because I showed him that he was working the quadratic equation wrong and so he made me stand at the front of the class and gave me calculus problems and he was trying to make me sad because I hadn’t read any calculus books and he made me stand there the whole time and work on it and I did get it eventually I did but by then everyone had gone home and when I showed the teacher the next day he said that I had cheated and I got in trouble. I don’t know why I always get in trouble and I’ll probably get in trouble if I solve this puzzle but I want to do it because Susan wants it and if Susan wants it then I have to do it.

Talk to me!

He’s trying to fool me he’s using the same letters over and over again but changing what they stand for like before but more often it’s like the letter only appears once and then it’s something else and that’s why the letters can’t talk to me he won’t let them. But I can sorta see the words even when he keeps changing everything and he won’t tell me where one word ends and the next begins and I think he messed it up in a few places but there’s still a pattern and I can trace that letter that keeps coming over and over again I thought it must be E but it isn’t E and if it isn’t E maybe it’s S and if it’s S why does it keep coming up again and again like one word with two S’s close together like he’s talking to someone and-

Susan.

This was a letter to Susan like maybe they were all letters to Susan but this one really is because her name is in it. Talk to me!

Susan oh no no no no no Susan I have to call Dad or someone or that Patrick and get them to get to Susan oh no quickly Susan oh no oh no oh no no no no no no…

DAM YOU IM ACELERATING YOUR EDUCATION YOURE NEXT SUSAN

I felt like death on a soda cracker, to use one of David’s favorite phrases. I felt as if I had wrapped Rachel up in a box and gift-wrapped her for those narrow-minded prigs she’d been living with. I’d been kidding myself, pretending that I might be smart enough to catch this killer when I knew damn well I wasn’t. Not now. Probably not ever. I was as depressed as I ever remembered being in my entire life. And the worst part of it-I wasn’t even free to drink. Not in a public place, anyway, not when I knew spies might be watching me at any time.

Why did they have to make everything so hard? Why couldn’t they understand? I’m trying, but I’m not Wonder Woman. I’m not perfect. But Rachel wants to live with me, and I want to live with her. Why isn’t that enough?

Just to make matters worse, Lisa was out with some new kisser of the week, and Patrick was too busy babysitting the new feds to step out with me. Not that I really wanted to wake up handcuffed to the headboard again. But I didn’t want to be alone, either. So instead of chatting with a handsome FBI agent, I was in The White Feather wondering if one of the security guys posted outside could be lured in for a club soda.

Was there anything I hadn’t screwed up? Would there ever be?

David could answer that question. Yes, he certainly could. But I might not like the answer.