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I’LL ADMIT TO being a little groggy when I slipped out of bed just after six on Monday morning. Mary Catherine was snoozing comfortably, so I used my best ninja skills to dress quietly and start getting the kids ready. We’d had a calm day on Sunday after Saturday night’s excitement, but Mondays were always a little harder than the rest of the week. Kids moved slower. I moved slower. And now I had to stretch my legs to avoid cramps. What the hell was that about?

By the time I made it to the kitchen, I was surprised to see Jane and Juliana preparing breakfast for everyone.

Juliana said, “I’m scheduled to look after Mary Catherine until three this afternoon when Jane gets home. Brian will take over from five until you get home. I’ll take the kids to school so you can get ready for your day.”

I stood there, speechless. These were the kinds of things parents usually hallucinate. I knew I had good kids, but this was above and beyond the call.

Mary Catherine was still sleeping by the time I was ready to leave. Brian would stay here in case she woke up and needed anything before Juliana returned from the school run. I was confident Mary Catherine was in good hands.

I was still in a little bit of a fog by the time I walked into the office. The place looked like a ghost town. Since Harry Grissom was on vacation, his office was empty. Only one detective sat at the cluster of desks in the central area. But, of course, our criminal intelligence analyst, Walter Jackson, was working at his desk inside his large office, the largest of them lining the walls, even larger than Harry’s office. Like me, Walter keeps early hours.

I popped my head into Walter’s office and asked if he’d seen Rob Trilling.

“He worked last night on his gang case with Terri Hernandez. Should be in later.”

I sat at my desk and started poring over the reports I’d had since Saturday. I was still distracted, worrying about Mary Catherine. I resisted the urge to call Juliana and see how she was doing.

Four dead retired cops wouldn’t usually draw much attention. Taken individually, they all looked like accidents or suicides. People rarely pay attention to problems like suicide among the military and police organizations. The NYPD is larger than most countries’ armies, with over thirty-five thousand employees. I hadn’t known Ralph Stein, Gary Halverson, or Tabitha Arnold personally. But cops commit suicide on a regular basis. Some obvious. Some not so much.

Even if it was carbon monoxide poisoning that killed her, Tabitha had been a drinker who’d been drunk when she died. Lou Sanvos had been getting older. Anyone would understand him losing control of his big Lincoln Continental like that.

If there was a connection between these three incidents, it was going to take some real work to find it.

Celeste Cantor had set the whole investigation up well. I appreciated her because she got shit done. She had assured me no one would see any report I wrote except her until the investigation was complete. I knew if I needed other resources, she’d come through for me as she had a hundred times before.

I decided to start the investigation where I start most investigations. Despite Cantor’s instructions to limit this whole investigation to my eyes only, I knew I had to talk to Walter Jackson.