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WALTER SENT TRILLING our meager stock of two outdated images of Antonio Deason, just in case he and Terri spotted him tomorrow, while I brought Trilling up to speed on what else we’d been doing on Celeste Cantor’s behalf. The frustrations of bureaucracy consumed me for the rest of the day, and I was the last one to leave the office. I wondered how Harry Grissom maintained his calm while dealing with bureaucracy and supervising the squad. He never seemed to have a problem finding funding for investigations. It felt like he won every argument with the bosses at One Police Plaza. If anything, my admiration for the man had grown in the last week.

I felt exhausted as I stepped through the front door of our apartment on the Upper West Side. I pushed all my thoughts about the case out of my head. Between working late and Mary Catherine being in bed, I halfway expected anarchy to reign in our house. I was not far off. To the naked eye, things may have seemed calm—there was no shouting or broken furniture—but a cardinal rule of our home was being openly flaunted: Brian, Jane, Trent, Bridget, Fiona, and Shawna were all eating dinner in the living room rather than in the dining room. As far as Mary Catherine was concerned, that was a mortal sin. Even worse, the kids were watching TV as they ate their hamburgers.

Even as I recognized the hypocrisy of our doing almost the same thing by eating and watching TV in the master bedroom these last few days, that had felt like a special circumstance. I suspected seeing it happen out in the open like this would have made my wife’s head explode.

I stood at the edge of the living room and said, “What if Mary Catherine sees you if she gets up to use the bathroom?”

Bridget snickered. “She’s dead asleep. Plus Chrissy’s in the bedroom too, so she can be our early warning system.”

“Who are you, NORAD?”

Bridget smiled. “Actually, we’re studying the Cold War in history class. Did you know that Father Francis was in Havana for some of it? He really makes it interesting.”

“It is interesting.”

Bridget just shrugged.

I glanced around the room. Every kid had a hamburger and some potato chips. Not my first choice for a healthy dinner, but at least they were all eating.

I said, “What are you watching?”

Brian said, “Right now we’re watching a rerun of Seinfeld until Ricky finishes his homework. Then we’re going to watch more episodes of his cooking show. We want to help him prepare for his audition.”

When I checked the crowd, I noticed another missing child. “Where’s Eddie? Don’t tell me he’s yet another picket in your early warning system.”

Brian shook his head. “He’s working on the same project as Ricky.”

I wandered down the hallway toward the entrance to the boys’ room. Along the way, I peeked into our bedroom. The kids’ early warning system had a glitch. Chrissy was lying on the bed, fast asleep next to Mary Catherine. A half-eaten hamburger lay on a plate next to her on the bed. It was picture-perfect. I softly closed the door to the bedroom.

When I got to the boys’ room, they were both on the floor using a laptop to search Google. I said, “What’s all this?”

“We both have the same project due in social studies. We have to find articles to support a position we hold.”

“What’s your position?”

Ricky said, “That fast food is dangerous. It’s the root cause of the obesity epidemic in the US.”

I nodded. That was a good topic. I turned to Eddie. “What are you trying to support?”

“Why the Jets won’t win a playoff game in the next decade.”

“That can’t be too hard to support.”

My son just smiled.

Ricky said, “I need to finish quick so I can watch Rising Chefs . My application was accepted, and my audition is a week from Saturday. Nothing’s more important.”

I said, “Except school. I don’t want you guys using any of those artificial intelligence programs either.”

Eddie snapped his fingers and said, “We didn’t even think of that. Thanks.”

I just shook my head. I know it’s a stereotype, but having four boys and six girls has taught me that boys never prepare ahead of time. This little stunt didn’t even throw me for a loop. I remembered having to help Brian years ago with a report on Benjamin Franklin because it was due later that same day. Jane, on the other hand, would always prioritize her homework, ever forgoing fun activities in order to complete a project as soon as it was assigned.

I heard the sound of Mary Catherine stirring, so I stepped into our bedroom. I had made up my mind about something I needed to tell her. I sat down next to the sleeping lump that was my daughter Chrissy. She didn’t stir at all.

I said to Mary Catherine, “I really need to go to Florida on a case. I think I can do it all in one day. But I want to make sure it’s okay with you.”

“Of course. I have all the help I could need here. But that day trip sounds taxing.”

“Not as taxing as being away from you guys.”

“When do you plan to go?”

“I’m going to look for a ticket right now. I’d like to go tomorrow morning.”

Mary Catherine patted my arm.

I threw in, “And I’m paying for it out of my own pocket.” She didn’t even ask me to explain. She trusted me and my judgment. That is the best kind of life partner.