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Robbie had been quite helpful by remembering Joan’s name. Her old name, pre-marriage name, was Olson. Robbie had asked Joan if she was going to take her husband’s name, Stevens, and she did. Unfortunately, Robbie had not kept in touch with Joan. He did not have an address or phone number.

Carvelli used his connections with the Chicago PD to come up with an address. In fact, there had been two calls to the CPD to that address for domestic disturbances. No arrests were made and the information about the calls was minimal.

Using his rental car’s GPS, Carvelli had little trouble finding the address. It was in a fourplex less than a mile from the campus of Northwestern. Hoping to catch Joan at home, Carvelli found the place then decided to come back at dinner time.

At precisely 6:00 P.M. Carvelli rang the buzzer for their apartment. A few seconds later a semi-male voice answered him.

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“My name is Tony Carvelli. I’m an investigator working for a former client of hers.”

“The mass murderer in Minnesota? Joan is not here and she wants nothing to do with this. Go back to Minnesota,” the voice said, presumably Joan’s husband, Paul.

“Wow. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?” Carvelli said.

“Go away. I don’t know when she’ll be home and she wants nothing to do with this. Get lost, asshole.”

At that moment, the door from outside opened and a woman walked into the entryway. Robbie had a picture of himself and Joan he gave to Carvelli. The woman was Joan Stevens.

“Excuse me,” Carvelli said to her. He opened his ID case and showed her his license then said, “You look exactly as Robbie described you, Joan.”

A tad startled, Joan took a moment then said, “You’re here for Robbie? ”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m a private investigator. I’m working for the lawyer who represents her. If you’d like to call Robbie yourself to verify it, please do. I have her number.”

“Um, okay, let’s go somewhere and talk. There’s a place down on Sherman Avenue. But I will call Robbie,” Joan said.

They got an almost private booth in the restaurant. While Joan made the call to Robbie, Carvelli looked at a menu.

“Okay, yeah, he’s right here,” Carvelli heard Joan say then hand him her phone.

“Found her,” Carvelli said. “She seems like a nice lady.”

“She’ll talk to you now. Thanks, Tony,” Robbie said.

Carvelli gave Joan her phone back and waited for her to say something.

“Do you know, Mr. Carvelli…”

“Tony, please.”

“Okay, Tony. Do you know I’m working on a PhD in psychology? That I want to specialize in trans kids and adults who are considering it?”

“No, I didn’t know that. You hungry? I’ll buy,” Carvelli said.

“Do you like meatloaf?”

“I, ah, normally stay away from restaurant meatloaf. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

“Me too,” Joan laughed. “Except here. It’s really good.”

When the waitress left, a pretty college girl, they went back to their conversation.

“You want to know if I think Robbie could have done these killings, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Carvelli said. The way she said it made him leery of the answer.

“Yes, absolutely no doubt she is capable of this. And, I know that’s not the answer you wanted. But then, anyone who was treated the way she was is capable of it. I’m surprised there hasn’t been an epidemic of these types of murders. There has been an awful lot of kids pushed into this who were merely confused teens. Or, like Robbie, for lack of a better way of putting it, socially impaired. Children who have trouble making friends. Fitting in with other kids their age. Maybe bullied or, like Robbie, have a dominant mother who wanted a daughter. Robbie told me that one.”

“Then the question becomes, do you think he did it?” Carvelli asked.

“I’ve thought about that, we get the news about this at the same time you do. I have to admit, I’m biased. I like Robbie. Before all this I bet he was a sweet young boy. A likeable, shy kid who did well in school, but not in sports. I’m sure you know how important that is, especially to young boys.

“It is,” Carvelli agreed.

“Do I think he did it? I’d say no, but I’m biased.”

“Would you be willing to come back to Minnesota and meet with his lawyer, Marc Kadella? Maybe testify?”

“Yes, but I can do you one better. I’ve talked to my PhD mentor, Professor Camille Bethany. She said she would volunteer if Kadella can cover her expenses.”

Their meals came and Carvelli, having not eaten since breakfast, almost made sparks fly wolfing it down. At one point Joan had to stifle a laugh watching him.

“I told you the meatloaf was good,” she said.

“Was it? I was so hungry I’m not sure I noticed.”

Joan took out her phone and dialed a number.

“Remember that trial in Minnesota I talked to you about?” Joan said when the call was answered.

“Yes, sure,” Camille said.

“I’m having dinner with a hot private investigator who works for Robbie’s lawyer. I told him about you. He wants to meet you.”

“Yeah? How hot?” she asked.

“He’s got a touch of that tough guy, bad boy look women go after,” Joan said while winking at Carvelli.

“Bad boy, huh? Can’t tonight. I’ll be in the office tomorrow morning after ten. Bring him around.”

Joan covered her phone and said, “Ten tomorrow morning?”

“Done,” Carvelli said.

“See you then,” Joan said to the professor.

“Were you planning on spending the night or flying back?” Joan asked .

“I’ll stay. I need a room.”

“There’s a Hilton nearby. Pick me up at nine forty-five tomorrow,” Joan said.

“What’s your husband gonna say about having dinner with me?”

“I don’t care,” Joan said. “Know a good lawyer here in Chicago?”

“Yeah, but she works for the government,” Carvelli said.

“Let me tell you something,” Joan said. “I didn’t realize it before but there is nothing normal about this life. Paul has the body of a man but still has all of the characteristics of today’s entitled feminist woman. Just below the surface is the bitch. And she pops out in a flash.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort, let me tell you something. I was a cop for twenty years and saw enough to know, there’s no such thing as normal.”

“I haven’t mentioned this to anyone except Camille, Professor Bethany. Before I mentored Robbie, I mentored four other trans girls. Of the four, two grew up to regret it, hate it actually.”

She paused here and looked away. Carvelli silently watched her and could see tears forming in her eyes. Joan drew in a deep breath to steady herself then looked back at Carvelli.

“One of the two, I won’t tell you her name,” Joan said.

“Okay,” Carvelli replied.

“One of them committed suicide.”

Once again, Joan paused. She looked down at the table top, sobbed then wiped the tears away with a napkin.

“If it’s too painful…”

“No, I want to tell you. She was home alone; her parents were gone for the weekend.

“She called me and told me she had taken a lot of pills. I drove as fast as I could and called 911 on the way.

“I got there a few minutes ahead of the EMTs. I found her on the living room floor.

“I tried to get her up, get her moving. Too late. I was sitting on the floor, her head in my lap. She was done breathing, looked up at me and died. I’ll never get over it. ”

Carvelli reached across the table and took Joan’s right hand. Once again, she sobbed and wiped away the tears.

Carvelli settled into his room at the Hilton. He called Marc to bring him up to date. After that, he flopped on the bed to watch the TV. Around nine o’clock, just as Carvelli was falling asleep, his phone rang and startled him awake.

Carvelli looked at the I.D. While it continued to play the song Rock and Roll by Led Zeppelin, his ringtone, he decided to answer it.

“Hi,” he said as politely as he could.

“Hi, please don’t hang up,” he heard a familiar voice.

“I won’t. You okay?”

“No, I’m sorry and ready to beg,” Paxton O’Rourke said. “I did something stupid and I’m looking for forgiveness.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. Your friend, the cheating judge, was not only cheating on his wife with you, but he was cheating on you with somebody else.”

“You are wise in the ways of cheating men,” Paxton said. “Are you home?”

“Actually, I’m in Chicago,” Carvelli said.

What!?”

“Business. It’s a long story.”

“Is it possible…?”

Carvelli paused while thinking over the question. “Yes, it’s possible.”

“Can I see you tonight?”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea plus I don’t have time. I’m going home tomorrow. I’m not angry, but I need some time,” Carvelli replied.

All the while he was on the phone with the woman who recently stabbed his heart, Carvelli held two thoughts. What is wrong with me? There’s no shortage of women. And, almost on the tip of his togue was the question he wanted to ask but did not want to know. Did you sleep with him?

“I’ll think about it, Paxton. Okay?”

“Sure, I’m very sorry. If nothing else I want you to know that.”

“Good night,” Carvelli said .

“Bye. I still love you,” Paxton said just a bit too late. Carvelli had ended the call.

Carvelli held his phone in his hand and while looking at it, said out loud, “I still miss you.”

Unknown to Carvelli, but he could have guessed it, Paxton’s next call was to a good friend. She needed Maddy Rivers on her side to try to fix this.

At precisely 9:45 A.M. the next day he parked his rental Hyundai SUV in front of Joan’s house. She was looking out the window and was in the car in seconds.

“Paul’s home,” she said. “One question after another. Where you going?” What are you doing? Who is this guy? When will you be back? I’m telling you, Tony, how do men put up with it?”

“Not all women, wait a minute, she’s now a man,” Carvelli said looking at her.

“It gets confusing,” Joan said with laughter. “I called Camille. She’s anxious to talk to you. And, she’s willing to fly to Minnesota, meet with your lawyer and even testify. She’ll do it pro bono and even pay her own expenses, if necessary.”

“He can probably find out if he wants her to testify by calling her. We’ll ask for a copy of her curriculum vitae and yours,” Carvelli said. “Let’s go see your mentor. I’ve got a plane to catch.”