“I don't know how people get rid of the anger. I don't know if I'd want to in his place.”

“You gave him justice — earthly justice. From there he needed to find acceptance, and then the faith that Amaryllis is in the hands of God. Or, if not God, the belief that she, too, has moved on to the next phase.”

“If the next phase is so great, why do we work so hard to stay in this one? Why does death seem so useless and hurt so damn much? All those people, just going along, living their lives, until somebody decides to end it for them. We should be pissed off. The dead should be pissed off. Maybe they are, because sometimes they just won't let go.”

“Murder breaks both God's law and man's, and it requires — demands — punishment.”

“So I put them in a cage and the next stop is a fiery hell? Maybe. I don't know. But what about the murdered? Some of them are innocent, just living their lives. But others? Others are as bad, or nearly, as the one who ended them. In this phase, I have to treat them all the same, do the job, close the case. I can do that. I have to do that. But maybe I wonder, sometimes, if it's enough for the innocent, and for the ones — like Morris — who get left behind.”

“You've had a difficult week,” he murmured.

“And then some.”

“If closing cases was all that mattered to you, if it began and ended there, you would never have suggested your friend meet with me. You and I wouldn't be having this conversation. And you wouldn't, couldn't, maintain your passion for the work I believe you were born to do.”

“Sometimes I wish I could see, or feel . . . No, I wish I could know, even once, that it's enough.”

He reached out, touched her hand briefly. “Our work isn't the same, but some of the questions we ask ourselves are.”

She glanced at him. Out of the side window she caught the movement. For a moment it seemed the streets, the sidewalks, were empty. Except for the old woman who staggered, who lifted an already bloodied hand to her chest an instant before she tumbled off the curb and into the street.