I leave my Mustang in the back lot of the precinct in the exact spot where the cops parked it late last evening. Instead of heading home for what would turn out to be two or three hours of staring at the ceiling, I insist on riding along with Miller to my boss’s downtown townhouse.
As we speed along Central Avenue in the deep night towards the Lark Street arts district where Henrietta lives, I can’t help but feel like my entire body is levitating above a suddenly shifted reality. Who on God’s earth would ever want to harm a single hair on Henry’s body?
Sure, she could be loud, abrasive, and even insulting at times. She was the antithesis of political correctness, and I loved her for that. That was her larger than life personality. And her soul was just as large. Like all good people, s
