CHAPTER
THREE
Coming into spring, I’d hoped Trina and I might have a renewal of sorts. I’d suggested biking trips and a weekend junket to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, neither of which had happened.
I’d been married and divorced. Following which, I’d bounced around in what a friend of mine referred to as a Post-Divorce Fornication Frenzy until, ignoring office protocol, I’d managed to get the name of the new intake clerk over at Central Command in Waukegan. Katrina Sophia Wilkerson, or Trina, as she was known to her friends. Trina’s stunning good looks are the product of her mother, a classic Russian beauty and her father, a dead ringer for Sidney Poitier. In 1975, after scaling the Berlin Wall in a hail of bullets and spotlights, her mother, Tatiana, was debriefed by Lieutenant Donald Wi
