During the stakeout on LaSalle Street, she and I found that we could talk about almost anything. That’s what we did throughout the long hours. The topics ranged from funny cop stories, to investments, movies, Gothic architecture, politics, then on to more personal subjects like her father, who had run out on her when she was six. I told Jamilla that my mother and father had both died young from a lethal combination of alcoholism and lung cancer probably depression and hopelessness, too.
T worked for two years as a psychologist. Hung out a shingle,’ I told her. At the time, not too many people in my neighborhood in DC could afford treatment. I couldn’t afford to give it away. Most white people didn’t want to see a black shrink. So I took a job as a cop. Just temporary. I didn’t expect to like it, but once I started I got hooked. Bad.’
‘What hooked you about being a detective?’ she wanted to know.  She was a good listener, interested. ‘Do you remember an incident, any one thing in particular?’
‘As a matter of fact, I do. Two men had been shot down in Southeast, which is where I live in Washington, where I grew up. The deaths were written off as “drug-related”, which meant not much time would be spent investigating them. At the time, that was standard operating procedure in DC. Stil............