I called Damian on my way home. Whatever his motives, there was no one else I could turn to, and as I expected, he was eager to help. If he was shocked at my theft of Joanie’s trash bags, he didn’t show it, just got straight down to examining their contents, looking for anything that might lead us to Julia’s investigation into Kara’s killer. An hour and a half in, and we’ve still found nothing. It’s painstaking work—after a dry, sunny start, it has turned into one of those horrid overcast, humid summer days, and we’re both filthy and sweating. Damian takes a break for a cigarette. It’s the second he’s smoked since he got here. I’m surprised. Since giving up the vice herself, Julia was vehemently anti-smoking. None of her previous boyfriends would have dared light up in her presence. I point this out to Damian. He grins and tells me they argued about it. I get the impression Damian won the argument, and that Julia loved him standing up to her. A welcome breeze dances across our faces as we talk, sharing our reminiscences.
