I hit a coffee stand on the way home. Weirdly, a stiff double shot black espresso has a way of calming my nerves. I felt at loose ends. What are you supposed to do after you witness someone’s death?

With caffeine in my veins, I decided to go home. Maybe it would be on the news.

But the news had nothing. I puttered around all afternoon. Vacuumed, stared out the windows. Nuked a Lean Cuisine for dinner and ate it without even noticing what flavor it was.

After hell froze over, the ten o’clock news finally began. Still nothing. Weird.

Exhausted as much emotionally as physically from the day’s events, I hit the sack. I’ll drop by the station in the morning, I thought as the image on my film played non-stop on the back side of my eyelids. See what they found out on Ellis Island.

I called the station in the morning to tell Bragg I was coming.

The receptionist picked up after three rings. “Sorry,” she said after I explained why I was calling, “We don’t have an Officer Bragg at this station.”