Diane started to melt in sympathy. She couldn't help but like her, and her determination to make it through. She couldn't more than 20 or 22 years old. Looking at her face, she thought she saw something very familiar. The eyes.

"I'm Diane, Diane Russell," she came near the bed and held out her hand.

"Diane? You're the one...I mean he's just... Wow."

She smiled fully and shook Diane's hand. "Very delighted to meet you. I'm Grace Romani, Harry's niece."

Harry sat dejectedly in the back of the cab. He thought about heading over to Diane's place after leaving the precinct. For about five seconds, anyway. Now he was heading home and feeling more than a little sorry for himself. And when self pity began to descend, Harry's infamous sarcasm had the fuel it needed.

"Your navigational skills seem to be somewhat lacking for this profession," he grumbled from the back seat.

The driver turned back and gestured for emphasis. "I already told you. Either the wise cracks stop... or I do."

"No snappy repartee? No philosophical street wisdom to impart upon your curmudgeonly passenger with good will toward men, or women for that matter?"

"I'm tryin' to drive here. We've got eight more blocks. You think you could do me a favor and hold your breath that long?"

"If I could, I'd make a killing diving for pearls. As it is, I can't even climb a set of stairs."

"Then you don't want me tossing you out on your ass this far from home."

Harry crossed his arms and sat back, "Point taken," and remained quiet for the rest of the trip.

After paying his fare and watching the cab pull away a little too fast, he made his way to his door and shoved in the key.

To his surprise, Miguel did not greet him when he walked in. "Now my bird gives me the cold shoulder. Marvelous," he said to himself. Harry drop kicked his duffle bag onto the couch and began looking for his mail.

Just then he heard his parrot's unmistakable voice coming from the back bedroom, "Just the facts Ma'am," followed by howls of laughter. Women's laughter.