“I’m not totally opposed to stepping in,” I said, “but I think there’s a larger problem here. Marlinchen is pursuing guardianship of her younger siblings and conservatorship of her father, at the same time. Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

Lorraine bit her lip. It was the judge who spoke. “Detective Pribek,” he said, “the family is still the sacred and essential unit in American life. Before we in the judicial branch split one up, we need to have damn good reason. If there were other relatives, even a close friend of the family, who could step in here, I’d go that route. But there isn’t. In this situation, I feel that this is the best I can do for the family.”

“What is it I’d be doing?” I asked, yielding.

“Just keep an eye on them,” Lorraine said. “Ensure that the laundry is getting done and they’re not having cold cereal every night for dinner. You certainly don’t need to be living with them, but spend some time out there.” She paused. “I should also mention that you get a stipend for this.”

“But it won’t be a factor in your retirement planning,” Judge Henderson added dryly, and I surprised myself by laughing with him.

“So,” Lorraine said, “are you willing?”

What they were asking was far afield of the work I did for Hennepin County. I had no children; I hadn’t even grown up with younger siblings. But I realized something: it was too late to say I wasn’t involved. Our last meeting notwithstanding, I liked Marlinchen Hennessy. And if I spent more time with her, I might be able to finish what I’d started: locating Aidan Hennessy.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

They hadn’t told me, but Marlinchen Hennessy had been in another room all the while. After I’d agreed to supervise the Hennessy kids, Lorraine had brought her in and explained the situation to her. Marlinchen, not surprisingly, had assented.

We’d gone back downstairs in the elevator together, where I’d told her that after I was done with work, I’d drive her home, and we’d explain the situation to her brothers. Marlinchen had nodded, quickly agreeable, otherwise quiet. I’d left her at a small table in the second-story plaza of the Pillsbury Center, drinking a Coke and doing homework.

Clearly, I thought on my way back to work, Marlinchen still saw me as an authority figure. If I was going to spend the next few weeks looking in regularly on her and her brothers, I at least wanted her to loosen up a little.

What I needed was to spend some time with Marlinchen in which I wasn’t probing into uncomfortable family affairs, time in which neither of us brought up Hugh, or Aidan, or family finances, or jurisdictional lines. What we needed was to do something totally different. Something fun.

When I got to the detective division, I told Van Noord I was going to leave a little early.

“We’re going to get arrested,” Marlinchen said flatly.

At six, the day’s light was just starting to mellow. Marlinchen and I were on a county road outside the Cities, near the St. Croix River. I’d pulled the Nova over to the side so she and I could switch places.

Marlinchen had been fine a little earlier, when, in an empty church parking lot, I’d taught her the basics of driving. She’d made a 15-mile-per-hour circuit around the pavement, braking, learning to reverse. “This isn’t that hard,” she’d said, pleasure growing along with confidence.

Now it was a different story.

“Do I have to do this on a highway?” she said, her voice taking on a wheedling quality. “Shouldn’t I start out on a 25-mile-per-hour street somewhere?”

“Those kinds of streets have cross traffic, four-way intersections, and kids on wobbly bikes,” I told her. “Here you’ve got nothing but clear, straight road.”

A flatbed truck roared past us at 75 miles per hour. Seeing that, Marlinchen eyed me reproachfully.

“You’re running a household without even being able to drive to the store,” I said. It was an argument I’d made earlier, when I’d first suggested a driving lesson to her. “You need to learn this.”

“What if I’m not going fast enough for the traffic?” she asked.

“They’ll pass,” I said. “Country drivers love to pass; it breaks up the monotony.” To forestall any further argument, I got out of the car. Halfway around the front fender, I saw Marlinchen reluctantly climb out as well.

“With great effort,” I said dryly, when we’d traded places, “unwrap one of your hands and put down the parking brake, like you did before. Good. Now, with your foot on the brake, put the car in drive. Your right foot. Do not drive two-footed.”

Marlinchen pulled to the shoulder and stopped there, looking around. A few seconds passed, then a few more. There wasn’t a single vehicle in either direction. I didn’t know what she was looking for.

Was I pushing her too hard? I’d wanted her to loosen up for once, and do something fun, but Marlinchen didn’t seem to be enjoying herself at all.

“We’re the only car in sight,” I pointed out. “Conditions are not going to get any better.”

Marlinchen took her foot off the brake and pulled onto the road. The speedometer needle rose with painful slowness to 30. Then to 35. Finally to 45.

I said, “The speed limit’s 55.”

“I know,” Marlinchen said.

“Which means much of the traffic is going 65,” I explained. “Speed up.”

The engine noise pitched upward, and the speedometer needle began to creep forward again. When it got to 60, Marlinchen looked visibly relieved at being able to ease up on the accelerator.

“Feeling okay?” I said.

“Yes,” she said, sounding surprised. Her hands relaxed on the wheel. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“No destination,” I said. “This road runs a long way. Just get comfortable with driving.”

In the right-side mirror, a vehicle appeared. It looked the size of a fly, but that was changing fast. The fly resolved into a big Ford pickup, gaining on us fast.

“Look in your rearview mirror,” I said.

She did. Instantly, her hands tensed on the wheel again.

“No problem,” I assured her. “He’s going to pass us.”

“What do I need to do?” Marlinchen asked me.

“Nothing. He’ll do it all. Watch what he does.”

The truck caught up with us and tailgated for about twenty seconds. Marlinchen looked in the mirror at him for about nineteen of those seconds.

“Don’t spend all your time looking at him,” I said. “Be looking ahead. That’s where you’re going.”

The truck, having asked us to speed up and getting no response, dropped back a polite distance. Then its big black nose dipped slightly out toward the center line, looking ahead, where there was no oncoming traffic in sight, just broken yellow lines. The driver swung out easily into the opposing lane, sped past us at about 90 mph, and cut back in.

“Wow,” Marlinchen said.

“See?” I said. “No big deal. If there was any opposing traffic, you might have wanted to ease off the accelerator a little, just to make sure he could get back in safely. Or, once he was ahead of you, you could flash your lights. That means you’re letting him cut back in.”

“There’s a code of conduct?” Marlinchen said. “Cool.”

We drove another ten minutes. Then a vehicle came into view ahead of us. A goldenrod machine, a tractor. We were gaining fast, and it was soon clear that the farmer was driving about 20 mph.

“Pass him,” I said.

“What?”

“Pass him. This guy’s crawling. We’ll be stuck behind him forever if you don’t.”

“I can’t,” she said.

“Yes you can. This car’s got some power. It’ll do it. But once you start, don’t try to pull out. Indecision gets people hurt.”

We fell in behind the tractor. I looked ahead to ensure there was no one coming.