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out of the guy, too. He jumped up like someone’d stuck a hot poker up his behind and ran over to his car—it was parked on the street just outside the lot—and then he pulled outta there like greased lightning.” Her face had a smug expression now. “Still think he was trying to help?”
    I chose not to hear the question. “Let me ask you this. Do you have any idea if the killer could have managed to steal anything before you began to scream?”
    “Like I told the lieutenant here and that Sergeant Peterson, it’s possible, but I doubt it.” She shook her head in disgust. “My fault he got away. If I’d been thinking straight, I would’ve sicced Trevor on him, and that would’ve been that.”
    “You didn’t have time to do much thinking,” I reminded her.
    “I should have reacted quicker,” she insisted stubbornly.
    “Maybe it’s lucky you didn’t,” Lou observed. “The man had a gun. He might have wound up shooting Trevor. And maybe you, too.”
    But Lottie wasn’t buying this, either. “You don’t know Trevor.” There was pride in her voice.
    “I understand you phoned 9-1-1 from your cell phone,” I said then.
    “Correct. Never go out without it.”
    “Now, you told the police that you didn’t get a good look at the perpetrator. But is there anything you can tell us about him?”
    “Listen, I only saw him from the side and back. And he was pretty covered up.”
    “What do you mean, ‘covered up’?”
    “He had on this long, tannish coat. A raincoat, it was. Also one of those wide-brimmed rain hats. Probably wanted to hide his face.”
    “Was he tall or short? Thin or heavy?”
    “I don’t think he was too tall. And I’d say the build was average. But I may be wrong about those things. It was all so quick.”
    There were a couple of other matters I wanted to get straight. “According to your statement, the killer was holding an object in his hand. You weren’t certain it was a gun, though.”
    “Well, I saw him point something at Vincent, and a second after that Vincent was sprawled in the dirt, dead as yesterday.”
    “But you claim you didn’t actually hear any shots.”
    “The gun must have had a silencer.”
    “The perpetrator’s car—you’re sure it was a 1986 Toyota Camry?”
    “Sure I’m sure. Hedden Circle is well illuminated. And I noticed that it was exactly the same car my nephew Eric drives. Only tan. Eric’s is blue.”
    “A pity you didn’t get the license plate number,” I remarked casually.
    “I was across the street, you know,” Lottie retorted. “A little far away to read numbers unless you’re Superman. Especially with that old Camry flying by like it had wings.”
    “Yes, of course,” I mumbled, properly chastised. “One thing more. Had you ever met Frank Vincent?”
    “I had not. Though when the police told me the name, it did seem familiar.”
    Lou enlightened her. “You may have heard it or read it somewhere. Vincent was involved in politics.”
    “That must be it, then.”
    “Well, we’re about through here, I guess,” I said now. “If you think of anything else, you’ll give us a call, though, won’t you?”
    “I won’t think of anything else. I’ve already said all there is.”
    At this juncture I was about to get out of my chair—and then something occurred to me. “Uh, just one thing more.”
    “That rings a bell,” Lottie informed me expressionlessly.
    “Yes, I know,” I murmured. “But please bear with me another minute, okay?”
    She inhaled deeply, letting the air slowly out of her lungs. “Go ahead.”
    “You’re absolutely positive the perpetrator was a man?”
    “It was a man,” she replied firmly. A moment later, however, her voice was minus some of its conviction. “Of course it was a man.” A pause. “At least, that’s how it looked to me.”

Chapter 7
    Back in the car, Lou made a production of checking his watch. “It’s one-thirty-three,” he notified me, “which is past my feeding time. How