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it?”
    She smoothed the front of her pearl gray silk blouse.
    â€œRemains to be seen. So, if the police think your brother is guilty, why do you believe otherwise?”
    â€œOwnership of a warehouse is not de facto evidence of murder. And it’s the only thing they have that links him to the crime.”
    She considered that for a moment.
    â€œIs he a good man?” she finally said.
    â€œYes, though not without faults.”
    She looked out at the patio. A bird with a dark body and gray belly snacked at a feeder.
    â€œOur faults too often define us,” she said, with a resigned shake of her head. “What can I tell you that I haven’t shared with the detectives?”
    â€œSometimes a second telling provides more information. Let’s talk about Martin.”
    Her fingers toyed with a tiny gold crucifix that hung from a thin chain around her neck.
    â€œHis death was the most dramatic event of his life.”
    She caught the surprise in my eyes.
    â€œNot what you expected from the grieving widow, was it?”
    Not by a long shot.
    â€œWell, Mr. Steeg, you were honest with me. I’m returning the favor. If your brother is truly innocent, his conviction would be the only sad outcome of this mess.”
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œMy husband was an unusual man. And not in a good way.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œExcept for the Little League team his agency sponsored, Martin was a man of negligible passion, fewer interests, and no friends.”
    â€œEven you?”
    â€œEspecially me.”
    She took a healthy shot of Cristal and smacked her lips. “The man was barely socialized. In or out of bed.”
    â€œDid you mention this to the detectives?”
    â€œThey never asked. Look, our marriage was like two ships passing in the night. Martin had his life, and I had mine. Connections were few and far between.”
    â€œAny children?”
    â€œFortunately, no.”
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    She didn’t answer. Instead, her gaze wandered back out to the terrace. The bird was gone.
    â€œWere there other women?”
    A faintly bitter smile played on her lips.
    She got up from the sofa. “I’m very tired, Mr. Steeg,” she said. “I hope you got what you came for.”
    I sensed I had something, but I wasn’t sure exactly what.

8
    N ick D’Amico sat at one end of the bar drinking coffee from a chipped mug. A woman sat at the other end of the bar working her way through eggs over easy and hash browns. She looked vaguely familiar.
    I sidled up to Nick and took a seat on a stool.
    â€œWhat’re the chances of getting something to eat?” I said
    â€œZip, unless you want to cook it yourself.”
    â€œWhat’s the problem?”
    â€œJulio, the stickup artist masquerading as my cook, got busted again.”
    â€œSo? It isn’t the first time. Call his brother.”
    â€œHe’s in the slam too. Something about playing fast and loose with an ice pick. Guy owed him some money and he got tired of waiting.”
    â€œAnyone else in the family knows how to work a griddle?”
    â€œThe better question is whether anyone else in the family knows how to work.”
    I jerked my chin in the direction of the woman at the end of the bar.
    â€œWhere’d she get her meal?”
    â€œI ordered in,” Nick said. “You want something, the deli is two doors up.”
    â€œWhy does she rate?”
    â€œAnother sad story in a neighborhood filled with them. Name’s Stella Tedesco. You probably know her daughter, Jenny Tyler.”
    â€œThe actress?”
    â€œThat’s the one. Mostly a bit player who got lucky. A featured role in a movie with Nicholson last year. Critics said she was great. I thought she sucked. But what do I know? Anyway, Stella has been supporting Jenny and her bum boyfriends for years. Ran through all her money. And now when the daughter is about to make it