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either lying or mistaken.”
    â€œThe witness has no reason to lie.” Even as she said it, Fine spotted Lila, visitor’s badge clipped to the strap of her dress, walking into the squad room. “Excuse me a minute.”
    She rose, headed Lila off. “Ms. Emerson. Did you remember something else?”
    â€œNo, sorry. I can’t get it out of my head. I keep seeing her falling. Keep seeing her begging before he— Sorry. I needed to get out, and I thought I’d come in just to see if you’ve finished . . . closed it. If you know for certain what happened.”
    â€œIt’s still an open investigation. We’re waiting on some reports, conducting other interviews. It takes a little time.”
    â€œI know. I’m sorry. Will you tell me when it’s done?”
    â€œI’ll take care of that. You’ve been helpful.”
    â€œAnd now I’m in the way. I should go, get back. You’re busy.” She scanned the room. Desks, phones, computers, stacks of files and a handful of men and women working.
    And a man in a black T-shirt and jeans carefully sliding a watch into a padded bag.
    â€œEveryone’s busy.”
    â€œWe appreciate the help.” Fine waited until Lila started out, then walked back to her desk and Ash.
    â€œLook, I’ve told you everything I can think of,” he began, and got to his feet. “Gone over it a couple times now. I need to contact his mother, my family. I need a little time to deal with this.”
    â€œI understand. We may need to talk to you again, and we’ll contact you when it’s clear for you to enter the apartment. I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Archer.”
    He only nodded, walked out.
    And immediately scanned for the brunette in the thin summer dress. He caught a glimpse—grass green skirt, long, straight tail of hair the color of a strong mocha—as she took the stairs down.
    He hadn’t caught much of her conversation with the girl cop, but enough to be fairly certain she’d seen something that had to do with Oliver’s death.
    Though the stairs were nearly as busy as the hallways, the squad room, he caught up with her, touched her arm.
    â€œExcuse me, Miss . . . Sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name up there.”
    â€œOh. Lila. Lila Emerson.”
    â€œRight. I’d like to talk to you if you’ve got a few minutes.”
    â€œOkay. You’re working with Detectives Fine and Waterstone?”
    â€œIn a way.”
    On the main level, with cops coming and going, with visitors working their way through security, she unpinned her badge, set it on the sergeant’s counter. After the briefest hesitation, he took his own out of his pocket, did the same.
    â€œI’m Oliver’s brother.”
    â€œOliver?” It took her a moment, which told him she hadn’t known Oliver personally. Then her eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
    â€œThanks. If you’d talk to me about this, it might—”
    â€œI’m not sure I should, that I’m supposed to.” She looked around, gauged her ground. Then looked back into his face, into the grief. “I don’t know.”
    â€œA cup of coffee. Let me buy you a cup of coffee. Public place. There’s got to be a coffee shop around here, and it’s probably full of cops. Please.”
    He had eyes like Thomas’s—sharp and green—but she could see sadness in them. Sharp features, too, she thought, as if someone had carved them out with a keen and clever blade. The stubble gave him an intriguingly dangerous look, but the eyes . . .
    He’d just lost his brother, and more, his brother had taken two lives. Death alone was hard enough, but murder, and suicide, had to be brutal on the family left behind.
    â€œSure. There’s a place just across the street.”
    â€œThanks. Ash,” he said, holding out his hand.