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Mort flashed their badges and asked to speak to Angelo, Jr. She stepped aside, told them to wait in the entry, and scurried down the slate hall.
    “Look at this place, Mort.” Jim spun around and took it all in. “This damned entrance’s bigger than my apartment. I bet Micki would love this.”
    Mort didn’t respond. He kept his focus on the man walking toward them in the green velvet jogging suit. The man’s smile was ice and his eyes were steel.
    “Detective Grant.” The man nodded toward Mort. “Inspector DeVilla” He tipped his chin to Jimmy and looked down to Bruiser. “I’m unaccustomed to having animals in my home.”
    “We’re here to see your son.” Mort kept his voice even.
    Angelo Satanell crossed bony arms across his narrow chest. “In regards to what?”
    “Just get him,” Mort said. “He’s pushing thirty, Angelo. He can speak for himself.”
    Angelo held Mort’s gaze. Mort imagined him considering his legal options. The few he had disappeared when Junior trotted down the stairs. Six feet tall, one-sixty, wearing a bulky sweater over a pair of loose khaki shorts. Leather deck shoes with no socks. Mort thought the skinny, greasy-haired punk offered a poor imitation of the Prince of Darkness.
    Junior smiled a slimy grin. “Why, it’s Officer Krupsky and Detective Tweedle Dee. Look, Dad, they brought their little puppy.”
    “Shut up, Angie,” Angelo, Sr. barked. “Say nothing.”
    Junior’s grin left his face for a millisecond. “Is it that time of year, officers? Time to buy tickets to the policemen’s big ball? Let me get my wallet.”
    “I said shut the fuck up, Angie.” Angelo’s tone wiped the smirk off his son’s face.
    Mort stepped toward the son of the most successful defense attorney in Washington State. “Where were you last night, Angie?”
    “If this is in relation to a criminal investigation I’m going to stop your questions right now.” Angelo, Sr. shot his son a commanding look. “If you’ve got a warrant for his arrest, let’s see it. If you don’t, leave.”
    Mort took a second step toward the son. “Beating up girlfriends not enough for you anymore? You killing them now?”
    Angelo, Sr. turned toward Jimmy. Bruiser’s guttural growl stopped him mid-step.
    “I want you two out of my house immediately.” The brilliant lawyer’s face turned crimson. “And take your damned beast with you.”
    “We’ll leave.” Mort smiled at Angelo, Sr. “This time you can’t help him.” He turned toward the visibly shaken son. “You got spooked, Satan. You may have tried to hide her body, but you ran away too fast. You forgot to clean up.” Mort put his nose one inch from Junior’s. “This time we got DNA. Eye witnesses, too. Daddy can’t help you now.”
    “I’m calling the Chief.” Angelo, Sr. pulled out his cell while Angelo, Jr. ran up the stairs.
    Mort and Jimmy walked out the front door. Bruiser followed. Jimmy pulled away from the curb once his dog was settled in the back.
    “Well, that was fun,” Jimmy said.
    Mort flashed on the dead cellist behind the dumpster. His mind bounced to the last time he saw his daughter. He looked out the window to the warm glow of the October afternoon.
    “You have no idea, buddy.”
     
    At eight-seventeen that evening Mort threw his cell phone across his kitchen. It hit the wall beside the refrigerator and shattered onto the linoleum. Jim had called. The evidence from the dumpster crime scene had gone missing. Mort wasn’t surprised when Jim told him his two eye witnesses, Meaghan’s best buddies Mike and Richard, had recanted their statements. Any further questions were to be directed to their attorneys.
     
     

Chapter Six
    Meredith Thornton looked out the cathedral window of her inner office, watched the undergrads shuffle to class, and let her mind wander back thirty years to another campus washed in autumnal gold. She smiled at the memory of Tim Jeffrey crossing the quad on his long legs, wearing those