I told her what I knew. White, male, Brampton, lots of dental work. “I need to get the X-rays to my odont ASAP.”

“No problemo. My assistant will scan and transmit them.”

“She’s working on a Sunday?”

“Let’s just say she’s keen.”

I gave her the envelope and Bergeron’s address at the LSJML. “Any word on Ruben?”

King shook her head.

“Did you talk to Snook?”

She was about to respond when the phone shrilled. She put the receiver to her ear. Listened. “What’s his name?” Cupping the mouthpiece, she spoke to me. “You know a Mr. Mind-Your-Own-Business?”

“It’s a kid named Binny.”

“Binny Twiller?”

“The young man did not share his full biographical profile.”

“Twiller’s outside and wants to talk to you.”

“Weird. I ran into him on the way in. Why does the name Twiller ring a bell for me?”

“Merilee Twiller.”

No cerebral “aha!”

“Castain’s girlfriend?”

Of course. Now it made sense.

“The kid claims word on the street puts Ruben outside the punch-up.”

“What is he, twelve?”

“Binny keeps his ear to the ground.”

“What’s he say about Castain and Scarborough?”

“Nothing.”

“Not surprising. Anyway, he won’t come in.”

“How about this? You deal with the X-rays, then phone Michelle Skipper. I’ll see what the kid has on his mind.”

Binny was doing his usual bike-straddle below a tamarack tree actually showing some green.

I walked over to him. Under the hat brim, his eyes were skittery. They landed on me a second, then moved on.

“Tell your cop friends to try Unka’s house.”

“They did. He’s not there.”

“Dig deeper.”

“Thank you, Binny.”

“You say you got anything from me, I’ll say you’re a pedophile.”

As before, he rocketed up the block, twig legs pumping the pedals like pistons.

I returned to King’s office. My envelope was gone from her desk. A few of her questions told me she was still talking to Michelle Skipper.

I dialed my iPhone.

“Ryan.”

“This may sound nuts. But remember the kid I was with on Friday?”

“Rosemary’s Baby?”

“He has access to inside information.”

“Meaning?”

“He’s Merilee Twiller’s son. And he listens. He just tipped me that Unka has gone to ground at his mother’s house.”

“Why take the risk of telling you that?”

“I’m charismatic.”

“Must be it.”

“And I gave him a muffin.”

“We checked Mama’s crib.”

“Binny said dig deeper.”

“Those were his words?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

I debated mentioning Binny’s warning that I watch my back. Decided to wait.

“Are you still at headquarters?” I asked.

“Yeah. One of Unka’s goons is going canary.”

“Why’s he talking?”

“The cops found a Sig Sauer tucked in his shorts. That violates his parole. Which means losing eight years of the beautiful life.”

“What’s he trading?”

“He says Scar owned Castain and Unka owned Scar.”