“I’m investigating a claim made on a life insurance policy your client Bill Ryan took out with Western States.”

Surprise momentarily rippled his smooth countenance. “Really? Bill never mentioned an insurance policy.”

“He named Nick Trejo as the beneficiary.”

He nodded. “Yes, that makes sense. They were partners.”

“Boyfriends,” I said with a smile to let him know I was in the club.

“The things we’re forced to call ourselves.” He frowned. “Boyfriends, as if we’re teenagers, or lovers, as if it were only about sex, or partners, which makes it sound like we’re running an antique store together. It’s demeaning.”

“What should we call ourselves?”

“Spouse. Husband. Not that that day will ever come.” He smiled. “Sorry, let me climb off my soapbox. How can I help your investigation?”

“Actually, I’m here because I have information that would be of interest to the executor of Bill Ryan’s estate.”

“That would be me.”

“Nick Trejo declined the death benefit.”

Another surprised look. “He did? Why would he do that?”

“According to his family, he doesn’t want to profit from Ryan’s death.”

Gifford raised an eyebrow. “Too late for that. Bill left him almost his entire estate.”

“Really? Does Nick know?”

“He was sitting in your chair when Bill signed his will,” Gifford said. “I’ve been trying to reach him since Bill died but he seems to have disappeared.”

“He’s staying with his mother in Linwood. I have the address and a number.”

“That’s great. Will you give it to me? I really need to talk to him. I’ve been fending off Bill’s family and it’s getting ugly.”

“I understand they’ve laid claim to his apartment.”

He didn’t try to keep the anger out of his voice. “Those people. They swoop down like vultures to pick at Bill’s carcass after they threw him into the streets. I told their lawyer they better be ready for a fight because I will take them down.”

“My understanding is that Bill was estranged from them. How did they even find out about his death?”

“They were estranged from him,” Ryan replied. “Evidently, Bill never gave up hoping they would come around someday. He wrote to his mother about his career and he instructed his office manager—Doris something—to contact his parents in the event anything ever happened to him. She’s the one who notified the family.”

“And his parents were on the next plane,” I suggested.

“No, actually, a brother—Tom. He sat there and told me Bill owes the family for what he put them through.”

“What he put them through?”

“The shame of having a faggot brother,” Gifford answered. “The father lost his job, had a heart attack. The house got foreclosed on. Somehow, all of this was Bill’s fault. Lost in the recitation was how his father beat him up so badly he had to have his spleen removed.”