When I returned to my office, there were two message slips from Ruth Fleming. I settled in at my desk and called her. I had no sooner identified myself when she said irritably, “I got a voice mail from a lawyer who wants to know why you’re harassing her family after she told you her brother doesn’t want the death benefit. Who is she and what’s going on here?”

“Isabel Trejo is Nick’s sister. She called me after I interviewed Nick and said Nick didn’t want the money so I could close my investigation.”

“If that’s true, then why haven’t you?”

“Ryan’s estate is going to claim the benefit.”

There was a pause. “Who’s representing the estate?”

“A lawyer named Randy Gifford.”

“Yeah, he called too. Didn’t say why. I still don’t understand why you haven’t closed the case. Do you have any evidence that Ryan’s death wasn’t an accident?”

“Nothing that would hold up in court.”

“What does that mean?” she demanded.

I filled her in on everything I had learned.

“Are you saying that Nick Trejo killed his boyfriend?”

“I’m saying the circumstances of Bill Ryan’s death are more complicated than they first appeared.”

“Too complicated for us,” she said. “If you really think there was a crime, we need to disclose to the police and let them take over. I don’t want you opening us up to a lawsuit from Trejo and his family for defamation or whatever other cause of action some lawyer can come up with. Let the police do the heavy lifting and we can hold back payment of the benefit until they figure out what happened. I want your report ASAP. And stay away from the Trejo family. You understand?”

“Perfectly,” I replied.

I was thinking this over when the phone rang. The receptionist had gone for the day, so I picked it up and said, “Law offices.”

There was a tentative, “Hi, I’m calling for Henry Rios.”

“Adam? This is Henry.”

“Hey Henry. I didn’t recognize your voice at first. Working late?”

“Something like that. How are you?”

“I’m okay. How was L.A.?”

“It was a lot of fun, actually. Beautiful weather, great people.”

“When are you moving?”

I laughed. “I’m not, though there are worse places to live. How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Family and then more family. And then too much food. And then more family.” After a moment, he said, “Too bad you weren’t here. I could have used a break from all those Chinese people.”

“I’m here now.”

Another pause. “You want to come over later?”

I looked out the window at the darkening sky, my stomach a knot of feelings, trying to find the will to say no.

“What time?”