“While I was there, I met a woman named Mavis Wembley—”

“Oh, that one,” said Bragen. “Old Fatso. Stuck her nose into everything, couldn’t shut her up. But she had nothing to say, either.”

“You don’t buy her story about Leonora’s brother?”

“Yeah, right. You want to work that, good luck, pal. Can’t believe she’s still alive. Big as a cow. Like that alien in Star Wars — Jabba the whatever. She used to summon me. Her word. ‘Detective Bragen, may I summon you for a little talk?’ You’re working a case, you can’t close off anything, so I’d get over to her place and she’d sit in her chair and try to pump me for information. But like I said, you’ve got to follow up on everything so I talked to the brother. He also had an alibi — working, some gay job — we’re talking featherlight here. Even more emotional than Jose… Castro, that’s what it was. Jose Castro, like Fidel.”

“So much for Ansell,” I said.

“Ansell?”

“That’s his name, according to the father’s obituary.”

“Guy I spoke to called himself Dale. And that’s what his mother called him, too, and I’d expect she’d know. She’s the one I got his number from in the first place. And don’t waste your time with her, she died a few months after Leonora. Cancer, the father was heart problems I think. Bad-luck family. Dale was taking care of her, he was at her place when I called.”

“Maybe Dale’s his nickname,” I said.

“Whatever. Guy fluttered over the phone. It was like talking to a girl. This is not the caliber person who could overpower two healthy women and do what was done to them. You want to lose your lunch, get hold of those autopsy photos.”

Over the phone. He’d never met Ansell “Dale” Bright in person, had no inkling of the man’s size and strength.

I said, “I see what you mean.”

“I put it all in the file, Doctor.”

“Where is the file?”

“Probably storage,” he said. “They moved everything a few years ago, lots of stuff managed to fall off the truck. Not my problem. Shouldn’t be yours, either. This is a dead one.”

Mavis Wembley hadn’t mentioned Jose Castro. I found her number in my notes.

It was nearly ten p.m. I bet on her being a night owl.

She picked up on the first ring. “Cutie! Have you solved anything?”

“Far from it. But I have learned that Leonora was married—”

“To Jose. You talked to Bragen, right? That fool fixed on Jose even before setting eyes on him because you-know-why.”

“Why?”

“Jose was a Mexican. There was lots of loose talk about it being a Mexican murder — all this gossip about drugs, gangs.”

“Any reason for that?”