“Your parents, murdering the man she loved. After that, she wasn’t right for years. Years. And now you pop up in the news, upsetting her again. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?”

I could have pointed out the logical inconsistencies in that. Sometimes, though, it’s clear you aren’t dealing with a logical person. Or even a particularly bright one. So I let her rant and nudged Gabriel to silence when he seemed ready to jump in.

“She can speak to Mr. Walsh alone, then,” I said when she paused for breath.

“How’s that supposed to help? It still dredges up . . .” She continued talking.

I counted to three, then cut in with, “Gabriel? I’m going to let you handle this. I don’t want to cause trouble. I’ll wait in the car.”

As soon as I started down the stoop steps, he eased over, blocking Mrs. Seale’s view of me before resuming his requests to speak to Imogen.

I made certain the old woman’s attention was on Gabriel. Then I scooted between the house and a neighboring apartment. Ahead, a shadow scurried behind that next-door building. Imogen, making her escape. I jogged along the wall until I could peek around it.

A middle-aged, painfully thin woman with badly bleached hair stood midway between the apartment and the adjacent parking garage. Her gaze darted about, dark eyes too big for her gaunt face. She reminded me of a bird. Not a raven or an owl, but an undernourished sparrow that’s had one too many run-ins with the big guys. She was breathing hard, fluttering in place as she watched for trouble.

I evaluated my position. Five feet from a window in the Seale house. Ten from the back door. In other words, too close to where I could be spotted by a pissed-off momma bird. But Imogen just stood there, catching her breath after the short dash and watching her house, as if expecting us to come after her.

I picked up a fist-sized rock and sent it rolling her way. Hardly a sign of descending enemies, but Imogen was skittish enough to flee. I followed. Again she didn’t go far, stopping in the mouth of the parking garage.

I texted instructions to Gabriel. Then I settled in to wait. A few times Imogen peeked from her shadowy spot, as if contemplating a return to the nest, only to decide it was too soon.

When I got a text from Gabriel, I set out. I made it halfway to the garage before Imogen did one of her peek-checks. She saw me and retreated fast. I heard a shriek, and I burst into the garage as she was wheeling to run back out, a large shadow blocking her other escape options.

I lifted my hands. “We just want to speak to you.”