“Just once, sir. It was after work. Des and me were the last ones in the office. I was sweeping up and Des was drawing stuff on the computer. Our cars were parked in the lot out back and we walked out together.” Tapping the image with a finger. “She was there, standing next to his car. Waiting for him, he wasn’t surprised or anything.”

“Was he happy to see her?”

“He wasn’t happy or unhappy. Kind of … in the middle.”

Passant murmured, “Once upon a time …”

Sanfelice said, “I definitely saw her. I can tell you what she was wearing, sir. Tight jeans and a black tank top. She had a real good body. I remember thinking Des had himself a hot one.”

Glaring at Passant. As opposed to…

Passant huffed and slurped her drink.

I said, “Did Des address her by name?”

“Nope, they didn’t talk at all. He just kind of nodded at her and she nodded back.”

“Did they leave together?”

“I can’t say for sure. I drove off first and didn’t see.”

Sheryl Passant picked up the photo. “I wouldn’t call her hot.”

Milo said, “How long ago did this happen, Bettina?”

“I can’t tell you exactly when but it was way before GHC closed down, I’d guess two months, maybe a little longer, like two and a half.”

“Anything else you can tell us, Bettina?”

“No, sir.”

“Okay, thanks, you’ve been really helpful. If you think of anything else, here’s my card.”

“She won’t think of nothing, trust me,” said Passant. “And give me one of those, too.”

We watched them leave, Passant yammering as Sanfelice stomped ahead of her.

Milo said, “Blondie was nudging up against you pretty blatantly.”

“You have no idea,” I said.

“Serious footsies?”

“Beyond.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll send the department a bill for freelance decoy work. Did Passant have anything to add when you got her alone?”

“Nada, she’s an airhead. Though she did try to fool with my desert boots. If only she knew, huh? What about Sanfelice over by the john?”

“Please don’t tell Mom. Looks like Des was a creature of habit.”

“That Kill Me sign’s looking bigger and brighter. Okay, we’re outta here.”

“Italian?”

“You’re hungry?”

“I assumed you were.”

“Yeah, I could ingest, we could even stay here. Alternatively, we could go for the mixed antipasto, that headcheese with delicate but smoky overtones, the fried artichokes Roman-style, nice salad with thin-sliced Parmesan and pepperoncini and intensely cured black olives, the big, hot bowl of baked ziti with the bread crumbs sprinkled on top. If there’s still room, there’s always the double-cut veal chop with the Sicilian sauce, wedge of spumoni, triple espresso, pump in the caffeine.”

Sliding his bulk out of the booth. “Not that I’ve been thinking about it.”

Out in the parking lot, I said, “Nice lateral pass on the interview.”