“I’d say … two years … hold on and I’ll tell you precisely … here it is, twenty-eight months ago. Charlie bitching that he needed a new car and Leona was refusing to pay for one. Why should she? He’s a lousy driver, no sense cracking up another one. But it wouldn’t have mattered if Leona had bought him a brand-new Rolls. Every time he gets what he wants, he comes back for more. As I said, he lives in a dream-state. Hearing about that murder probably got him fantasizing about being lord of the manor. Or he just wanted to prevent himself from feeling like an ass, so he twisted reality. Because Leona was right. Eight mil was a fair prize then, but the value of the lot has skyrocketed. If they sold today, they’d probably get twenty-five mil.”

“With a nice house on it.”

“Even without a house, Lieutenant, a parcel that size is highly desirable.”

“The folks they sold it to, DSD,” said Milo. “Tell me more about them.”

Silence.

“Mr.Rifkin?”

“I’m been forthright, Lieutenant, within the limitations of my professional standards.”

“Charlie’s fair game for discussion but DSD isn’t?”

“There’s an agreement.”

“Confidentiality.”

“Binding confidentiality.”

“Can you tell me why, Mr. Rifkin?”

“Certainly not, Lieutenant. That’s the point.”

“Everyone DSD has done business with seems to be held to secrecy.”

No reply.

“Mr. Rifkin, are we talking some big-time political types?”

Silence.

“Foreign intrigue, Mr. Rifkin?”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant.”

“A criminal investigation trumps a civil agreement, sir.”

“You’ve gone to law school, Lieutenant?”

Milo wiped his face. “Let’s shift gears for a moment, sir. Is there anything you think I should know about Charlie or anyone else as it relates to murder?”

“You think Charlie could’ve killed someone?”

“Two people were murdered.”

“May I ask how they were killed?”

“Gunshot and strangulation.”

“Well,” said Rifkin, “Charlie does own firearms but the ones I know about are antiques, inherited from Lan. Would he use them if he got angry enough? I suppose. His temper is nasty and he is unstable.”

“What about strangulation?”

“Doesn’t that take strength, Lieutenant?”

“Strength and persistence.”

“Then I doubt it. Charlie’s health is subpar. Liver, heart, prostate, diabetes, arthritis. Leona pays his medical bills and they’re extensive. And I have to be honest, he’s a blowhard but I’ve never actually known him to follow through on anything.”

“Is there anything about the sale to DSD that could conceivably link to murder?”

Rifkin said, “Good try, Lieutenant.”

Milo said, “All this hush-hush is making DSD look more and more suspicious.”

“Be that as it may, Lieutenant. Good luck with your murders.”

Doyle Bryczinski was on his third can of 7UP.

Milo sat down close, scooted closer. “Okay, Doyle, what’s the story?”

“About what?”

“Going back there with those bolt cutters.”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Bolt cutters and talk about crime and fire isn’t nothing.”