Ratcheting up her pitch on “not.”

“Ms. Flatt, your brother didn’t die alone. A woman was with him and we still haven’t identified her. If we knew who she was, it would speed up the investigation. I know this is a tough time for you, but if I could scan her photo and e-mail it to you, that would help.”

“Of course, do it,” said Ricki Flatt. “I’m sitting here and not moving. Not even to unpack.”

Ten minutes later: “Oh my God, that’s Doreen!”

“Doreen who?”

“What was her last name… Doreen… Fredd. Two d’s, I think. Though how I remember that I couldn’t tell you. She and Desi knew each other back in high school. When we lived in Seattle, that’s where Desi and I grew up. Her nose is different—smaller—but it’s definitely her.”

“Anything romantic between them?”

“They were more like friends, but I really can’t say. I’m three years older than Desi, didn’t get into his personal business.”

“Doreen Fredd.” Milo entered the name into the databases. “What else can you tell me about her, Ms. Flatt?”

“She and Desi used to go hiking together. They all did—a group of kids, they liked the outdoors. One time, I was already in college, visiting home for midsemester break, Desi and his hiking group came in and Doreen had poison ivy, or some bad rash. Our dad tended to her, he was firefighter with paramedic training—but you don’t care about that. You’re saying Desi was dating her in L.A.?”

“There appears to be a romantic connection.”

“Doreen,” she said. “And she’s also… my God.”

“Anything else you want to tell us, Ms. Flatt?”

“Not really.” Tight voice, for the third time.

“Nothing at all, ma’am?”

Silence.

“Ms. Flatt?”

“What happened to Desi, was it in any way political?”

Milo sat up. “Political, how?”

“Forget that, I’m not making sense. Do you need me to identify the body, Lieutenant?”

“No, ma’am, we know it’s your brother and verification can be made using photos, but I would like to talk to you some more—”

“I’ll come out,” she said. “To handle … arrangements. I’ve done it before. My parents. I never thought I’d be doing it for my baby brother—how did you connect Desi to me?”

“Phone messages, ma’am.”

“Oh. That must’ve been the times Desi called to talk to Sam—my daughter. If I can catch a flight, I’ll leave tonight, Lieutenant … I’ll have to make sure Scott’s okay with that … oh God, I’m going to have to explain to Sam. This is unreal.”

“Ms. Flatt, could you please clarify that remark about it being political?”

Silence.

“Ma’am?”

“Let’s talk in person, Lieutenant. I’ve got so many things to do.”