“The kid’s not with us six months and there’s trouble. An associate tells us he’s been roughing up whores, paying them with bruises. My uncle’s not happy but he thinks ‘Who knows how the kid was raised? He just needs to be set straight.’ So we set him straight. And it seemed to stop.”

Paul swung the axe, shaving a sliver off the next log.

“Seemed to stop…until the kid’s arrested for beating on a whore, and he’s not just using his fists anymore. Almost killed the girl. So my uncle’s furious, but still, the kid’s family, just needs help to make better choices.”

He swung again, taking off yet another slice.

“Kindling,” I said when he swore.

I picked up the pieces.

“You know what’s coming with this story, don’t you?” he said.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“We’re kicking ourselves for not seeing it. To a cop or shrink it’s probably obvious as hell. But us? We’re optimists. Always trying to see the good in people, their ability to change.”

I didn’t dare comment on that.

Paul continued. “So what happened, as you cops or shrinks might say, was your standard escalation of violence, and now we’ve got ourselves one dead whore and a kid who doesn’t seem to understand what he did wrong. After all, he says, she was only a whore.”

My hands tightened around the log I was holding.

“You and I both know it isn’t going to stop at one. My uncle, he knows that, too. He wants the matter resolved.” Paul put the axe down, headfirst, and leaned on the handle. “I’m thinking maybe you could help us with that.”

It’s a testament to my desperation that I even considered the offer. For all I knew, I was being set up. But at that point in my life, on the brink of losing everything, it was a chance I had to take.

When I finished, I drove for another five minutes before Evelyn reminded me that she now owed me an answer.

“I think I’ll save mine,” I said. “I don’t know what you can do, what you can teach me. When I find something, I’ll ask.”

“Professional knowledge?” She put her empty coffee cup in the holder. “Stop being so damned polite. When I offered information, I meant an exchange in kind. Personal for personal.”

“Something about you?”

“I suspect I don’t interest you that much. I’m an old woman whose sole importance is how I can help solve this case and what I can do for you professionally, and I don’t take any offense at that. But I’ll bet there’s someone you do want to know more about.” A small, unreadable smile. “Jack.”

I turned onto the off-ramp. “You’re offering me personal information on Jack?”