“Opposite problem: too many prints. The Bureau’s pretty sure we’ve got Kevin’s on the top and bottom sashes, where you’d expect them if he opened the window, and his palm prints on the sill where he leaned out—but they won’t swear to it. There’s too many layers of other prints underneath; the details get lost.”

“Anything else I might want to know about?”

He shook his head. “Nothing that sticks out. Kevin’s prints showed up in a couple of other places—the hall door, the door of the room he fell from—but nowhere you wouldn’t expect. The whole house is covered in unknowns; the Bureau’s still running them. So far a few have popped up guys with minor records, but they’re all local fellas who could have been in there just messing about. Years ago, for all we know.”

“Nicely done,” I said. I squared off the edges of the files and stashed them in my case. “I won’t forget this. Now let’s hear you summarize Detective Kennedy’s theory of what happened.”

Stephen’s eyes followed my hands. “Tell me again how this is ethically OK.”

I said, “It’s ethically OK because it’s done and dusted, kid. Summarize.”

After a second his eyes came up to meet mine. He said, “I’m not sure how to talk to you about this case.”

The waitress smacked down my coffee and our sandwiches and flounced off to get ready for her close-up. We both ignored her. I said, “You mean because I’m connected to just about everyone and everything involved.”

“Yeah. That can’t be easy. I don’t want to go making it worse.”

And bedside manner, too. Give the kid five years and he’d be running the force. I said, “I appreciate your concern, Stephen. But what I need from you right now isn’t sensitivity, it’s objectivity. You need to pretend this case has nothing to do with me. I’m just an outsider who happened to wander in and needs briefing. Can you do that?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Fair enough.”

I settled back in my chair and pulled my plate towards me. “Wonderful. Hit me.”

Stephen took his time, which was good: drowned his sandwich in ketchup and mayo, rearranged his crisps, made sure he had his thoughts in order. Then he said, “OK. Detective Kennedy’s theory goes like this. Late on December fifteenth 1985, Francis Mackey and Rose Daly are planning to meet at the top of Faithful Place and elope together. Mackey’s brother Kevin gets wind of it—”

“How?” I didn’t see Imelda pouring her heart out to a fifteen-year-old kid.