The reporter’s arm froze right where he was already reaching into the stainless steel sink for the first glass.

“Evidence,” D.D. chimed in more directly.

Sgarzi returned his arm to his side. “She had a guest,” he said, and his voice sounded funny, almost confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Ma hasn’t eaten much in weeks. Side effects of the drugs, pain, who knows. I bring her dinner, she has a little breakfast, then one of those drinks for lunch. But two plates, two glasses. And these are her good plates. She brought them out for special occasions. You know, like a guest.”

“Charlie,” D.D. said quietly, “is it possible your mom knew who came to her door this afternoon? That’s why she let the person in?”

“I don’t know,” Sgarzi said, and his voice sounded dazed, far from his certainty of before.

“If she had a guest, what would she offer?” Phil asked.

“Fig Newtons. Tea and cookies, you know?” Sgarzi opened a cupboard, pulled out a yellow cellophane package. It appeared to have been freshly opened, with two cookies missing.

“Son of a bitch,” Charlie said again.

“We’re going to need a list of your mother’s friends and acquaintances,” Phil began.

“No, you don’t. My mother was dying of cancer. The people who knew her didn’t come here looking for cookies; they brought her food. This was a stranger guest, you know? The kind of person you’re still getting to know, putting your best foot forward, that kind of thing.” Sgarzi frowned down at the yellow package, as if the cookies could tell him something. “A friend of a friend would do it,” he murmured. “Someone who claimed to know me, or an old acquaintance returning to the neighborhood. Someone who knew Donnie,” he concluded abruptly. “Someone claiming to know something about Donnie.” He glanced at them. “She’d open her door for that person. Invite him in. Offer him refreshments on her nicest plates. She’d make an effort for someone who once knew Donnie. I’m telling you, Shana Day killed my mom. And you’re fucking idiots for not having stopped her sooner.”

D.D. didn’t bother with a reply. Lack of evidence to support his theory, due process, investigative 101—these were not topics that interested Charlie Sgarzi. What he really wanted was the one thing they’d never be able to give him—his mother back.

Phil got the man to return to the front parlor, while putting a crime scene tech to work fingerprinting the items in the sink, as well as everything else in the kitchen. Phil had just gotten Sgarzi started making a list of his mother’s friends and neighbors when Alex appeared.

He had a look on his face D.D. had never seen before; not just very grave but also deeply troubled. He made a gesture for her to follow him.