Mrs. Davies resumed stroking the cat on her right, settling herself.

“Can you tell us what happened to the Johnsons?” Phil asked.

Mrs. Davies shrugged. Her eyes were red rimmed. “Martha, Donnie’s mom, took up drinking. That’s what I heard. She wouldn’t see me after that, talk to me. I started staying in more, as it seemed to upset the neighbors when I showed my face. But that household . . . Donnie was their pride and joy. Bright young boy, especially gifted in science. His father used to brag that he might be a cop, but Donnie would one day be the director of a crime lab. I heard George shot himself. Parents weren’t meant to outlive their children, plain and simple.”

“Mrs. Davies,” I spoke up, “were you present when they searched Shana’s room?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember if they found any letters, any communication between Shana and Donnie? Maybe personal notes, love letters.”

Mrs. Davies made a funny face. “Shana and a twelve-year-old boy? I don’t think so. Frankly, the twenty-four-year-old dope dealer was much more her style.”

“Could she have simply befriended him? Taken him under her wing, like her relationship with Trevor?”

“I don’t know. She kept to herself, that one. But . . . maybe. I always thought there was more to Shana than met the eye. Which maybe simply proves I’m naive after all.”

“What about the Sgarzis?” D.D. asked. “Sounds like Donnie’s murder was hard for them, too.”

“Sure, Janet and Martha, the two sisters, had always been close. I heard Janet stayed over for long periods afterward, as Martha took up trying to drown her sorrows. Couldn’t have been great for Janet’s own marriage or family. Unfortunately, it didn’t save Martha either, who drank herself to death sooner versus later.”

“Meaning Janet Sgarzi lost her nephew, then her sister, then her brother-in-law,” D.D. filled in quietly. “What about Janet’s husband, Mr. Sgarzi?”

“I don’t know much about the husband,” Mrs. Davies said. “Being a fireman, he kept odd hours. But, now, Charlie, their son, he got himself in some trouble in the years that followed. I don’t know if it was the shock of his cousin being killed like that, or his mother disappearing to tend her sister, but he got involved in petty theft, vandalism, that kind of thing. His parents finally arranged for him to get away. New York, maybe. Must have worked; last I heard, Janet was bragging about him becoming a reporter, making something out of himself. I think he’s back these days, taking care of Janet. Her health isn’t good, you know. Cancer. Bad, I’m afraid.”

We all nodded, realizing belatedly that Mrs. Davies hadn’t heard of Janet Sgarzi’s murder. Maybe she didn’t know anything about the Rose Killer at all. It seemed kinder to leave things that way.