“You didn’t forget that I like it strong?” she said.

“Just slightly thinner than mud. I remember.”

Max concentrated on pouring the water into the coffeemaker, but she stood close enough that he could smell the faint aroma of coconut-scented shampoo. She reached up into a cupboard, retrieved a Tupperware bowl, and peeled the lid back to reveal several sticks of biscotti.

“Ah, my favorite,” Max said with genuine surprise.

“You got me hooked on them.”

“No one can say that I wasn’t a positive influence.”

The repartee came so naturally when they were together. It made him sad to know that he would soon be leaving her once again.

“Yeah, when I grow old I want to be just like you.” She walked away before the sting of that one could ease.

The St. Paul Police Department was housed in a building that had all the architectural charm of a brick box. Max had been there many times, coordinating cases that crossed jurisdictional boundaries. Niki had called ahead to set up today’s meeting, and while he knew some of the detectives, the woman that he and Niki were to meet with didn’t ring a bell. When Detective Macey Greene greeted them, Niki introduced Max as a consultant.

“Max Rupert?” Detective Greene gave him a closer look. “You used to work Homicide in Minneapolis, didn’t you?”

Max smiled. “Niki and I were partners.”

“I attended a lecture you gave on interviewing techniques back when I was a baby detective. I heard… well… there was a rumor going around that you… took a hiatus.”

“I retired.”

“Are you doing private-eye shit now?”

“Something like that.”

Macey led them to an interview room where a file lay on the table. “I don’t blame you. The hours. The pay. I hear it’s better in the private world.”

“And yet,” Niki said, “here he is. Some things just can’t get done without us.”

Macey laughed. “You tell it, sister.”

Macey opened the file. “I can’t say we have all that much on this one. Mrs. Molinar was sixty-two years old. Lived alone. Widowed. Her late husband left her pretty well off. She had investments worth a couple million bucks. Owned thirty-two units of apartments, had a healthy stock portfolio. She could have been living in a McMansion in White Bear Lake if she wanted, but she lived very modestly.”

“Robbery?” Niki asked.

“That’s how it looks. A neighbor found her door wide open on the morning of April fifth. Patrol officers did a welfare check and found Mrs. Molinar dead near the front entryway. She’d been strangled with a nylon stocking.”

“Any DNA on the stocking?” Niki asked.

“Just the victim’s. No suspicious fingerprints, but we found shoe prints in the mud outside the garage and on the floor of the garage. Men’s size-nine Adidas. We have the garage as the point of entry. It abuts an alley in the back. Beyond that is a park—nothing more than a patch of grass with some playground equipment. We think he might have waited in the park until he saw her leave. A glass pane in the side door of the garage was busted out.”