Jacalyn Vasquez, minus three kids and makeup and jewelry, looked even younger than when I’d seen her on Sunday. Streaked hair was tied back in a somber ponytail. She wore a loose white blouse, blue jeans, and sneakers. Florid acne played havoc with her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes had regressed into sooty sockets.

A tall honey-haired woman in her twenties held Vasquez’s arm. The blonde’s locks were long and silky. She wore a tight black suit that showcased a bikini figure. A ruby stud in her left nostril fought the suit’s conservative cut. The pretty hair and tight body sparred with a monkeyish face the camera would savage.

She surveyed the tiny space and frowned. “How’re we all going to fit in here?”

Milo smiled. “And you are?”

“Brittany Chamfer, Public Defender’s Office.”

“I thought Mr. Vasquez’s attorney was Kevin Shuldiner.”

“I’m a third-year law student,” said Brittany Chamfer. “Working with the Exoneration Project.” She amplified her frown. “This is like a closet.”

“Well,” said Milo, “one less body should help. Enjoy the fresh air, Ms. Chamfer. Come on in, Ms. Vasquez.”

“My instruction was to stay with Jackie.”

“My instruction is that you enjoy the fresh air.” He stood and the chair squeaked. Silencing it with one hand, he offered the seat to Jacalyn Vasquez. “Right here, ma’am.”

Brittany Chamfer said, “I’m supposed to stay.”

“You’re not an attorney and Ms. Vasquez hasn’t been charged with anything.”

“Still.”

Milo took one big step that brought him to the doorway. Brittany Chamfer had to step back to avoid collision, and the arm she’d used to support Jacalyn Vasquez pulled free.

Vasquez looked past me. The office could’ve been miles of glacier.

Brittany Chamfer said, “I’ll have to call the office.”

Milo ushered Vasquez in, closed the door.

By the time she sat down, Jacalyn Vasquez was crying.

* * *

Milo gave her a tissue. When her eyes dried, he said, “You have something to tell me, Ms. Vasquez?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What is it, ma’am?”

“Armando was protecting us.”

“Protecting the family?”

“Uh-huh.”

“From...”

“Him.”

“Mr. Peaty?”

“The pervert.”

“You knew Mr. Peaty to be a pervert?”

Nod.

“How did you know that?”

“Everyone said.”

“Everyone in the building.”

“Yeah.”

“Like Mrs. Stadlbraun.”

“Yeah.”

“Who else?”

“Everyone.”

“Can you give me some names?”

Eyes down. “Everyone.”

“Did Mr. Peaty ever do anything perverted that you know about personally?”

“He looked.”

“At...”

Jacalyn Vasquez poked her left breast. Milo said, “He looked at you.”

“A lot.”

“He ever touch you?”

Head shake.

“His looks made you feel uncomfortable.”

“Yeah.”

“You tell Armando?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t want to make him mad.”

“Armando has a temper.”

Silence.

“So Peaty looked at you,” said Milo. “You figure that made it okay for Armando to shoot him?”

“Also the calls. That’s what I’m here to tell you.”

Milo’s eyes narrowed. “What calls, ma’am?”