She pointed to an upstairs unit two doors down. “Over there, Unit Four. Three of them, they think they’re musicians. My husband tells me they’re punk rockers, I don’t know from such things.” She held her ears.

“Noise problem?” said Milo.

“There was before,” said Shayndie Winograd. “Everyone complained to the owner and it’s been okay...excuse me a second, I need to check on the babies, please come in.”

We cleared books from a brown corduroy couch. Leatherette-bound volumes gold-embossed with Hebrew titles.

Shayndie Winograd returned. “Still sleeping, boruch— thank God.”

“How many babies?” said Milo.

“Twins,” she said. “Seven months ago.”

“Mazel tov,” said Milo. “Three’s a lot to handle.”

Shayndie Winograd smiled. “Three would be easy. I’ve got six, five are school-age. Gershie Yoel should be in school but he was coughing this morning and I thought maybe he had a cold. Then, wouldn’t you know, he got miraculously better.”

Milo said, “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

Her smile widened. “Maybe I should have you talk to him about honesty...so is the problem the punk rockers?”

“This is about Ms. Brand, the tenant in Unit Three.”

“The model?” said Shayndie Winograd.

“She modeled?”

“I call her that because she looks like a model. Pretty, very skinny? What’s the problem?”

“Unfortunately, ma’am, she was murdered last night.”

Shayndie Winograd’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God— oh, no.” She reached back for an armchair, removed a toy truck, and sat down. “Who did it?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Mrs. Winograd.”

“Maybe her boyfriend?”

“Who’s that?”

“Another skinny one.”

Out of Milo’s attaché came Dylan Meserve’s book shot from the hoax.

Winograd glanced at the photo. “That’s him. He was arrested? He’s a criminal?”

“He and Ms. Brand were involved in a situation. It was in the papers.”

“We don’t read the papers. What kind of situation?”

Milo gave her a summary of the phony abduction.

She said, “Why would they do such a thing?”

“It seems to have been a publicity stunt.”

Shayndie Winograd’s stare was blank.

“To help their acting careers,” said Milo.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s hard to understand, ma’am. They thought the attention might help them get noticed in Hollywood. So why would you think Mr. Meserve would hurt Ms. Brand?”

“Sometimes they screamed at each other.”

“You heard it up here on the second floor?”

“It was loud.”

“What did they scream about?”

Shayndie Winograd shook her head. “I didn’t hear the words, just the noise.”

“Were these fights frequent?”

“Is he a bad person? Dangerous?”

“You’re not in any danger, ma’am. How often did he and Ms. Brand scream at each other?”

“I don’t know— he didn’t live here, he just came over.”

“How often?”

“Once in a while.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

She thought. “Weeks.”