“All sorts of people show up, especially on nights when we do group exercises. The room’s dark and I certainly can’t be expected to remember every face. There is a sameness, you know.”

“Young and eager?”

“Young and oh-so hungry.”

“Could you take another look, ma’am?”

Dowd sighed, grabbed the photo, stared for a second. “I simply can’t say yes or no.”

Milo said, “Big crowds show up but you did know Michaela.”

“Michaela was a regular. Made sure to introduce herself to me.”

“Ambitious?”

“High level of hunger, I’ll give her that. Without serious want there’s no chance of reaching the bottom of the funnel.”

“What funnel is that?”

Dowd stopped, faltered again, regained her balance, and shaped a cone with her hands. “At the top are all the strivers. Most of them give up right away, which allows those who remain to sink down a little more.” Her hands dropped. “But there are still far too many and they bump against each other, collide, everyone hungry for the spout. Some tumble out, others get crushed.”

Milo said, “More room in the funnel for those with balls.”

Dowd looked up at him. “You’ve got a Charles Laughton thing going on. Ever think of performing?”

He smiled. “So who gets to the bottom of the funnel?”

“Those who are karmically destined.”

“For celebrity.”

“That’s not a disease, Lieutenant. Or should I call you Charles?”

“What’s not?”

“Celebrity,” said Dowd. “Anyone who makes it is a gifted winner. Even if it doesn’t last long. The funnel’s always shifting. Like a star on its axis.”

Stars didn’t have axes. I kept that nugget to myself.

Milo said, “Did Michaela have the potential to make it all the way to the spout?”

“As I said, I don’t want to diss the dead.”

“Did you get along with her, Ms. Dowd?”

Dowd squinted. Her eyes looked raw and inflamed. “That’s a strange question.”

“Maybe I’m missing something, ma’am, but you don’t seem too shaken up by her murder.”

Dowd exhaled. “Of course I’m sad. I see no reason to reveal myself to you. Now if you’ll let me complete my— ”

“In a sec, ma’am. When’s the last time you saw Dylan Meserve?”

“Saw him?”

“At the PlayHouse,” said Milo. “Or anywhere else.”

“Hmm,” said Dowd. “Hmm, the last time...a week or so? Ten days? He helps out from time to time.”

“Helps how?”

“Arranging chairs, that sort of thing. Now I need to get some cleansing exercise, Charles. All this talk has polluted the good air.”

She jogged away from us, moving fast, but with a choppy, knock-kneed stride. The quicker she ran, the more pronounced was her clumsiness. When she was half a block away, she began shadowboxing. Swung her head from side to side.

Clumsy but loose. Oblivious to any notion of imperfection.

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 14