Mr. Contreras patted my knee with one horny palm. “Your way of helping people ain’t the same as most people’s, Vic. Just because you’re not rushing around with flowers and a tub of soup don’t mean you’re not helping her.”

“Yeah, but she feels I should cooperate more with the police, and she’s right,” I muttered.

“Yeah, cooperate with them,” the old man jeered. “Ninety percent of the time they don’t listen to you. I was there when you talked to that black detective, what’s his name, Finchley, and I saw how he listened to you. Far as the cops are concerned, Mitch hit his head and fell in the canal. Mitch, who knew every inch of that waterfront! They sure don’t care that you was tailed for a week before those goons attacked your car and beat up the doc. I don’t see you’ve got any cause to go around blaming yourself, not for one minute, doll. You just pull yourself together and go do the work God made you fit for.”

He slapped my knee again for emphasis. I patted his hand and thanked him for the pep talk. The odd thing was, I really did feel better. I scribbled a few changes onto the ad copy, but left the gist of the message unchanged. I agreed with my neighbor that we would ask young Mitch to contact him, not me, in case he was involved in his father’s death—if he was, he might have heard my name from someone at Diamond Head.

“You want to do something else?” I asked, getting up to go. “Talk to some of the people on the block—Mrs. Hellstrom or Mrs. Tertz, maybe. See if you can find out whether Chrissie Pichea works for a living.”

Mr. Contreras assented eagerly, thrilled that I was finally considering him a full-fledged partner. He saw me to the door, talking enthusiastically until I was out of earshot.

My conversation with Lotty had made me uneasy about who might be dogging my steps. Or her steps. I wondered if we were all barking up the wrong tree—maybe she’d been attacked by relatives of a patient whom they thought she’d mistreated. I’d have to talk to Rawlings, see if he was pursuing that possibility. I certainly couldn’t mention it to Lotty, not unless I wanted the other side of the Trans Am stove in.