Roger looked like if he could breathe the fire used in his kilns and turn Larkin to ash where he stood, he’d have done it. “I asked him one night, after we’d been out partying in the Village. He said some guy had made a pass, or was going to—I don’t remember the specifics, but it was in regard to Jessie. Andy was very protective of her. I think she was his only real friend. His family disowned him after he came out—he told me that. And honestly, I think his brothers used to beat the crap out of him. Probably doubled down on it when he came out.”

“So Andrew had a history of being abused,” Doyle repeated, “but was willing to stand up to a stranger to defend Jessica?”

Roger shrugged his big shoulders. “It wasn’t a stranger. He said it was his super’s brother… or cousin… something like that. He’d said it was some creep in his building he got real bad vibes from. They ended up in a scrap, which you can imagine Andy lost, with what his nose looked like. But I guess it explained why he’d always want to make sure Jessie got home safe. Or he’d call from my place to check on her, like they were married.”

“Why didn’t they just move?” Doyle asked.

Roger looked bemused. “The poor kid couldn’t afford a hospital bill to fix his busted nose. The last thing they had money for was security and first month’s rent for a new place. Like I said, Andy didn’t have any family to fall back on, and if memory serves me, Jessie I think only had a grandparent? They were on their own.”

Doyle pulled his buzzing phone from his pocket, looked at Larkin, and said, “Bosman.” He moved deeper into the workshop before answering with a smoky, “Hey, Bosman, did CSU find anything?”

Larkin studied Roger. The antipathy pouring off him, without Doyle there to act as a buffer, was palpable. “Tell me more about the man who attacked Andrew.”

“There’s nothing else to tell.”

“A brother or a cousin or something like that,” Larkin quoted. “Which is it.”

“How the hell should I know?” Roger snapped. “It was twenty years ago, and a one-time story a not-so-sober twink told me in between grinding up on my thigh to Bikini Kill.”

“You don’t remember the specifics of Andrew’s story, but you recall the name of a now-obscure feminist punk band from the riot grrrl movement of the ’90s playing in the club.”