“Every year or so, they wheel in for a tune-up, meanwhile the business keeps running?”

“Harmoniously. I told you it was strange.”

I said, “Who initiated the divorce?”

“Even that was mutual.” Fellinger threw up his hands a third time. “Being objective, I’d have to call them a little nuts. In most cases litigants are out to grind each other down. In this case, they ground Earl and me down.” He laughed. Stopped himself. “And now Ursula’s dead. I’m assuming you’ll be notifying the girls and Richard. Because I sure as hell don’t want to.”

Milo said, “We’ll handle it, Mr. Fellinger. And we ask that you don’t talk to anyone about this conversation or the murder, in general.”

“Sure, I get it.”

“What’s Richard’s address and phone number?”

Fellinger consulted his computer, rattled off the information.

“The two daughters are the only children?”

“Ashley and Marissa.”

“Where can we reach them?”

Before Fellinger could answer, a knock sounded on the door. He shouted: “Busy!”

From the other side: “Your tea, Mr. F.?”

“Oh. Fine. Bring it in.”

Jens Williams entered bearing a silver-handled glass teacup on a crimp-edged pewter plate. The cup held pale amber liquid. A white, anemone-like blossom sat on the bottom.

Fellinger said, “The café is using glass?”

“This is ours, sir. I transferred it from Styrofoam.”

Fellinger inspected the tea. “Kind of a dinky flower, that’s all they had?”

“Unfortunately,” said Williams.

“Okay. Now please get me addresses and numbers for the Corey girls.”

“Shall I bring them to you or use the intercom?”

“Just bring it in.”

“You bet.” Williams left.

“You bet,” said Fellinger. “Like we’re pals. I had to talk to him about using my first name soon after he started but compared with the last assistant I had, he’s Einstein. That one covered up during the interview but the day she starts she’s in low-cut and low-back, you can see her ass-crack, talk about a clueless generation.”

“Changing times,” I said.

“Better than stagnation? Sometimes I wonder.”

Another knock. Jens Williams scurried in and handed a slip of paper to Fellinger. “The younger one’s in college, sir, we don’t have her dorm in our records. The older one lives at home, I wrote down the address.”

Fellinger crooked a thumb at the door. “How are things out there in the real world?”

“A few callbacks on court dates but nothing frantic.”

“Good. I’ll get to everything, these gentlemen are leaving.”

CHAPTER

3

The building’s Operations and Security office occupied a corner of the ground floor, a few steps past the café and the public bathrooms. Windowless space set up with three untended workstations, the rear wall a grid of closed-circuit TV monitors and recorders. Metal chairs were lined up for easy viewing. Screens flickered; gray people and cars doing their thing.