Milo said, “No, thanks. Are you worried about something, ma’am?”

She continued to look out the window. “This is a nice block, everyone’s concerned about their neighbors. Anything different gets noticed.”

We’d arrived in the Seville.

“Does your son visit often, Ms. Muhrmann?”

The curtain slipped from her fingers. “Stevie? No, but when he does, sometimes people do ask me about it.”

“Stevie concerns them.”

“They’re concerned for him.” She turned, gnawed her lip. “Stevie’s had his problems. I should tell you that right after I called you, I had my regrets. What kind of mother would involve her son with the police? I respect the police, my husband was an MP in the army, but … I don’t know why I did it. But seeing Stevie’s face on the news. That girl. I just felt it was my duty.”

“We appreciate that.”

“If it was her.”

“You seemed pretty sure it was.”

“I know I did,” she said, “but now I’m not sure. There are so many girls like that.”

“Like what, ma’am?”

“Beautiful, skinny, blond—the kind who want to be actresses.” She moved away from the window, picked up the smallest ceramic deer, put it down. “Have I gotten Stevie in massive trouble?”

“Not in the least, ma’am. Our goal is to identify our victim and if Stevie can help us with that, he’d be doing us a giant favor.”

“So you don’t suspect him of anything.”

“We had no idea who he was until you called.”

“Okay,” she said. “That makes me feel better. But I have to tell you, she still could be someone else. You see them everywhere, gorgeous girls. Gorgeous people, period, I don’t know where they come from. Doesn’t it seem to you as if people are getting better looking?”

“In my job,” said Milo, “I don’t see people at their best.”

Harriet Muhrmann flinched. “No, of course not—you’re sure I can’t get you something to drink? A snack? I’ve got honey-roasted peanuts.”

“No, thanks, ma’am, we just ate. So people in the neighborhood worry about Stevie when he comes to visit. Has he been ill?”

“Do we need to talk about Stevie, Lieutenant? The main thing is that girl might—or might not—be the girl I saw him with the last time he was here.”

“Eight months ago.”

“About. It wasn’t a scheduled visit, Stevie just dropped in.”

“And she waited out in the car.”

“Some girl did. I didn’t even know he was with anyone until I walked him out.”

“He called her Mystery.”

“Obviously that’s not her real name. To be honest I thought it sounded like a stripper name. But I didn’t say anything, just ‘Pleased to meet you’ and held out my hand. Her fingers barely grazed mine. Like she didn’t want to be touched.”

“Did she say anything?”