“Yeah . . . I don’t know.”

He waits for me to explain, to elaborate about the song’s meaning perhaps, but I don’t intend to divulge more. In the song, the narrator is not sure whether love can save her. My lyrics are not so opaque, and he surely heard enough to realize that the narrator is me.

Still, he’s not one to press. Especially not tonight, after I’ve lost a loved one.

“How are you holding up?”

“Barely,” I say. “Maybe not even that well. I saw my father after you. He lost the Garkov motion in limine.”

“The what?”

“The motion about whether the prosecution can introduce the Red Square evidence. I told him he’d lose it, and he did. Afterward, we went to Cipriani.”

I’m reasonably certain that Gabriel has never heard of Cipriani. If he has, I’m even more sure he’s not impressed.

“Did you tell him about Lauren?”

“Yeah. He gets it. I mean, as much as anyone can. He’s the only person who really understands what I went through in losing Charlotte. Still, I don’t think he can fully grasp what it’s like to lose a second person so soon after, but . . . it’s hard to hold that against him.”

A sad smile comes to Gabriel’s lips. “I hope you don’t hold it against me that I don’t have the first clue as to how awful this really is for you.”

“You know. You know because you know me.”

“Thanks for thinking that. I just wish . . . I don’t know, that I could be of more help, I guess.”

I can’t imagine a partner being more there for me than Gabriel has been these past six months. Of all the things in my world that I question, that I’m lucky to have him is not one of them.

“The only way you could possibly be more support is if you told me you found Donald Chesterman and he was holding the gun he used to kill Lauren.”

“No such luck, I’m afraid.”

“What do you have so far?”

“Unfortunately, not a whole helluva lot. We’re checking the surveillance footage around their apartment and on the way to the park. There are no cameras in the park, so that’s a dead end. We’re also going to do a deep dive into Lauren’s finances, e-mails, that kind of thing.”

“Good luck with that,” I say. “You know when Richard Trofino buries a body, it stays buried.”

“I know. The odds of finding anything linking him to the murder are not good. She was dead for hours before the police got to him. More than enough time for him to rid himself of gunshot residue and ditch the murder weapon.”