Esti leaned forward. “Who do you think was the someone who was being warned?”

“I don’t know enough about Gus’s connections to say. According to Angelidis, Gus hosted a regular Friday-night poker game. After the murder that day, the killer left Gus’s door unlocked. That could have been an oversight, or it could have been on purpose—so that someone in the poker group would find the body when they arrived for the game that evening. Maybe the ‘See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil’ message was intended for someone in the group or even for Angelidis himself. OCTF might know more about the individuals involved. They may even have had Gus’s house under surveillance.”

Esti frowned. “I’ll find out what I can from my friend, but … she might not have access to everything. I don’t want to put her in an awkward position.”

Hardwick’s jaw muscles tightened. “Be careful dealing with those task force fuckers. You think the FBI is bad, they’re nothing compared to the elite organized crime boys.” He emphasized the adjective with a comical level of contempt. But there was no humor in his eyes.

“I know what they’re like, and I know what I’m doing.” She stared challengingly at Hardwick for a moment. “Let’s go back to the beginning. How do we feel about the ‘preemptive strike’ explanation—that Carl was hit by his own intended victim?”

Hardwick shook his head. “Could be the truth, more likely it’s crap. Nice story, but consider the source. Why should we believe anything from Donny Angel?”

She looked at Gurney. “Dave?”

“I don’t think belief enters into it. What Angelidis said happened could have happened. It’s a reasonable enough scenario. In fact, we heard another story that’s consistent with it. Kay Spalter mentioned that Carl used to play poker with a guy who arranged murders for the mob.”

Hardwick waved his hand dismissively. “Doesn’t prove a damn thing. Sure as hell doesn’t prove that Carl hired Gus to have someone killed.”

Esti looked back at Gurney.

Gurney just shrugged. “Right. No proof. But still a possibility. A credible link.”

“Well,” said Esti, “if we think the Angelidis story is possible—that Carl’s target ended up being the murderer—shouldn’t we make a list of people Carl might have wanted dead?”

Hardwick uttered an incredulous little grunt.

She turned on him. “You have a better idea?”

He shrugged. “Go ahead, make a list.”

“Okay, I will.” She picked up her pen, held it over her pad. “Dave—any suggestions?”

“Jonah.”

“Carl’s brother? Why?”