No sooner had Leetch pocketed his cell than the front door was buzzed open. Leetch turned to Cohen with a cat who-swallowed-the-canary grin and reached for the front door. He yanked it open, and Cohen followed him to the elevator. They stepped out onto the fifteenth and top floor. The door at the end of the hall was open, and Nagle stood in his doorway waiting for them in a navy bathrobe. Short and thin, with striking blue eyes and prominent cheekbones, his thick blond hair stuck out in tangled spears. “What’s this about, detectives?” His open-mouthed smile showed off ivory-white teeth.

Leetch bowed his head slightly. “We’ve come to express our condolences at your loss.”

“My loss?” The smile never vacated Nagle’s lips.

Leetch’s face broke into a smile as wide and insincere as Nagle’s. “You know … at Jimmy and Frige’s passing.”

Nagle grunted a laugh. “That’s funny, Detective.”

Leetch walked past Nagle into the apartment. “I could sure use a cup of coffee.”

Nagle chased Leetch inside. Cohen followed. They assembled in the spacious living room. Filled with overstuffed white couches, it had huge bay windows and a stunning view of the river. But the natural beauty was tainted by the lingering smell of cigarette smoke and stale wine. Leetch pointed around the spacious room. “Brutal being jobless these days.”

A female voice called out from another room. “Who’s here, Andy?”

Nagle hurried over toward the voice and pulled the door shut. “No one,” he spoke through the closed door. “Just a couple of buddies.”

“I’m touched, Little Andrew, I am. But technically we’re not your buddies.” Leetch plunked down on one of the couches and threw an arm over the pillow. “This is Sergeant Cohen.” He nodded to Seth. “And I’m Detective Leetch with Portland Homicide.”

Cohen sat down beside Leetch. Having been through this routine too many times to count, he was content to sit back and watch his partner lead the interview.

Nagle rejoined them in the living room, dropping into the chair across from them. “So you’re here about Mitchum and Frigerator, huh?”

Leetch shrugged. “How about you confess now and give us the rest of the morning off?”

Nagle laughed again. “I wasn’t even in the city the night they got whacked.”

Leetch folded his arms across his chest. “Oh?”

“I’ve been in L.A. for the past three days,” Nagle said, crossing his legs and adjusting his bathrobe to cover his exposed Hugo Boss boxers.

“Why?” Leetch asked. “You got a film script?”

“Visiting family,” Nagle sighed.

“Of course. Your Colombian cousins!” Leetch brought a finger to each nostril and pantomimed snorting coke. “I assume you have witnesses to this family reunion?”

Nagle smiled coolly. “A few.”

Picking up on Nagle’s growing defensiveness, Cohen leaned forward in his seat. “There was no love lost between you and Jimmy, true?”