This last part is a lie and I immediately regret saying it as soon as the words escape my mouth. She narrows her eyes and tilts her head to one side. She isn’t buying it.

“My son always has money, even if he says he doesn’t,” she hisses. “Or at the very least, he has a way to get some.”

I take a deep breath. My current approach of taking my time and trying to lead her into the conversation that I want to have isn’t working well. It’s time for me to pivot.

“Mrs. Crawford, Nicholas has been arrested for murder. I doubt that he’s going to get out on bail.”

“What do you want from me?” she asks when I pause for a moment trying to gather my thoughts.

“I need you to tell me where I can find some of his old friends from back then. The people he used to hang out with. Someone must know what happened. The truth of what happened.”

“Yeah, he killed his partner to keep the whole loot,” she says with a smirk. “What the fuck do you think happened?”

“I need to find out the truth.”

“That is the truth,” she spits back. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Even if I am, can you please just tell me where I can find them? Anyone.”

She takes a long drag of her cigarette and walks over to the window. The oxygen tank makes a loud squeaking sound as it rolls over the parquet floors.

“Come here,” she says, indicating for me to approach her with her index finger. I do as she says.

“You see that BMW down there, all covered in snow?” I look at where she’s pointing and see a new model BMW SUV parked at the corner.

“Nicholas got me that car when he got me this apartment,” she says.

Unsure as to how to respond, I mumble that he’s a good son.

“Good son? You think so?” she snaps.

When my eyes meet hers, all I see is anger and hatred.

“It’s a lease, you idiot. This apartment is a rental. If he really loved me, he would’ve bought these things outright. But he didn’t, because he’s a selfish prick who doesn’t think of anyone but himself.”

I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me.

I want to defend him but I don’t want to make her angry. I need her to tell me what she knows. So, I bite my tongue and just listen.

“I really need to find his old friends, Mrs. Crawford,” I say. “Maybe they’ll have some answers for me so I can help him get out of prison.”

“You really don’t know who you are messing with, girlie,” she says. “Those guys don’t talk. They’re in the mob. They don’t turn on each other.”