“May I offer you some tea?” asked Padma. I followed her over to the sofa, and watched her pour a cup for me out of a silver samovar with shaking hands. It hit me suddenly that she was taking her boss’s shooting very hard. Too hard. What was she up to? Jesse had wanted to come with me, of course, but I’d persuaded him to stay at the apartment in case Bruxton came by. I took the cup and saucer that Padma handed to me, but I didn’t take a sip. What if there was something in the tea?

Padma curled her legs under her on the sofa. “I cannot believe this is happening,” she said mournfully. “The police inspector would not tell me anything. I have been praying for Tariq. There is nothing else I can do.” She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“They must have told you something. You know Tariq was shot. What happened?”

“The inspector called tonight, wanting to speak with Tariq’s next of kin. That was how they phrased it, as if he were dead already. I told them that I was all the family he has in this country.”

“That was smart. The police wouldn’t tell you anything if you’d told them you were an employee.”

“An employee?” Padma looked stunned. Her spine straightened, just a little. “Tariq is my cousin.”

“Your cousin?” I set the teacup down, worried I’d cause more damage to the room if any more shocks were delivered.

“You didn’t know?”

I felt the red blush of humiliation flush my skin. “When I met you, I thought you worked here because you were cleaning up after the mess Tati and I made. Padma is a—”

“Hindu name. Ah, I understand. You thought I was a maid.” Padma patted my arm. “I don’t use my birth name anymore. And I am gratified to do whatever I can to help my cousin. He has done more for me than anyone else in the world.”

I wondered what she meant, but I let it pass. “So, you told the police you’re family. And they said…?”

“The inspector told me that Tariq was at a hospital, that a surgeon was operating on him to remove two bullets. One had pierced his lung, and collapsed it.” Padma became teary again for a minute, then she looked at the clock. “They said they would call again when he was through the surgery. That was more than an hour ago.” She looked stricken.

“How did he get shot?” I asked. “Who did it?”

“He would not tell me that, not exactly. He asked me a strange question, though. He said, how did Tariq know a man named Martin Sklar?”