“Can you tell me anything about a woman named Trina Greene?” I asked. “She was a counselor at Idylhaven, and she was the woman who died in my sister’s apartment in New York.”

Noyes smiled. “Jesse already gave us that name and we had Bob, the deputy, check her out. She’s got no record, not even a parking ticket.”

“I’m wondering if my sister could be living in Boston. I found Trina’s old address in a file.” I’d memorized it before Bela Lugosi had come at me with the gun. Both Noyes and Bruxton wrote it down as I recited it. I nudged Bruxton. “I thought the case was closed?”

“We still need to do a next-of-kin notification,” Bruxton pointed out.

So many trails, all leading to nowhere. “Do you know anything about the cleaning lady, Brenda Collins?”

“Died in a house fire,” said Noyes. “Grim. Bad ending to a sad life.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Brenda’s husband used her like a punching bag. Then she’d turn around and lie to cover his sorry ass.” Noyes shook his head. “Drive anybody to drink, watching the like of that.”

“You know how it’s going to end up, sooner or later,” Bruxton threw in.

“Exactly. Her husband killed her, then burned down the house thinking he’d get rid of the evidence.” Noyes rubbed his eyes. “It was too bad, since Brenda had been telling people she was going to leave the bastard for good just before that. Probably why he killed her. Bastard like that can’t stand losing control of his victim.”

“Do you have a photo of her?” I asked.

Noyes called for the young recruit. “Can you find the Collins file, Bob?” A moment later, the recruit trotted in, discreetly closing the door as he left.

“You don’t want to see a lot of this,” said Noyes, rifling through it. “There was nothing but a charred stump of Brenda left after the fire. Had to identify her through dental records.” He pulled a couple of polaroids out. “That’s her.”

I looked at the snapshots. The woman staring back looked like she’d been cornered. She had limp brown hair that hung to her shoulders, pockmarked skin, and a weak chin. Her most prominent feature was a black eye that was three shades of purple. Her other eye seemed to dart lazily in another direction, embarrassed by its twin.

Jesse glanced over my shoulder. “Terrible,” he said softly. “Where’s the husband now?”

“Doing twenty-five to life at Cedar Junction,” Noyes answered. “Rat bastard that he is, he’s trying to appeal the conviction. Everybody knows he’s guilty as sin.”

“He killed his wife, then started the fire to cover it up?” I asked.