One driveway curve and then another, lit windows hovering in the trees to either side. The woman must have sensed they weren’t going to be dissuaded. When they reached the Crow house, the front door was open, and she was standing backlit on the threshold. No IV stand this time, but she was the same frail figure Vincent had seen when he’d first visited, standing out here with Delroy and the kid—Sly Junior.

He stopped the car and got out, closed his door gently. ‘Mrs Crow. Nice evening, huh?’

She didn’t answer. Vincent stayed where he was, waiting for Erin to get out on the other side. He had already been reprimanded a couple of times for trying to help her.

‘What do you want?’

Vincent said, ‘May we come inside?’

‘For what purpose?’

‘Just to talk. But like I said, I can come back. And I can climb over that nice gate if I need to.’

‘I can call the police if I need to.’

‘Yes. But aren’t you worried about what we’ll tell them?’

She watched him coolly for a second. Then she stepped away from the door, leaving it open.

Vincent followed her in.

Nice place. Single level, open-plan. Full-height windows looking out at a tiled courtyard. An inground swimming pool glowing vivid teal with underwater lights. The place had a Palm Springs feel. He waited for Erin, still slow on her feet and limping visibly, walking lock-jawed with the effort.

Mrs Crow was waiting for them in the living room to their left. Lots of splashy, modernist art on the walls, pieces that resembled spilled paint more than anything. She was seated at one end of a sofa, hands in her lap, her form primly skeletal by the dull yellow glow of the reading lamp on the low table beside her. An e-reader lay face up on the sofa arm, hyper-bold text showing on the screen.

Vincent took a seat on the sofa opposite. She didn’t look well. There was nothing of her. A mannequin under a sheaf of wrinkles. Like she’d been hooked up to some kind of dreadful age accelerant. Erin sat beside him.

‘You’re the daughter.’

‘That’s right.’

She looked between them. Erin, Vincent, back to Erin. ‘What do you want?’ Voice clear and superior and defiant.

Vincent said, ‘What do you know about what happened?’

‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

Vincent said, ‘Andre Gutierrez told me Delroy Clemons was running everything for your benefit. He was going to use the drug profit to put you up in comfort. According to him, anyway. Although, this seems nice enough.’

She just looked at him.

Vincent said, ‘Delroy liked to make out that he’s not an ideas man. Just the humble servant, doing as he’s told. So I can’t help but wonder if you’re an ideas lady.’

Still nothing.