“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” I asked. I wished I smoked. I wished I had anything to do with my hands besides drum them on that damn notebook. “I sure hope everything’s all right.” My voice came out thick and froggy. If you pressed on my skin, you’d find a small reservoir of gin underneath.

“We have a few questions regarding an ongoing investigation, ma’am,” MacLeish said.

I didn’t offer them a seat, but they sat. Escobar took Ellen’s chair, and I stared at the younger cop a beat too long, wondering, with a sick-feeling stomach, if I’d picked all the frizzy blonde strands from the arms. She’d left so many of them.

Escobar reminded me of a smoldering modern-day Rudolph Valentino with his mascara-dark lash line. He didn’t like my eyes on him, played with his tie, his pant creases sharp as a razor. Wearing a long-sleeve uniform even in the heat. I disliked him immediately.

Cops always smell a little different. Self-righteousness smells like sweat and pencil shavings covered up with woodsy cologne and stale mint gum. I waited for one of them to speak. They waited for me. We were all so politely waiting, hoping someone else fucked up first.

MacLeish was much older than his partner and, unlike the last time I saw him, he too was in uniform. He kept a placid smile on his face. He might as well have been shopping for groceries as investigating a murder. If he meant to be the good cop, it would be all too easy to lay your daddy issues right at his feet.

He didn’t show any sign that he remembered me. I wondered if that meant his partner didn’t know about the money.

“Tell me,” I said, the silence getting to me finally, “you guys decide ahead of time who gets to be the bad cop? Do you take turns? Or do you decide when you meet—” I broke off and gestured at myself.

They exchanged glances. MacLeish spoke first. “We do appreciate your cooperation.”

Didn’t seem like I had much choice, I thought but didn’t say. “I think I’d prefer to be the bad cop. It seems like more fun.”

“You’ve heard about the murders of Hiram Klein and Ellen Howard,” MacLeish said. Murders plural, I noted. That was quicker than I’d expected. I forced myself to take a deep breath. It would be better to look a little surprised, I thought, arching an eyebrow. Not sure if I was pulling it off. MacLeish watched me, waited for me to respond.

“I watch the news.”

“So you’re aware of Ms. Howard’s demise,” the younger one, Escobar, said.

“You’re quick.”

He blushed and glared at me. MacLeish had more patience, waited for me to collect myself before he started again.

“Did you know Ms. Howard?”

That damn hotel. “A little.”