“Maybe a year or so. I was makin’ money. I was livin’ it up. After I got busted…that’s when my nana sued for child custody.” Again his face had darkened, but this time it appeared from anger. Sweat rolled down his brow. Then he composed himself. “Best thing that ever happened to me.”

But he still sounded resentful. Marge said, “What about your former peeps? Did any of them have contact with Dr. Ben?”

“Sure. We all did when we got into trouble. But if you’re thinking that they had anything to do with his murder, you’re going in the wrong direction. None of them gave a damn about Dr. Ben.”

Marge said, “What are your old-time buds doing now?”

Arlington let out a gust of air. “I lost contact with most of them. Our lives went in different directions.”

“How so?” Marge pressed.

“Some are doing hard time, some are dead, maybe one or two is doing okay.”

“Can you give me a list of their names?”

“I will, but I’m telling you, they had nothing to do with Dr. Ben’s death. They didn’t care enough to kill him.”

“Someone cared enough to kill him.”

“From what everyone told me, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“He was at a local civic meeting and was supposed to come directly home. That was the last anyone heard. What do you think happened?”

“Wrong place at the wrong time. He got ’jacked. He drove a nice car.”

“How’d a guy like Dr. Ben afford such a nice car?”

Arlington shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

Too glib? Maybe it was Marge’s imagination. “Did anyone speak to you about the murder?”

“Yeah, friends told me about it.”

“Do the names Calvin Vitton or Arnie Lamar sound familiar?”

“I can’t say…” A pause. “Who are they?”

“Cops involved with the murder of Dr. Ben. I’m surprised they don’t sound familiar. Detective Vitton called you up and asked you questions about the murder.”

“He probably spoke to my nana.”

“He did. His records also indicated that he spoke to you.”

Arlington stiffened. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember being interviewed?”

“It was a long time ago, Sergeant. I was stunned. If you said he spoke to me, I’m sure he did, but I don’t remember.”

“Do you know a man named Primo Ekerling?”

Arlington paused, then shook his head no. “No, don’t know the man.”

“What about a man named Rudy Banks?”

A beat before he spoke. “Now he sounds vaguely familiar.” He stroked his chin meaningfully. “Someone in high school…maybe he was in chorus with me.”

“He’s a music producer.”

“Okay…so maybe it was chorus.”

“Rudy Banks and Primo Ekerling were in a punk group called the Doodoo Sluts.”

“Punk…” Arlington was pensive. “I wasn’t into punk much—white-boy rebellion. Not my thing.”