Up until a few days ago, it was semi-perfect. Or at least it looked that way to the rest of the world, including Jean and the kids. A good life. Great family. Comforts. Peace and love. Church. All of it.

At the bottom of my second glass of wine I can only agonize over a pipe dream. If only it could stay just like it is, forever. But it can’t.

I drag my raggedy ass upstairs and climb into bed with Jean. If she only knew.…

This damned murder has already made any semblance of a normal life impossible.

And it’s only the first one.

Chapter 16

Same 7:20 express Tuesday morning and I’m back in the city. I wave at Mo on the way in to the office. “Hey, Mo!”

“They’re baaaack,” she says, and she’s not talking about the poltergeist.

I grab a cup of coffee in the kitchen and head upstairs to my cubicle. Surely the cops have turned up every bit of so-called evidence that would be here in the office. Why the hell do they keep coming back every day?

Do they think somebody here did it?

I get into my e-mails and see one from Paul to the entire office, subject line: A wake for Ramon.

To my dear colleagues:

I’ve been informed there’s a wake for Ramon tonight at the St. Bartholomew’s Church, 1227 Pacific St (at Bedford Ave), Brooklyn. 6-9p. A or C train, Nostrand Ave stop and walk a couple of blocks. I know his family, loved ones, and friends will appreciate our support. Hope to see many of you there. Paul

I click Reply All.

Absolutely Paul, I’ll be there.

Before I can finish my coffee, Detective Quinn stops by. “Hey, Tim, how’s it going?”

“Morning, Pete. If it wasn’t for this murder business, things would be pretty good. Just found out there’s a wake for Ramon tonight, over in Crown Heights. Of course I’m going.”

“Good to hear. You guys have a nice shop here. Lots of solid people. But I’ve got to tell ya, I’m getting a weird vibe from some of your creative types.”

“Whaddaya mean, Detective?”

“Well, best I can put it is, we don’t speak the same language. And worst case is, they know something and they’re not telling me.”

“Weird. Yeah, they’re unique, that’s for sure. Have to be to work in this business. You know, the more you act out in this business, the more creative you appear to be, the higher the rewards. Where’s the disconnect? What’s going on, Pete?”

“We’ve talked to most of them. People who have worked in the same, relatively small company together for a good while, and know the deceased, one way or the other. But they’re not saying shit. It’s almost like they’re protecting somebody. And why the hell would they? Based on what you’re telling me about Ramon, what’s to protect?”

“Beats me,” I say, avoiding the obvious. For now. “But this is a crazy business. I’ve got a good feeling about most of these guys, for what it’s worth.”