We climbed the five stone steps to the landing in front of the door. The men from next door were acting like we didn’t exist, which was fine with me.

Once we were in the hallway, Tharpe looked at me and said, “Did you know Stahl well?”

I calculated my answer carefully. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “My brother says you guys aren’t doing everything you could to solve the shooting.”

Tharpe stiffened at that. “If I did everything I could on every shooting in this screwed-up town, I wouldn’t have time to sleep.” His face turned a little red. “Peter Stahl sold dope and got shot. It’s the natural order of things. Happens all the time. That’s what we call the ‘price of doing business.’”

We stood in the door and looked out onto the street. Tharpe explained to me how Pete had stumbled out of the vacant lot next door before he fell onto the steps. He said, “Stahl had been shot twice at close range. No one heard the shots and only a couple of locals acknowledged the body. By the time the crime scene was secured and police arrived, the only evidence was a body on the steps and a pistol that was found in the lot. It’s being examined, but there’s no telling what they’ll find, or when. Our backlog would blow your mind. One of our narcotics guys thinks it might have been Stahl’s own gun.” He looked out over the neighborhood. “I don’t know why we try so hard. There were no casings recovered, no witness who claimed to have seen anything or heard the shots, and all we got was an anonymous call to 911.”

I thought about the facts: gunshot death of a known drug dealer. No witnesses. There wasn’t much I could do. The police had declared the death a homicide and the listed potential motive as drug-related activity. That was about as much work as the Newburgh police intended to put into the case. I knew I had to at least do something. I wasn’t sure I could face Pete’s mom or sisters otherwise. They needed to know that someone had looked at the case.

I listened as Tharpe explained what he thought happened and how the police responded. This time I asked him, “Did you know Pete?”

“Knew his name from my days in narcotics. Just another lowlife.” He held up his hand and said, “No offense. I mean, about your brother.”

“None taken. He is a lowlife. But he’s also my brother, and Pete was my friend, so I’m going to help.”