The clincher for identification of the woman was the attitude. “I didn’t ask who you were. I asked what the hell you’re doing.”

“I was worried,” Ted said.

“Yes?”

Ted thought this would have been a perfect time for Kenzie to wake up and explain everything to her mother.

“I was with her last night,” he said. “I wanted to see that none of her things had gone missing.”

Apparently he had blurted out the magic words. “You were there? Did you see who did this?” The woman softened visibly. Her voice was no longer commanding but pleading.

“I saw it happen, but, no, I couldn’t see the driver. It was dark, raining. And it happened so fast. You’re Mrs. Zielinski?” If Mrs. Zielinski was there, then Mr. Z, as Lester called him, was probably not far. Ted needed to be gone before the man arrived.

She smoothed Kenzie’s hair. It hadn’t needed smoothing. “I am. Dolores Zielinski. Dee.” She almost reached out a hand to shake but stopped herself. “What did you find? Was anything missing?”

Ted handed the purse to her. “I don’t know. Her wallet and phone are there.” Too late, he thought of the zipper pocket. “I don’t think she was carrying much cash. I’d guess it’s all there.” He began to edge past her toward the door.

“Ted Molloy?” she asked, obviously trying to remember if she’d heard his name before.

“Yes. Kenzie and I met recently.”

“So you were on a date?” She had managed to shift her stance so that she was subtly blocking his exit. It was well executed, too well to have been unconscious.

If she was as perceptive as her daughter, he could not risk lying to her.

“Yes and no.” He was not comfortable with this line of questioning. The condoms in the purse would give one message and a tale of bribery and fraud an entirely different one. It was time to change direction. “When you arrived was there a policeman here?”

“Yes. Why?”

“When I left here last night, I asked that they keep an eye on her.”

“Why would you do that? The detective told me this was an accident. A car theft.” Ted was stunned but he struggled to recover. He could not let her see his surprise. “Was this someone from NYPD? Detective Duran? Or Kasabian?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Duran’s a big black man. Long face. Square jaw. Kasabian looks like the old Marlboro man—”

She cut him off. “No. No. They were nothing like that. Could they have been local? I mean from here. Nassau County. They were here this morning.”

“What did they say?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. They talked to me for a minute or two, told the uniformed policeman he could go, and they left.”