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But, like you, I have a professional responsibility to uphold.ā€ I wanted to make it clear that the police were not the lone guardians of justice. ā€œYouā€™d be the first ones Iā€™d tell, if I knew who committed the crime. But I donā€™t. And unless itā€™s in my clientā€™s interests, I canā€™t say a lot more. So maybe you want to make it in my clientā€™s interests?ā€

Ignowski leaned forward and shouldered Wukowski slightly, pushing him into the back of the banquette. ā€œAngie, Iā€™m gonna be square with you. We ainā€™t got shit. Not for proof, anyway. Obviously, Tonyā€™s prints and hair and DNA are all over the apartment, but any good lawyer can talk his way out of that. After all, they wereā€¦cohabiting, right?ā€

I nodded, amused that Iggy thought he needed to clean up his language for me.

ā€œBut,ā€ he continued, ā€œwe got nothing to place him at the scene that night. And youā€™re saying that there are plenty others who would want to see her dead?ā€ I nodded. ā€œSo seems to me, we got a problemā€”one very dead woman, multiple suspects, no evidence strong enough to convict. How ā€˜bout you help us out? Tell us about the others. The ones who maybe hated her enough to kill her.ā€

Sipping my diet soda, I thought about what Iggy just said. They didnā€™t know about Tony sitting outside her apartment that night. They didnā€™t seem aware of the undercurrents surrounding Marsha or Alan or Richard Llewellyn. Obviously, they hadnā€™t interviewed Mrs. Lembke or Bobbie Russell. They didnā€™t know about the letter. I couldnā€™t hold them accountable for that, but Wukowskiā€™s ā€˜just the factsā€™ approach to interrogation wasnā€™t working too well. I wanted to shove my female, non-professional, pop psychology methods in his face. But I just smiled sweetly and responded with a shake of the head.

We paid the check and they drove me back to the gym. No one spoke. When we got there, Wukowski dove into a red Jeep Wrangler, slammed the door and peeled away. Iggy waited while I started the Miata. I waggled my fingers in acknowledgement and drove home.

Chapter 16

Whatā€™s of significance is sweet, however mistaken; one could make up oneā€™s mind to whatā€™s insignificant even. But pettiness, pettiness, thatā€™s whatā€™s insufferable.

ā€”Ivan Turgenev

My satisfaction was short-lived. I mentally chastised myself for being mean-spirited and wondered if Iā€™d forfeited all chance to exchange information with Iggy and Wukowski. Damn it, I thought, I let Wukowski get the better of me. I hate that feeling.

I parked the Miata in its underground space, grabbed my gym bag, purse and briefcase and took the stairs to the lobby, reminding myself as I climbed to call Bertha and let her know I was safely home. The last thing I wanted tonight was a couple of goons pounding down my door.

At least, I thought it was the last thing I wanted. Until I opened the stairway door and saw Kevin sitting on a lobby couch, reading a magazine. He tossed it down and came toward me, hands outstretched. ā€œAngie, I owe you an apology.ā€

My right eyebrow rose, involuntarily. My kids always referred to it as the Mean Mommy look. ā€œReally? What for?ā€ Showing up at my home unannounced? I thought. Invading my privacy? Catching me unprepared?

Kevin didnā€™t know me well enough to be alarmed. ā€œI was concerned that maybe I came on a little strong on Saturday.ā€ The elevator doors opened and a couple whom I didnā€™t know exited. ā€œCan I come up?ā€ he asked. ā€œJust for a moment. Iā€™d like to talk.ā€

The couple stood at the mailboxes, listening. ā€œOkay. Sure.ā€ As the elevator doors closed on us, I turned to Kevin. ā€œLook, itā€™s been a long day and Iā€™m not sure Iā€™m really up to it. Maybe this isnā€™t a good idea right now.ā€

ā€œTen minutes, Angie. Iā€™ll even throw in a foot rub.ā€

Confident bastard, arenā€™t you? I thought. Then I stopped myself. Where was this hostility coming from? Kevin isnā€™t Wukowski. Give him a chance.

He took the gym bag so that I could unlock the door. There, on the threshold, lay a white envelope, lettered in black magic markerā€”Angelina Bonaparte. Kevin bent down to retrieve it.

I body-blocked him with my shoulder and said, ā€œNo. Leave it. Donā€™t touch it. Just come inside.ā€ As I put my purse and briefcase in the coat closet, I explained about the threatening letter at the office and gave him orders to go before I called Bart and the police.

ā€œNo way, Angie. Iā€™m staying until the police get here. Maybe I should search the place?ā€

ā€œThatā€™s sweet, Kevin. But if the letter-writer could get inside, I donā€™t think heā€™d be stupid enough to leave the letter as a warning.ā€

ā€œOh, yeah, guess youā€™re right.ā€ He looked a little deflated and I realized that Iā€™d just called him stupid and taken away his opportunity to act the macho man for me. He recovered, though. ā€œIā€™ll put some water on for tea while you make those calls.ā€

The phone was ringing as I headed for the bedroom. ā€œAngie, itā€™s Bertha. Why didnā€™t you call me? I was just about ready to notify Bart.ā€

ā€œCalm down, Bertha. I just got home. And youā€™ll need to call Bart anyway. There was another note under my door when I got here. The envelope looks just like the one from my office. This time, I think I have to let the police know.ā€

ā€œI agree. Iā€™ll talk some sense into Bart. This canā€™t go on.ā€

Three minutes later, Bart called. ā€œAngie, I talked to Marco this afternoon. As far as he knows, thereā€™s no Family involvement. Bertha tells me that you want to talk to the police?ā€

ā€œI think I have to, Bart. They might be able to swallow my silence on the first note, but if they find out there was a second and I didnā€™t tell them, they could bring me up on charges for impeding an official investigation.ā€

ā€œOkay. Go ahead.ā€ He took a drag on his cigarette. ā€œIā€™ll drive over to the office and wait for them

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