“Sounds good.”

“Maybe we should grab some lunch in the meantime,” Dorothy said.

“Lunch.” McCain laughed. “Now, there’s a novel idea.”

“Four sounds fine,” Change told Dorothy over the line. “If I’m a little late, just wait for me.”

“No problem, Doc. Can I ask you a few questions?”

“If they’re about the X-ray, I’m not at the morgue now.”

“Just your impressions.”

“I know what you’re going to ask. At a quick glance, I didn’t see any radiographic evidence of an aneurysm. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. I still say that that was the most likely cause of death.”

“Okay, let’s assume the aneurysm was there.” Dorothy switched her cell from one ear to the other. “Might we assume that it was small?”

“Maybe.”

“And if it was small-a little out-pouching that didn’t even show up on the X-ray-and if Julius fell splat on the table, could we assume that an impact like that might have caused a tiny aneurysm to burst… theoretically?”

“Why don’t we wait until we’re at the morgue for this discussion?” Change said.

“Just answer me this. Could that have happened, that his falling caused the aneurysm to open up?”

“Anything’s possible,” Change said. “But you’ll want stronger evidence than that going into court.” A pause. “That’s my opinion anyway.”

“Thank you.” Dorothy hung up and looked at McCain. “I’m in the mood for kosher pastrami-that Romanian stuff. We’re two blocks away from Rubin’s. Okay with you?”

“Sounds like a plan,” said McCain. “What did Change say?”

“The fall’s a maybe, maybe not. Not strong enough to go to court with-in his opinion.”

“Opinions are like assholes,” McCain said. “Everybody’s got one.”

Captain O’Toole closed the door to the interview room-a windowless, airless space with barely enough room for a standard-issue table and chairs. The floor was a mosaic of mismatched green granite tiles; the once sunshine-yellow walls were now a faded mustard. The captain pulled out a chair with his foot and sat backward, with his stomach pressed against the splats. He was flushed, forehead dotted with beads of sweat. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and gave his face a firm wipe.

With him was Harriet Gallway, who had put in ten years with the DA’s office. She was very petite, so slight that people noticed her only because of her flaming-red hair. She had gobs of it, flying over her shoulders and trailing down her back. She wore a hunter-green suit and black flats. Her green eyes sparkled when she smiled. But she wasn’t smiling now.

“Hot in here,” she muttered.

“Don’t smell too good, either,” O’Toole added. “All of you have a seat.”

Dorothy and McCain exchanged glances and sat down.

O’Toole nodded to Harriet. “Ladies first.”

Harriet cleared her throat. “My boss tells me that Delveccio’s counsel is running the story that Julius died from natural causes.”

“Not exactly,” McCain said.

“I don’t like that,” O’Toole said. “What does that mean, ”Not exactly‘?“

“That’s what we’re trying to determine, sir.”

“Who’s we?” Harriet asked.

“Dr. Change,” Dorothy said. “John Change. He thinks Julius died from an aneurysm and not from a gunshot wound.”

“He thinks?” O’Toole said.

McCain muttered, “He thinks, therefore he screws us up.”

“That’s his conclusion so far,” Dorothy said.

Harriet said, “Oh my.”

“Still,” Dorothy said, “Delveccio’s gunshots could have caused the aneurysm to burst. Because when Julius was hit, he fell forward onto a table.”

McCain said, “The force on his chest from slamming against the table could very well have burst open the aneurysm.”

“So the shots lead to the chain of events that caused Julius Van Beest’s death,” Harriet said. “We still could make a case for premeditated murder.”

“Is that what happened?” O’Toole said. “A fall killed him? Change says that?”

Dorothy said, “The fall didn’t cause the aneurysm-if there was an aneurysm. But it could have caused an aneurysm to open up.”

“What do you mean, if there was an aneurysm?”

“So far, nothing showed up on the X-ray,” Dorothy said.

O’Toole said, “This is starting to stink like bullcrap.”

Harriet played with her hair. “So it’s possible he didn’t have an aneurysm.”

McCain said, “Change is sayin‘ right now that there’s no physical evidence of one on the X-ray.”

“So how did he come to his conclusion that Julius died of an aneurysm?”

“There was a ruptured artery upon autopsy and blood pooling in the chest cavity,” said Dorothy. “I respect Change, but I’m wondering if maybe he missed a bullet wound.”

“You’re saying Change fucked up?” said O’Toole.

“No one’s perfect,” McCain half whispered.

As the captain colored further, Dorothy broke in: “We’re meeting with him in an hour. We’ll go over everything in detail.”

“Cancel your meeting,” O’Toole snapped. “We got more important things to deal with. As in, we found the gun that shot Julius in the pile of confiscated weapons. As in, on the damn thing was a partial of Delveccio’s right thumb.”

Dorothy and McCain smiled. She said, “You pick him up?”

“He’s in holding as we speak. The bad news is that our witnesses who said they saw Pappy pulling out a gun have recanted. But with the print, we know the asshole touched the gun at some point. And we know that the same gun shot Julius.”

“I think a jury can put two and two together,” Dorothy said.

“But,” Harriet said, “if I’m trying to prove premeditation, I have to make sure Julius was killed by the gun as part of an intentional, direct action committed by the accused. Now you’re telling me we don’t know that.”

O’Toole glared at the detectives.

McCain said, “That’s a question for Change. But in the meantime-”

“Here’s the thing,” said Harriet. “If we go for attempted murder rather than homicide, Pappy’s counsel is going to know we can’t prove the gun killed Julius. It’s going to give him ammunition to fight even that charge.”

“So what do you want from us?” Dorothy said.

“I want you to see if you can get him scared about premeditated murder,” the DA said. “Then we can probably deal him down to attempted murder. Otherwise we could end up settling for some dinky charge.”

“That’s ridiculous!” McCain said. “He was aiming for Julius, he touched the damn gun, and the bullets hit their mark.”

“But not necessarily fatally, Detective. And if we don’t get someone who saw Pappy fire the gun, we end up with a break in the chain. And Pappy can be very charming when he wants to be,” Harriet said. “Get some b-ball fans on the jury, maybe a swooning female or two, we could be in trouble.”

The room fell silent.

McCain spoke first. “How about this: We don’t have conclusive evidence of an aneurysm on the X-ray. So at this particular moment, I don’t know what killed Julius.

Meaning I can tell Delveccio it was his bullet.“ He shrugged. ”Hell, Supreme Court says I’m allowed to deceive, right? Let me go in there now and work him.“ ”He’s already asked for his lawyer,“ Harriet said.

“When he was picked up the first time.”

“I didn’t hear him ask for his lawyer today.”

“That’s irrelevant,” Harriet said. “Once he requests-”

“Unless he chooses of his own volition to talk to me.” said McCain. “Coupla guys shooting the breeze.” O’Toole said, “Why in blazes would he do that?” McCain smiled. “You know, Captain, when I want to be, I can be charming, too.”

Through the one-way mirror, McCain looked at Patrick Luther Delveccio, a huge, broad-shouldered figure barely out of his teens. An indulged child in an oversize body, and that made him menacing. He was dressed casually-jeans and a sweatshirt. Musta been size 20 athletic shoes-fancy blue shoes-housed his feet. The kid’s mouth was set petulantly, but his body was all movement: hands drumming the tabletop, feet tapping the floor, head bopping to an internal beat. Despite that, he looked relaxed, as if a prospective stint in the cooler was little more than a camp vacation.