'Ms DiNunzio,' Brinkley said, standing beside Kovich, 'before you lay down the law, mind if we sit?'

There's chairs at the dining table behind you.' DiNunzio gestured, and Brinkley looked around Paige Newlin's elegant, feminine apartment. The couch, chairs, and coffee table were decorated in shades of white, and he felt suddenly like an anvil on a cumulus cloud.

'Here we go, Mick,' Kovich said jovially, yanking a chair from the dining room to the coffee table, and Brinkley dragged one over for himself. The chairs raked four wiggly lines in the thick white rug. Brinkley and Kovich sat down as the lawyer kept talking.

'Here's the way it goes, Detective Brinkley,' DiNunzio was saying, from a seat next to Paige Newlin. She had a pretty face but wore a blue suit with a high collar that made her look tight-assed. 'You can ask the questions you need to, but Paige cannot answer if I instruct her not to. She's been through a lot and she's feeling awful. As I told you on the phone, I don't know why you had to meet with her.'

'It's just for background information.' Brinkley slipped a pad from his breast pocket and flipped it open. Another woman lawyer whose name he forgot sat catty-corner to the sofa in a shapeless corduroy dress. He wasn't surprised that woman lawyers dressed as lousy as men lawyers. 'Ms Newlin,' he said, 'first let me say how sorry we are for the loss of your mother.' Beside him, Kovich nodded in sympathy, like he always did when they did next-of-kin notifications. 'Please accept our condolences.'

'Thank you.'

'I do need to ask you a few questions.' Brinkley worked a ballpoint from the spiral of his notebook. 'How old are you?'

'Sixteen.'

Brinkley was starting with the softballs, to get her talking. He didn't want her threatened and he wanted to observe her. The first thing he observed was that she had pierced ears. She was wearing tiny pearl earrings, smaller versions of her mother's. He thought of the earring back in the rug. 'Date of birth?'

She told him, sipped water from a glass, and replaced it on a coaster on the coffee table. Grief weighed each perfect feature and her mouth sagged with pain. She looked obviously bereft, even to his suspicious eye. Still it was hard to ignore her looks. Dressed in blue jeans and a classy white turtleneck, Paige Newlin was a knockout. Big blue eyes, pillow mouth, and glossy red hair that cascaded beyond her shoulders.

Brinkley made a note of her birth date. 'Born in Philly?'

'No. Actually, in Switzerland. My parents were traveling.'

'You reside here; at Colonial Towers?'

'Yes.'

'I understand that you used to live at home with your parents. When did you move here?'

'Early last year.'

'Your parents' home is beautiful, by the way. Antiques and such, everything nice.' Brinkley gestured vaguely. 'It's very well kept. Do your parents have help, for the house?'

'Yes. A maid.'

'How often did she come?'

'Twice a week, Monday and Thursday.'

'So she had been there yesterday?'

DiNunzio leaned toward Paige. 'If you know,' she said, and Paige shrugged.

'I don't know. I live here now.'

'I see.' Brinkley nodded. He was thinking about the dirt

on the coffee table. If the maid had come on Monday, it could have been new the night of the murder. 'How was it you came to live here?'

DiNunzio interrupted, 'Your question isn't clear. Detective, and I'm not sure I see the relevance anyway.'

'I'm just trying to get some background information.'

'Background or not, she doesn't understand the question, and neither do I.'

He shifted his weight and addressed Paige. 'I was asking you why you moved out of your parents' house.'

'I wanted to be on my own. Live alone. Be independent.'

'Did you get along with your parents?'

'Yes.'

'With your mother?'

DiNunzio cleared her throat. 'She just answered that, Detective Brinkley. Again, I'm not sure it matters who she got along with.'

'I'm wondering why she moved out of her house at such a young age. It's unusual, and we like to fill in all the questions the captain will ask us. He gets feisty about the details.'

That's your problem.'

Brinkley, his annoyance growing, addressed the daughter. 'Did your parents get along?'

DiNunzio cut him off with a chop. 'I'm instructing her not to answer that.'

Brinkley was getting pissed. He'd never met a lawyer who hadn't interfered with getting to the truth. He couldn't understand that kind of job. 'You're disrupting a police investigation, Ms DiNunzio.'

'I disagree, but I won't bother to argue with you.' DiNunzio turned to Paige. 'Don't answer.'

Paige nodded shakily, and Brinkley looked at his notepad. 'Did your father ever strike your mother?' he asked, and DiNunzio scoffed again.

'Detective, she's talking to you voluntarily. You wanna continue this line of questioning, you'll have to get a subpoena and we'll meet you at the Roundhouse.'

Brinkley exchanged looks with Kovich. Neither wanted the girl taken down. Officially, she was still victim's family. It would look like they were beating on her, with the suspect already placed under. 'I don't think that'll be necessary. Paige, when was the last time you saw your mother alive?'

DiNunzio eased back into the cushy sofa, and Paige answered, 'Sunday. The day before she… you know. We were at a photo shoot.'

'You're a model, I understand.'

'Yes.'

'Why was your mother at your photo shoot?'

'She was my manager.'

'Did you ever have another manager?'

'No.'

'Did you want another manager?'

'No. She was still my manager, when she -'

'Passed,' Brinkley supplied, and Paige nodded jerkily. Brinkley shifted forward on the chair. 'What does a model's manager do, exactly?'

'She managed my career, got me the shoots, dealt with the bookers.'

Brinkley made a note. 'Bookers are what?'

'People who give you modeling jobs,' Kovich chirped up, and Brinkley looked over, surprised.

'Okay,' he said, and turned slowly back to the daughter. 'You know what I don't get?'

'What?' Paige pursed her lips, which trembled slightly. It made Brinkley wonder. He made a mental note of it, then said:

'I don't get how you stay so thin.'

'You don't eat!' Paige answered, breaking into a smile that Brinkley thought looked relieved.

'How do you not eat?' he asked. 'Me, I love food. Ribs, burgers, shakes. You give all that up?'

'Milk shakes? Uh, hello.' She laughed.

Kovich nudged Brinkley's arm heavily. 'A lot of models smoke,' he said, with a savvy smile. 'That's how they stay thin.'

Brinkley wanted to hit him, but didn't. 'What do you know about getting thin, partner? Look at you!'

The lawyers laughed, and so did the daughter. Brinkley could feel the tension ebb away and the atmosphere warm.

'I know all about this,' Kovich said. 1 got my finger on the pulse, Mick.' He put a thick finger over his wrist in case anybody missed his point, then turned to Paige. 'I have daughter, she's your age. She tells me about the models. Who smokes, who doesn't. A lot of 'em smoke but they hide it. Kate Moss smokes. Naomi Campbell, she smokes. Am I right or am I right, Paige?'

'It's true. Their diet is, like, water and Camels.' Paige nodded vigorously. 'But that's not my diet secret.'

Kovich inched forward on his chair. 'What's your diet secret?'

'Portion size,' Paige said, her tone confidential. 'Most people, their portions are way too big. It's all portion size. I figured that out by myself.'

'Portion size,' Kovich repeated, like it was a goddamn state secret, and Brinkley tried to get back on track. He was getting there, just slowly.

'You can't make a small cheeseburger.'

'You can't eat cheeseburgers if you want to lose,' Paige said. 'No red meat. No butter. No oil.'