'No meat?' Brinkley asked casually. 'You a vegetarian?'

'Sure am.' Paige nodded in satisfaction. 'A lot of the supermodels are, too.'

Brinkley shook his head, his thoughts elsewhere. That would explain the hummus on the appetizer platter. The daughter had been there for dinner. 'I'd have to think about it. It's a lot to give up. I love meat.'

'You get used to it, you'll see.'

‘I can't get used to that,' Kovich said flatly, but Brinkley excused himself and stood up slowly, shaking his pant leg over his ankle holster.

'Ladies, I hate to interrupt, but may I use the facilities? I'll just be a minute.'

'Sure,' Paige answered. DiNunzio looked unhappy but didn't countermand her, and Brinkley headed off. 'First door on the right,' Paige called after him, and Brinkley slipped inside and shut the door behind him.

Inside the bathroom, he could hear them talking diet. DiNunzio wouldn't put up with it for long; Brinkley didn't have much time. He lifted the toilet seat loudly and coughed at the same moment as he opened the medicine cabinet. His eyes scanned the shallow shelves, which were almost empty. Glade air freshener, extra guest soaps. There. A comb.

Brinkley picked up the comb by the corner. Silky red filaments of hair were entwined in its teeth. He grabbed some toilet paper, slid the hair from the comb, and put the comb back on the shelf. Then he slipped the paper with the hair carefully into his inside jacket pocket. It wouldn't be admissible in court – the seizure wasn't kosher and the chain of custody nonexistent – but it wasn't for court anyway. He closed the cabinet, flushed the toilet, and opened the door and let himself out of the bathroom. He rejoined the group, which looked as chummy as a hen party. Kovich was good with women. Sheree always said he was like a big teddy bear. 'You lose weight yet, partner?'

'I'm on my way,' Kovich said, pushing up his glasses. 'No more oil for me. Kelley tells me the same thing. It's liquid fat. Right, Coach?'

Paige nodded happily, and Brinkley sat down. 'We'll finish up this conversation,' he told her. 'I don't want to keep you too long.' He picked up his notepad from the chair. 'I know this is a hard time for you.'

Thanks. I don't feel very well, it's true. I had a pretty bad migraine last night. I had one the night before that, too.'

Brinkley thought a minute. 'You got it after you heard about what happened -'

'No, I got it before, in the afternoon. I was supposed to have dinner with my parents last night, but I canceled because of the migraine.'

DiNunzio waved her hand like a ref calling foul. 'I think that's enough now. Detective, you said you were finished here.'

But Brinkley couldn't let it go. His hummus theory was in doubt, 'I want to clarify that. Did you go to your parents' house last night?'

'No. I was here. I was supposed to go to dinner, but I canceled. I stayed at home in bed.'

Brinkley studied Paige's face. Her thin skin colored with agitation, but she would have been upset, in context. It flushed his hummus theory down the drain. 'Is there a way we can confirm that?'

'What?'

'Your whereabouts that night?'

DiNunzio stood up abruptly. 'I don't see the relevance of the inquiry. I'm instructing Paige not to answer.'

'It's one last clarification.'

'No it isn't. You've charged her father with the crime. If Paige needs a lawyer, we'll get her one, too. And I don't remember you reading her her rights.'

'We don't have to Mirandize her unless it's a custodial interrogation, and she's not in custody.'

'It's starting to smell like she is,' DiNunzio said, and Paige picked up her water from the coffee table with a shaky hand.

Brinkley stood up, flipped his notebook closed, and returned it to his breast pocket. 'I don't think we need to continue this any longer.' He looked down at Paige, who, though tall, suddenly seemed to shrink into the couch. 'I'm sorry to have bothered you today, Paige. We'll try to handle this without disturbing you again. Feel free to call us if you have any questions.'

'She will,' DiNunzio said, but Brinkley bit his tongue.

'Please take my card.' Re slipped a slim hand into his back pocket for his wallet and flipped it open. The heavy gold badge of the Detective Division flashed in the sunny apartment as he extracted a business card, and he noted Paige's slight frown at the sight. A natural reaction? Lots of people reacted to the badge. He knew a cop who said it got him laid, every time. He pulled out a business card and extended it to Paige, but DiNunzio took it instead.

'Thank you,' she said, moving to the door. I'll show you both out.'

Kovich got up, and Brinkley grabbed his coat and left, with more questions than before.

'You're outta your mind, Mick,' Kovich said, shrugging off the winter chill in his polyester sportjacket. It was a cold clear day, the temperature barely above freezing, but Kovich never wore a coat. It wasn't a macho act; the man never got cold. Brinkley didn't understand it.

'I don't think so.' They strode from the tall apartment building toward the Chrysler. Wind gusted down Pine Street, and Brinkley buttoned his black leather topcoat.

'The hummus shit, that washed out. The kid was going over to dinner, Mommy put it out, then the kid canceled.'

'Got it.'

'She didn't do it, Mick. Plus we got the father locked up, and Davis on the case. What do you think's gonna happen? You got a stray one, and he's gonna let Newlin go? Are you nuts? The paper's already calling him "No Deal" Davis. The prelim's around the corner.'

Brinkley squinted against the cold sun like it hurt. 'She doesn't have an alibi.'

'She doesn't need one. You saw the lab reports. The prints are his. The fibers, it's all there.'

The lab reports don't mean anything. Not if he staged the scene to protect the daughter.'

'Nobody could stage a scene that good!'

'Not even a lawyer?'

'Jesus H. Christ!' Kovich picked up the pace, his breath puffing like a locomotive, and Brinkley could see he was getting worked up. 'You're losin' me, Mick.'

Brinkley didn't say anything.

'I was workin' with you before but now that I met her, you're losin' me. She's a kid. She's like the girls in the magazines, in Kelley's magazines. She's Kelley, for Christ's sake.'

'No, she's not. You don't know her.'

'Listen to me, I'm a father, Mick. Teenage girls, they're not that different. Didn't you see her? She's all broke up, she got the puffy eyes, the whole thing. Kids her age, they don't take stress that well. Kelley gets a zit, she cries in her room. They're Drama Queens, all of 'em. That kid was upset for real.'

'If she did it, she would be. Like you say, she's a teenage girl, not a scumbag.'

Kovich snorted. 'Anybody who kills their mother is a scumbag. It's automatic.'

Brinkley thought that one over as they reached the car. By then, Kovich was breathing easier but not much.

'So what'd you do in the bathroom?' he asked, opening the driver's side door.

'Number one,' Brinkley told him. He was thinking about that earring back.