Mike sat across from her. “He shot a woman to death at pointblank range, Trish. Killed a court officer in front of a judge and lawyers and several other decent people. Wounded three others. He stole two guns and he hijacked a car. Brendan’s what they used to say was ‘armed and extremely dangerous.’”

The lean woman looked a decade older and harder than she had a week ago, rocking in her chair as she continued to trace designs on the wood with her fingertip.

“What do they call it now?” she asked.

“I’d say he’s more like a fucking bull’s-eye. I’d say your brother’s a walking target, Trish, with a great big X painted on his forehead. Some cop sees him and knows how trigger-happy he is, Brendan gets nailed by the first shot, before he can even focus the only eye he’s got.”

One side of Trish Quillian’s mouth pulled back, almost in a grin. “My brother’s been dead for me a really long time, Detective. You trying to make me think you care what happens to him? I gave up worrying about Brendan years ago. Right after he gave up worrying about us.”

“I talked to Phin Baylor.”

The smile faded. “I’m the one who told you to, wasn’t I?”

“He said you shouldn’t be pointing fingers at any of the Hassett boys. Phin said there were things about your own brothers-about Brendan and Duke-that we ought to talk about with you.”

There was no change in Trish’s expression. She kept on rocking back and forth, rubbing her finger around and around on the wooden surface. “Like what?”

“Tell me what else you remember about Brendan. Tell me how he got along with your friends.”

“My friends? That’s a long way to think.” Trish Quillian sat still for more than a minute. “Maybe you know how it is with big brothers, Detective.”

She made eye contact with Mike for the first time, and he nodded at her.

“All the guys I went to school with, they looked up to Duke. He was the strong one, he was the street fighter-took on anybody’s cause for a friend. Sick as he was, when they thought he was going to die of the cancer, he came back tough as a bull. Wasn’t a soul who’d mess with me ’cause they knew Duke would take care of business.”

“He hurt people, didn’t he?”

Trish’s eyes narrowed to the size of slits. “He never hurt anybody who didn’t cause trouble first. And you can be sure no one complained about it to me. I wouldn’t have listened.” She wagged a finger at Mike as she spoke.

“And Brendan?”

“Boys didn’t understand him-him being afraid of the tunnels and the sandhog jobs and all. Liking books so much, inside doing homework most nights while kids were playing on the street. Girls? Well, some of them get kind of stupid around guys like him. He was good-looking-even with the bum eye-and popular with all the fancy girls. From the time he started high school at Regis, he always dressed better and talked smoother than the neighborhood kids. He was something special.”

“Your friends, Trish, did he hang out with them?”

She dismissed that thought with a snort. “You must be kidding. Six, seven years difference at that age? I think he liked the attention, liked the girls fawning all over him. But he didn’t have any interest in none of them. Just a nuisance, that’s all they were to him.”

Mike took his time making his approach. “How about Bex?”

“Yeah? What do you want to know about her now?”

“Well, you said she was at your house all the time, am I right?”

“Practically living there. Part of the family. My very best friend.”

“And Brendan. Did they get along?”

There was no sign of tension in her face or movements as she answered Mike. She didn’t seem to get the significance of his questions.

“I’d say they got along fine. He was good to Bex. Helped her with her homework, even. Things like that. Especially in those few months after her father was killed in that accident-right before Brendan got married-he was trying to be a big brother to her, help her through it.”

“They spent time together?”

Trish cocked her head and looked at Mike. “I’ve just told you what kind of things they did. Family stuff. Schoolwork. Even took her out driving a few times when she got her permit. In old Mr. Keating’s car, if I’m not mistaken. He was being good to her, if you don’t mind. You’re not making something else of it, are you? Sticking Brendan with something else?”

“Not anything-”

“We were kids, Bex and me, Detective. Sixteen years old when he got married to that snooty dame. She hated to lose him, same as I did. Like a brother.”

“Think of those last few months, Trish, before the wedding. Was Brendan around?”

“In the city? Sure. He and Amanda had to do Pre-Cana. They had to go to Amanda’s church, not ours.”

I knew that Pre-Cana was a requirement before Catholic weddings, couples meeting in sessions with a priest to discuss the responsibilities of their marriage, a reminder that it was considered a sacrament of the church.

“Were he and Amanda living together?”

“Before the wedding? Not like you mean. He stayed in the Keatings’ home, in the guest room from time to time,” Trish said. “My mother used to tell me-like it was the only good example she could draw from the Keatings-what a fine thing it was that Amanda had been raised with such important religious values. She liked that Amanda insisted on keeping herself pure till they were married-that’s what Mother called it. ‘Pure.’ Brendan told her that, she used to say.”

I closed my eyes, thinking of Amanda Keating guarding her virginity until her wedding night, while Brendan Quillian found a naive but willing sexual partner in a lost teenager who idolized him.

“So when Bex was angry and upset after the wedding, you didn’t think it was because Brendan-like, Brendan had something going on with her?”

“Trust me, Detective. I would have known about something like that. One of them would have told me, I’m sure of it.”

Mike sat up straight and Trish Quillian crossed her legs and rubbed her hands together.

“I’d like to trust you, Trish. I’d like to believe what you tell me, but I’m having a hard time with it.”

She looked up at Mike’s face and pursed her lips. “Why is that?”

“’Cause my damn ankle hurts like hell. I can’t concentrate on what you’re trying to feed me,” he said, ruffling the hair at the back of his neck.

“That’s not my fault.”

“You Quillians, you’re a tough bunch. I’d say it’s completely your fault. Wouldn’t be this way if I hadn’t chased you halfway across the elysian fields yesterday.”

“The what?”

“The cemetery, Trish. You were there when we went to-to-uh, to Bex’s grave.”

The slightest bit of color rose to her sunken cheeks. She looked up at the mirror and then glanced over at the closed door of the room. She began rocking again.

“Now, how did you know that I was going to be at Woodlawn in the morning?”

“It must have been a coincidence. I go there a lot,” she said defiantly. “I go there to talk to Bex pretty often. I didn’t know any of you was going to be there.”

“You ought to bring flowers next time you go. Looks pretty bare next to that little headstone. Aren’t you curious about why we had to dig-to disturb her grave?”

“I’m not a curious person, Detective. Since I called you the first time, I’m finding out it’s safer to mind my own business.” Trish leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms.

“I thought maybe Brendan told you why. I thought maybe Brendan explained the reason we had to take that poor girl back to the morgue and-”

“I don’t want to know anything about that part of it. Don’t you get that Brendan has nothing to do with this?” She waved a bony hand in front of her face. “I’ve only seen him at the wake. At the funeral. Brendan and I don’t talk.”

“Ow!” Mike said, letting out a fake yelp and bending over to grab his ankle. “Every time you tell a lie, my leg just throbs.”