He returned three minutes later, gave a thumbs-up. “No sign of disturbance, she’s got a security light at the back door and bars on all the rear windows. Toss in the alarm and I certify it as safe. Let’s go home. Tomorrow I’ll follow up with Petra.”

I said, “We were wondering how Jordan managed to stay in the building so long. Now we find out the landlord never responded to the complaints about his music, even though that meant other tenants vacating.”

“Connections,” he said. “A family thing, like you said.”

“I’d like to know who’s got the deed to the building and if they owned it back in Patty’s day.”

“Petra got the landlord’s name from the dancing girls, hold on.” He pulled out his pad, used the penlight, flipped pages. “Deer Valley Properties in Utah, but it’s managed by a downtown firm.”

“Kyle Bedard’s mother lives in Deer Valley.”

He frowned, stared up the dark street. “My oh my.”

The following morning at ten, we were standing on the front steps of the mansion on Hudson Avenue, listening to the chimes of the doorbell. An hour ago, Milo had talked to the company that managed the building on Cherokee, verified that Lester Jordan was Mrs. Iona Bedard’s brother. Jordan was on their payroll as an “on-site inspector” but his duties were ambiguous and his three-hundred-dollar weekly paycheck traced back to Deer Valley.

“Company goes along with it in order to keep the building on their management list.” He eyed the Bentley and the Mercedes. “What do these people do for cash?”

“Born into the Lucky Sperm Club.”

The woman named America opened one of the double doors.

I smiled at her. She clutched her broom handle.

“Is Kyle here?”

“No.”

“Do you have any idea where-”

“School.”

My thank-you was cut short by the whoosh of solid walnut gliding into place.

Milo said, “Ah, the warmth of hearth and home.”

The physics building at the U. is a sixties-era assemblage of glass, white brick, and mosaic murals that portray great moments in fusion. Across an inverted fountain looms the psych building, where I’d gotten my union card. I’d never paid much attention to the less ambiguous goings-on yards away.

Milo and I had come prepared to wrestle with department secretaries but Kyle Bedard was in plain view, sitting on the rim of the fountain eating a sandwich and drinking orange juice from a plastic carton. Talking, in between bites, to a young woman.

She was small, blond, preppy in pink and khaki. Kyle wore a gray sweatshirt, baggy jeans, antiquarian sneakers. He’d traded his contacts for black-framed eyeglasses.

As we approached, he righted the specs, as if trying to refocus.

The girl turned.

I said, “Hi, Tanya.”

Milo took Kyle by the elbow and ushered him halfway around the fountain. Tanya pressed a hand to her cheek and gaped. I sat down next to her. “What’s going on, Dr. Delaware?”

“That’s Lieutenat Sturgis. He needs to talk to Kyle.”

“About what?”

“How’d you meet him, Tanya?”

The hand on her face pressed harder, created white spots. She turned to me. “Is he-are you going to tell me something creepy about him?”

Not yet. “No. How did-”

“He contacted me through Facebook, we had lunch yesterday, decided to do it again today. It wasn’t some stranger-stalk, Dr. Delaware. He said a police psychologist had been by to talk to him about my mother and that reminded him of when we were kids and he used to visit. I told him I knew you and that I remembered him, too. Always reading a book. He seems like a good person and he’s brilliant.”

“I’m sure he is,” I said.

“There is a problem?”

“Not with Kyle.”

“Then why are you here?”

“A man living in the building on Cherokee was murdered yesterday. The building’s owned by Kyle’s mother. She got it as part of a divorce settlement but back when you lived there it was owned by Colonel Bedard.”

“It’s all…connected?”

“It’s possible your mother got the job at the mansion because someone from Cherokee recommended her.”

“Who would do that?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

She reached for a half-empty yogurt container and squeezed. “I still don’t see why you’re talking to Kyle. He was a kid back then.”

“The man who was murdered was named Lester Jordan. Sound familiar?”

She shook her head.

“He was living there when you were. First-floor apartment, left side of the corridor, toward the back.”

“I’ve never heard of him, Dr. Delaware. Mommy never let me go inside the building alone. Who killed him?”

“We don’t know, yet.”

“You think Kyle knows?”

“Lester Jordan was Kyle’s mom’s brother.”

“And now he’s-oh, my God, you’re saying it’s because of what I started?”

“No, there’s no evidence of that, Tanya.”

“But you think it’s possible.” She grabbed a handful of hair and twisted. “Oh, my God, I couldn’t let go of it and now that man’s dead.”

“You are not to blame,” I said. “Zero responsibility.”

“This is horrible.”

“Tanya, Lester Jordan was a heroin addict who led a high-risk lifestyle, it’s a miracle he’s survived this long. Unless your mother and he had some kind of relationship when he was alive, there’s no reason to believe she’s connected to his death.”

“Of course they had no relationship, why would she hang out with someone like that?”

“It didn’t need to be a social connection,” I said. “An addict could require medical care from time to time.”

“You’re saying she helped him with overdoses?”

“Or with kicking his habit.”

Or feeding it.

“I never saw or heard of anything like that,” she said. “But I was so young.”

“Even if your mother did help Jordan, it doesn’t mean that had anything to do with his death. This was a man with an extensive criminal record. He associated with bad people. Lieutenant Sturgis is looking into Jordan’s background. He needs to talk to Kyle’s parents but they’re both out of town. Kyle was the next best thing.”

Letting go of her hair, she played with the yogurt cup. “I really can’t see Mommy knowing someone like that. Her big thing was protecting me from bad influences.”

“What about those drunks who knocked on the door?” I said. “That could’ve been an addict going through withdrawal.”

“I guess. I never saw her open the door. That was the whole point, keeping that world outside.”

“Sketchy neighborhood,” I said. “But she lived there for six years.”

“What are you saying?”

“Maybe she stayed that long because she was earning extra income caring for Lester Jordan. When Colonel Bedard needed nursing, his family remembered how effective she’d been and asked her to live in.”

“She never told me anything like that.”

“There’d be no reason to tell a seven-year-old.”

A clapping sound drew our attention. Milo’s hand landing on Kyle Bedard’s shoulder. Kyle flinched, made eye contact with Tanya.

She stared past him and he turned back to Milo.

Milo spoke a bit longer, gave Kyle a half salute and a wolf-grin. Kyle chanced another glance at Tanya, headed for the physics building. Fooling with his glasses and hitching his pants, he stepped inside.

Tanya said, “He left his lunch.”

Milo said, “His appetite may have waned.”

A big padded hand shot out. “Milo Sturgis.”

“Tanya.”

He sat down next to her. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Lieutenant, I’ve never heard of that man, Jordan.”

“Didn’t expect you would, Tanya.”

“Kyle’s uncle,” she said. “How’d Kyle take the news?”

“He’s a little shaken,” said Milo.

“Do you think this happened because of me?”