I arrived on time for the meeting with Selena Bass’s mother. The civilian clerk told me, “They already started. Room D, upstairs.”

The door was unlocked. The A.C. blasted. Milo sat opposite Emily Green-Bass. His tie was knotted neatly and his face was soft. I’ve seen him practice in front of a mirror before meeting with grief-stricken relatives. Loosening his muscles. Keeping the wolf-glare out of his eyes.

Emily Green-Bass’s white hair was now long and French-braided. She wore a black mock turtle over a long gray skirt, and black suede flats. Jewelry dealer, but no baubles. Her features were laser-cut, too sharp for beautiful. A handsome woman during good times. Now she was icy statuary.

Two bulky men in their thirties sat at the side of the table. The older one wore a yellow golf shirt, brown slacks, deck shoes. Reddish blond hair was side-parted executive-style. Close-shaved, bullnecked, three-martini nose.

The younger one was darker, just as husky but with a bonier face. He wore a faded gray David Lynch Rules sweatshirt, wrinkled cargo pants, high lace-up boots. Wavy brown hair hung to his shoulders. A triangular soul patch was white-blond. A chromium chain drooped from a rear pocket, and when he turned to me it jangled.

Milo introduced me. “These are Selena’s mom and brothers, Dr. Delaware.”

Emily Green-Bass held out a long, white hand that felt as if it had just left the freezer. I encased it briefly with both of mine and her gray eyes got wet.

Polo Shirt said, “Chris Green.”

Soul Patch muttered, “Marc.”

“We were just going over Selena’s life in L.A. Marc had some contact with Selena after she moved here.”

“She visited me in Oakland,” said Marc. “Said she was doing fine. She e-mailed the same thing to Mom.”

Emily Green-Bass hadn’t taken her eyes off me. “I’m glad a psychologist is here. What happened has got to be psychotic. There hasn’t been anything extreme in Selena’s life. Not for a long time.”

Marc Green said, “There never was. It was basic adolescent crap.”

“If you say so, Marcus.” Wan smile. “It sure didn’t seem that way when I had to contend with it.”

Marc’s shoulders rose and fell. His chain jangled and he reached behind to quiet it. “I did the same crap and so did Chris. Only difference is we were better at covering up.”

Looking to his brother for confirmation.

Chris said, “Uh-huh.”

“Unfortunately for Selena,” Marc went on, “she had a compulsion to confess everything. Right?”

Chris smiled sadly. “Like a Catholic thing. Except we’re not Catholic.”

“First she’d try out the script on us,” said Marc. “ ‘I smoked a joint.’ ‘I watched an X movie on cable.’ ‘I lied about where I was to Mom.’ We’re like, don’t tell us, stupid. And for sure don’t tell Mom. So of course she did.”

Emily Green-Bass began crying.

Milo said, “Typical teenage stuff.”

Marc Green said, “This is a waste of time.”

Chris said, “She was into the whole music thing.”

“So what!”

“Chill, Marc. I want them to have all the facts-”

“The facts are she was in the wrong place, wrong time, ran into Ted Bundy’s reincarnation.”

No one spoke.

Marc Green said, “This may be news to all concerned but being into the whole music thing doesn’t make her a freak. Her basic mind-set was conventional. When she met some of the people I have to hang with, she thought they were weird.”

Milo said, “Which people are those?”

Marc said, “From work.”

“Which is where?”

“That relevant?”

His mother said, “Marcus, he’s trying to help.”

“Good for him.” To Milo: “I work wherever they pay me.”

Emily Green-Bass said, “Marc has a degree in acoustical engineering.”

“I do sound recording and amplification, mostly concerts and indie films. And as long as we’re doing the official family bio thing, Big Bro Chris works for Starbucks. That’s an obscure coffee company in Seattle.”

Chris said, “Marketing and distribution.”

I said, “When did Selena visit you, Marc?”

“A year ago and maybe six months after that. The first time, I was working on a picture and she trailed along. That’s when she told me the people I hung with were bizarre. Which was true of that particular crew, I guess. Half the dialogue was in Italian, the rest was pantomime-some sort of tribute to Pasolini but nobody actually knew Italian.”

His brother said, “And the Oscar goes to.”

“Hey, we can’t all ride the caffeine train.”

Milo said, “Selena’s second visit… ”

“Was when I asked her up for the weekend so I could introduce her to Cleo-then my lover, now my wife. We just had our first baby. Which is why I should be home. Can we move this along?”

Milo sat back and crossed his legs. “If you’ve got nothing more to tell us, feel free to go.”

Marc rubbed his soul patch, shoved hair behind his left ear. Blue and green ink washed across his neck. Cleo, amid a wreath of vines. I hoped the marriage lasted.

“What the hell,” he said. “I’m booked on a nine p.m., no sense changing it.”

Chris said, “Selena saw you twice, huh? That’s two more times than she bothered to call me back.”

“Guess she was too busy for corporate chitchat.”

Chris turned away from his brother.

Milo said, “You called her…”

“Just to see how she was doing.”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“I dunno… two years ago.”

Marc said, “Obviously we’re a close-knit family.”

Emily Green-Bass said, “Chris and Marc’s father and I broke up when the boys were one and three and he hasn’t been heard from since.” Frowning at her sons as if the fault was theirs. “I met Selena’s dad a year later. Dan was good to you guys.”

No argument.

“Dan passed away when Selena was six. I raised her alone and I’m sure there are some people would say I screwed it up.”

Chris said, “You did fine, Mom.”

Marc said, “Can we stay focused on Selena?”

Silence.

“Why get distracted?” he said. “Selena was talented, but as essentially straight as they come. I’m not saying she never puffed a doobie. But even when she and Mom were doing their hostility thing, she never did anything spiteful, like hooking up with someone iffy. Just the opposite. We used to call her Sister Cee. As in celibate.”

“She’d call herself that,” said Chris.

Milo said, “What about boyfriends?”

Marc said, “Nope.”

“Mrs. Green-Bass?”

“No, I never saw anyone.”

She covered her face. Marc reached out to pat his mother’s shoulders. She drew away.

“Oh God,” she said, through her fingers, “this is so horrible.”

Marc’s lip trembled. “All I’m saying, Mom, is that Selena didn’t bring it upon herself. Shit happens, life sucks. Like stepping off a curb and some asshole comes barreling down. That just happened to me. Right after Cleo gave birth to Phaedra. I left the hospital to get some champagne, was floating on air. I step off the curb and this fucking San Francisco Examiner truck comes out of nowhere, misses me by a millimeter.”

“Marcus, don’t tell me those things! I don’t want to hear them!”

Milo said, “So no boyfriend anyone’s aware of. What about friends? People she hung with here in L.A. ”

No answer.

Emily said, “She did seem to be happy about her work. That’s what she finally e-mailed me about.”

“Teaching that rich kid,” said Marc. “She said it was a dream gig. She called to tell me because I’m into music, too. Used to play bass. Not that I was ever close to Selena’s level. I’m competent, she’s brilliant. Sat down at the piano when she was three and just played the fucking thing. By five, she was doing Gershwin by ear. Give her anything, she could play it. I watched her pick up a clarinet cold and run off a scale. She got the breathing right away.”