"I was home by nine o'clock. My kids had the flu. They still do. Kitty has a fever. She should be home in bed right now. My wife has been questioned half a dozen times already. What do you want from us?" He stopped abruptly and let his body slump against a parked car.

"It's a complicated situation," Mike said, pulling on his mustache.

"What's complicated? My father was murdered at one of your parties. Why are you looking at me?" He addressed at April as he said it.

"You know why," she said softly. And he bit.

"Because I'm a black belt?" he said, exasperated.

"Hey, we're on your side," Mike interrupted. "We both are. No one's pulled a warrant on you. No one's brought you into the station. No one's searching your home. Come on, play ball. All we're trying to do is clear a few things up."

"Look, don't talk warrant to me, okay? I know what you're trying to do." Bill clenched his fists, trying not to lose it.

"Bill, we've had over a thousand calls to Crime Stoppers alone. That's a lot of tips. The street canvass has pulled in more leads than we can handle. Believe me, we're looking into every single one. But face it, this is no stranger murder; you know that. And we're going to find your dad's killer. You can take that to the bank."

Bill's eyes flickered at the bank reference. "No matter who it is?" he said challengingly.

"You bet," April said softly. "No matter who."

He turned to her as if she were an alien, not a longtime friend of his father's. "I don't know."

"Hey, if you want to get off the hook here, you're going to have to help." Mike prodded a little more.

"I was at home. I'm not on the hook," he responded angrily.

"Then let's talk money."

"I can't believe this." Bill pushed off the car.

"We're just looking for a motive here, and fifteen million is a lot of motive." Mike smoothed his mustache and smiled. "People kill for less. A lot less. For a dollar, a pair of sneakers. You prosecute them. You know."

Bill's jaw worked in tandem with his fists. He couldn't argue the facts. "I just can't believe this," he muttered angrily.

"What can't you believe?" Mike asked him softly.

"Don't you guys talk?" Bill demanded.

Mike shook his head. "Let's not get into politics here. I'm not asking what you told IA or anybody else. We're the primaries in this case, and for us the cash is a factor. A big factor. It may be missing, but it's not going away."

Bill was not an ugly bruiser like his dad. He was five-eleven, stocky, close to forty. He had a prosecutor's irritability in his stance, almost as if he carried a gun in his pocket. But his anger died away as he said, "I just don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? You don't know your dad had four million dollars in cash in his possession? Or you don't know where it is?"

"He got strange after Mom died."

That wasn't an answer. "What's strange, Bill?" Mike asked.

"He was distant, secretive." Bill looked away.

"How about sad? Would sad describe it?" April cut in.

"Did you go into the house Thursday morning?" Mike changed the subject.

Bill blinked. "You know I did. So what?"

Mike glanced at April. Now they did.

"What for?" she asked.

He didn't answer. "Maybe I should get a lawyer. Everyone says I should. I don't know what I'm waiting for."

"What did you go to the house for, Bill?"

He shook his head. "You guys are real shits; anybody ever tell you that?"

"Imagine that. We're the shits, and we're the ones on your side. Come on, what did you go to the house for-the files, the money. What?" April demanded. Her jaw was beginning to ache. A new pain.

"I went for Weenie," he said. His angry face erupted in a smile.

"Weenie?" Mike frowned.

"Oh, Jesus." April looked down at her feet. "Weenie was Bernardino's dog."

"I didn't see any sign of a dog," Mike said.

"Well, you don't see a lot of things." Bill snorted.

"What time did you go for the dog?" April asked.

Bill made some breathing noises. "I don't know. I remembered him sometime in the middle of the night. I went to get him early in the morning."

April considered the story for all of two seconds before rejecting it. "You know what it sounds like to me? Sounds to me like you got a lot of money from your dad, and maybe your sister didn't know about it." She watched his hands. He was a prosecutor, for God's sake. He knew how to tell a story.

"My sister was in California," he countered.

"Maybe she was going to get her share later." April gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"What are you saying? What are you implying here? It was Dad's money. He'd already paid taxes on it. Whatever he did with it was his business. Why can't you leave it at that?"

"Gee, Bill, we would have. But somebody killed him," April said flatly.

"I'd like to see Weenie," Mike said.

"Fine, toss my house. You're not going to find what you're looking for." His fist hit the car.

"How do you know what we're looking for?" April asked.

The prosecutor's face revealed that he'd been thinking money. He didn't know about the Tiger Liniment. For a change he was out of the loop. He didn't know what they were looking for. "Fuck you," he said softly.

Marcus Beame called on Mike's cell phone at four-fifteen. "How ya doin'?" he asked.

Mike and April were in the Camaro, heading to Brooklyn to take a look at Weenie and collect some of his hair to see if they matched those Duke had found in Bernardino's cuff. Also to check on Bill's medicine cabinet and sports bag for muscle analgesics. They were supposed to be treading softly. If they tossed the house of an ADA while he was at his father's wake, they'd break every rule in the book. They'd been talking about it for the last hour. April was close to Kathy. That complicated things, too. Frankly, they needed a warrant or Bill's blessing, or both, to do the search, and April wanted to stay far, far away from it.

"Hey, Marcus. What's going on?" Mike asked, then put the cell on speakerphone so April could hear it.

"We're working about fifty tips down here, and we're not even on the task force. Everybody here is on it. How about you?" Marcus's voice was animated. It sounded as if the second whip in the Fifth Precinct had had a battery charge since they'd talked last. Maybe his hangover was gone.

"Same," Mike said.

"We've checked out Ridley and Washburn," he reported.

"Who?"

"April suggested we look at old cases. Those two went down for criminal negligence in five fire deaths back in-"

"Oh, yeah, I remember. What about them?"

"Bernardino handled the case. They just got out of the can last week and always said they'd get back at him. Is she with you?"

"Yes, Marcus, April is with me." Mike glanced at her. She didn't say anything.

"Well, tell her they've been in the Bahamas on vacation with their families since the day after they got out. We're still going with old cases, but we've got two people working the dojo angle."

Mike glanced at April again. "Who's on it?"

"A couple of guys in the unit are into it big-time- with the martial-arts magazines and the training equipment. The whole nine yards. They're taking the lead here."

"Were they at the party?"

"No, sir. They were working that night. I know the case they were working. I'm their supervisor."

"Names?"

"Wagner, Francis. Angelino, Fred. April knows them."

She shrugged and nodded. They were okay. "Hey, Marcus, tell them to check out where Bill Bernardino trains and who he spars with. Tell them to be discreet, okay?"

"Will do."

"And tell them you're looking for someone who has a reputation for hurting his opponents."