“Calling you was my idea, Sam. I had to talk Brenda into it. And it wasn’t just because of the clothes, but also because we found a gun.”

“Oh, hell, this is great, you found a gun, too?” His voice betrayed resignation now, no longer curiosity.

“After the suicide attempt, the friend who came over and found Merritt found her in the bathroom.” I pointed to the open doorway across the bedroom. “I went in there to see if there were signs of blood there. I was figuring that there was so much blood on Merritt that she had to have washed up somewhere because she wasn’t bloody when she was brought into the ER. I lifted the bar of soap on the vanity, and sure enough, there’s pink scum underneath it. When I took a towel to dry my hands, I saw a gun sitting on top of the next towel in the pile. I knew then we had to call you. We didn’t touch it.”

Sam eased me out of the way with a swipe of his forearm and leaned close to the chunky handgun. “It’s a Smith and Wesson. And it’s caked with dried blood, right? Is that how you have it?”

I didn’t know about the Smith and Wesson part. “Yeah, that’s how it looks to me.”

“Is the gun John’s?”

“Brenda says it’s not, they don’t keep any guns in the house.”

Sam’s mind took bits and flakes of information and turned them into criminal theories with the artistic skill a mosaic artist uses to assemble tiles.

“Well, they have a gun in the house now. Except I’d bet a pitcher of beer that the serial number on this one is going to tell me that where it really belongs is over in Dead Ed Robilio’s house. What on earth is Merritt mixed up with? Do you know what kinds of kids she’s been hanging around with? You don’t know the answer to that, do you?”

Sam was asking me if Merritt was talking to me, her psychologist, about Dead Ed or guns or bloody clothes. He knew I shouldn’t answer. He didn’t expect that to matter. This was family.

“Let’s just say this is news to me. My guess now, Sam, is that I’m beginning to understand the reason she’s not talking to anyone. This…this discovery is an important step. Maybe it’ll shake her out of her silence.”

“Alan, if that gun is the one missing from Dead Ed’s house, and if the blood all over those clothes is Dead Ed’s blood, Merritt’s going to receive enough of a jolt either to shake her out of any stupor, or to jar her into total catatonia.”

“You’re right, there’s no telling.”

“You know, Malloy doesn’t have shit on Dead Ed. They don’t know what to do about that suicide note. If it’s murder, they don’t even have a suspect. There’s two dozen people working on it and the investigation is wide open. And now it looks like I’m going to hand them my niece on a silver platter.”

“Maybe we’re wrong. How long will it take to analyze things? The blood and the gun?”

“The serial number on the weapon? I just need to make a call. The ballistics should be straightforward. We have the slugs from Dead Ed’s house. Everett could do the match in his sleep. Given the hour, he may have to. The blood? The lab guys will know something tentative by morning, maybe later tonight if they’re motivated. And I have a funny feeling they’re going to get motivated.”

“DNA?”

“Takes weeks, even months.”

“Why don’t you make the call about the serial number? The suspense isn’t doing anyone any good.”

“Yeah.” He started to walk out of the room. Took a few seconds to assess Merritt’s space. “Neat room. Neat kid. This doesn’t add up.”

“No, it doesn’t, I agree.”

I am not someone naive about teenagers, and never really expect adolescent lives to line up in patterns that approach orderliness, but at that moment Sam was an uncle, not a cop, and was seeking solace from me, not counsel.

In my outpatient practice I was treating a sweet nineteen-year-old girl with an eating disorder. Over the past week she had begun talking about having molested her young male cousin over a two-year period when she was younger. I didn’t believe her at first. Believing that such a sweet, fragile kid was a child molester was like discovering that Mother Teresa masqueraded as a hooker.

I had been thinking about that girl a lot lately. And I had been thinking about Merritt a lot lately. But I didn’t tell Sam. He wanted to believe that Merritt was a good kid and that she hadn’t killed Dead Ed. For now, that was probably best.

He stopped at the landing at the head of the stairs. “I don’t know if they’re going to listen to my advice. Brenda and John. So I want you to make sure that if this serial number comes back a match that the first call they make is to Cozier Maitlin. They’re under too much pressure, they’re not thinking straight. I don’t want them doing anything to jeopardize this kid. Maitlin will know what to do. Cozier Maitlin. You got it?”

“I understand what you’re saying, Sam.”

He turned his back on me before he said, “I’m not offering advice here.”

“I know, Sam. Cozy’s a good choice. I know what’s at stake.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t have a clue.”

Twelve

Cozier Maitlin arrived in his black BMW before the Boulder Police Department reinforcements showed up en masse. I met him on the driveway and quickly underscored the complications of his new client’s situation.

Cozy towered over me. Briefly, a few months back, Cozy Maitlin had been my lawyer-and Lauren’s-and I’d spent quite a few hours getting to know him. I’d never become accustomed to his full head advantage over me. I stand a touch over six-one, yet with Cozy I always felt like a point guard trying to drive the lane against a towering center.

He relished his size when he was trying to be intimidating, and he was capable of intimidating with aplomb. After my presentation of a synopsis of the night’s events he was visibly upset with my actions and he didn’t mince words letting me know it. “Given what you suspected was going on you should have called me first, right away, not Sam Purdy-”

“He’s family, Cozy. He’s-”

“I don’t care. Sam’s a cop, and because he was invited into this house that means I don’t have much of a reason not to grant a waiver so that any cop who wants to can come into this house, which means the police don’t need to harass a judge for a warrant for permission to poke around inside. They would have gotten in anyway, but now we’ve lost the advantage of being able to appear cooperative.”

“Brenda and I did cooperate. We called the police right away.”

He seemed to be considering whether to lecture me in more depth as he looked toward the front door. “Where is she? The mother? Is she inside? I hope she’s not chatting with Sam, or anyone else for that matter.”

“I don’t think so. Sam’s been deferential to her and no one else is here yet. Although she’s a little shocky, she’s bright, and she understands what’s going on. She’s inside, in the living room. I suggested she not talk to anyone before you arrived and spoke with her. Sam heard me and told her it was good advice.”

His tone softened. “Bravo. At least you learned something from our adventures last fall. Sam Purdy said that, really-told her not to talk? That’s hard to believe.”

“Merritt’s his niece, Cozy, and the family situation is messy. He’s worried about her welfare. Although my guess is that he doesn’t want anyone to know it, he insisted that I convince Brenda to call you.”

“I have to digest all this a little. But I don’t trust it. In my experience most cops are cops first and uncles second.” He started toward the front door, and his voice dropped and softened. “How’s Lauren?”

“Adjusting, Cozy. She’s visiting her family right now; her mother is ill. But Lauren’s doing okay, considering. Thanks.” I rapped the front door sharply and pushed it open. “You’re still seeing Adrienne?” I knew he was, but thought I’d see how he would respond. And I was still struggling with what to say when people asked me about Lauren.