‘You mean like all those dandelions and quack grass?’

‘Exactly.’ Magozzi unlocked the door and gestured Gino inside. ‘Grab the brats while I fire up the grill.’

By the time Magozzi had a nice bed of coals smoldering in the duct-taped Weber, Gino was finished with his kitchen prep and had wandered into the living room. He looked around at the bare walls, the leather recliner, and the single side table with one of those cheapo high-intensity lamps. ‘So what do you call this? Xeri-decorating?’

‘No, this is Minimalism.’

Gino shook his head. ‘This is pathetic. Looks exactly the way it did the day your ex cleaned you out. You need to do something with this place.’

‘Hey, you didn’t have to come here for lunch, you know. If you don’t like the ambience, you can go home and eat.’

‘Oh no I can’t. First of all, I left my brats and twelve-year cheddar here yesterday, and second of all, the in-laws are only on photo album number three in a series of ten from their last cruise. God love ’em, they’re beautiful people, but they’ve been here for four days and sometimes you just gotta take a step back. Seriously, Leo, how long are you going to live in a place that looks like an abandoned warehouse? It’s like you put your whole life on hold the day Heather left, and that ain’t healthy.’

‘First of all, I put my life on hold the day I married Heather, I started to get healthy the day she walked out, and second of all, single guys do not spend their free time at feng shui seminars at Wally’s World of Furniture. It’s not macho.’

Gino grunted. ‘Well this sure isn’t macho. Macho is a big-screen TV and a wet bar. This is just plain empty, like nobody lives here. You ever hear the expression a man’s home is a reflection of the man?’

‘From what I’ve seen, a man’s home is the reflection of the woman he lives with.’

‘Are you talking about my house?’

‘Actually, I was talking about this place when Heather lived here.’ But he was thinking about big bad Gino with a gun living in a house of soft upholstery, dried flowers, and herbal wreaths. A girlie house. Angela’s house. Not a big-screen TV or a wet bar in sight. It always smelled like the garlic and basil sauce that was forever simmering on the stove, and occasionally, baby powder. ‘And maybe yours, too, yeah.’

Gino rocked back on his heels, grinning. ‘Which proves my point. My house is a perfect reflection of who I am. I’m the man who loves Angela.’

Half an hour later, Magozzi was finishing his third brat. ‘These are unbelievable.’

‘Told you,’ Gino said around a mouthful. ‘The real secret is in the precook – you got to simmer brats in beer and onions before you grill. If you don’t, you might as well be eating tofu pups. Want the last one?’

Magozzi put his hand to his heart. ‘I think I’ve done enough arterial damage for one day. I may be a risk taker, but I’m not suicidal.’

Gino gave the remaining brat careful consideration for about two seconds before plucking it off the serving platter. ‘That’s why God invented Lipitor.’ He paused for a moment, frowning. ‘And speaking of being suicidal, how worried do you think we should be about Pullman? He didn’t look like he was doing so hot today.’

Magozzi leaned back in his chair and thought about that. ‘It’s hard to say. There’s a big difference between thinking about it and actually doing it, but he could be going that way. If he’s really blacking out a lot, he’s got a good start on drinking himself to death, that’s for sure.’

‘Just like his brother-in-law. Christ, what a messed-up family. You know, I really wanted to like Gilbert for popping his dad, but to tell you the truth, I don’t think he’s got it in him. Doesn’t have the schtupa.’

‘Chutzpah, not schtupa, and you might want to forget trying out your Yiddish at the funeral tomorrow.’

‘Whatever. He ain’t got it.’ Gino chewed thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Besides, I got the case solved, and I’m sticking with my original doer.’

‘Lily Gilbert?’

‘Who else? Only now we got her for killing her husband and Rose Kleber.’

Magozzi rolled his eyes. ‘Okay. I’ll bite. Why would Lily Gilbert kill an old woman she’s never met before?’

‘Hul-lo. Because her husband was nailing the cookie-baking grandma, that’s why. Geriatric crime of passion, clear as a bell.’

‘Seems to me we just spent half the morning establishing that Morey Gilbert and Rose Kleber didn’t even know each other.’

‘Just because the families didn’t know about it doesn’t mean it wasn’t happening. Think about it. You don’t run around committing adultery and then tell your family about it.’

‘Give me a break, Gino. These people are old.’

‘So? You think old people don’t have sex? You want to spend the night at my house? I gotta repaint behind the headboard where Angela’s folks are sleeping.’

Magozzi gaped at him for a moment. ‘No way.’

‘I kid you not.’

‘What are they, seventies?’

‘Yep.’

‘Huh.’ Magozzi smiled. ‘That’s kind of good news, isn’t it?’

‘I always thought so.’

‘It’s still the dumbest theory you’ve ever come up with.’

‘Okay, hotshot. You got a better one?’

‘Well, if you’re looking to connect Morey Gilbert and Rose Kleber, we’ve got two concentration camp survivors. Hate crime might fit.’

‘You mean like some neo-Nazi creeps?’

Magozzi shrugged. ‘Maybe. They pop up now and then. We’ve had our share of synogogue vandalism, that sort of thing. Then there was that group over in St Paul pasting those anti-Semitic posters up all over downtown.’

Gino snorted. ‘The bozos who drew the swastika backward? Jeez, Leo, there were only three of ’em, and from what I heard, they shared a brain.’

‘They’re probably not the only ones in town.’

‘More’s the pity. We can check hate crimes just to cover the bases, but those idiots leave a note when they piss on the sidewalk, otherwise, what’s the point? Besides, according to the families, neither Gilbert nor Kleber ever set foot in a temple, which puts them kind of below the moron radar of your average neo-Nazi. And these were really clean scenes, like a pro, you know? We’re not getting any trace, no prints, no witnesses… this is one savvy killer, like some sharp old lady in good shape who watches cop shows.’

Magozzi grinned and shook his head. ‘Not buying it.’

‘Then give me something else.’

‘Hell, I don’t know. Psycho bag boy picking out victims on Senior Day at the supermarket, trying for his fifteen minutes.’

Gino rolled his eyes. ‘Man, are you reaching. We’ve got two different weapons, victims of both sexes, and name one serial killer who ever preyed on the geriatric set. Hell, the FBI wouldn’t even touch that one, and they want a piece of everything. Besides, if we start thinking serial, then we have to consider Arlen Fischer as part of the series, and there’s no way that murder fits in with Gilbert’s and Kleber’s.’

And that wasn’t the only problem. Imagining a killer who went around shooting the elderly for some sort of sick thrill was a horror Magozzi didn’t want to consider. It was like hurting kids, or puppies. But imagining two old-timers like Morey Gilbert and Rose Kleber involved in something that would make them targets was just as hard.

Magozzi started clearing dishes off the table. ‘Maybe we’re on the wrong track, trying to tie them together. It’s a Jewish neighborhood, a lot of seniors, and so what if Rose Kleber had Gilbert’s number in her book? The gardening thing could explain that.’

‘So you’re saying it’s just a coincidence we’ve got two old Jews in the same neighborhood killed within a day of each other.’

Magozzi blew out a frustrated sigh. ‘No. I haven’t believed that since we got the call on Rose Kleber. They’re connected, all right. I just can’t imagine how.’

Gino got up from his chair and stretched, hands pressed to the small of his back, belly jutting forward. ‘You know, I had this all tied up nice and neat with Lily Gilbert killing them both, but you just don’t want to do it the easy way, do you? Leo, you gotta quit looking for the zebra.’