He dropped back in his seat and let out a sigh. “All right. Guilty. There was no call to take my sad story out on you. It was decent of you to come see me. So was that all, the apology, or am I mentioned in the will?”

She ignored the sarcasm. “No, and I wasn’t either. Besides a trust to take care of Mom, he left everything to Juan, Jonni we call him.”

“Lucky Jonni. Is he going to be stinking rich?”

“That remains to be seen. My…our father was something of a gambler. He started this project on the Gulf Coast, way bigger than anything we ever did before, something to bring us into the big leagues. He was an admirer of Trump, if that gives you a clue. Anyway, it’s a bet-the-company deal, and everything is mortgaged to the hilt. My brother is a nice kid, but business is not his thing. He just about knows how to sign the back of a check. After the funeral, I managed to convince him to give me an absolute power of attorney in exchange for a substantial increase in his allowance.”

“So you’re the big boss now.”

“On paper. As you can imagine, Dad didn’t staff his company with men who enjoy taking orders from a woman.” She paused and performed a motion, perhaps unconscious, that Paz had seen innumerable times during his tenure with the cops, a slight flicking of the eyes toward the side, a stiffening of the body, and then a glance in the opposite direction. It meant a dangerous secret was about to emerge.

“There’s something else,” she said. “Why I came. I realize it’s ridiculous, I mean, after everything that’s happened, why should you care? But I had to try; honestly, I have nowhere else to go.”

“I’m listening.”

“All right,” she said, and told him the story, some of which he already knew from other sources: the Consuela partnership, the death of Fuentes, the vandalism in the night, the peculiar nature of the guards in her house, and the details of what had happened the night Calderón had died. And the matter of the funny money in JXF Calderón Inc.’s balance sheet.

“That’s an interesting story,” said Paz when she’d finished.

“Yeah, but the problem is how to interpret it. The police think Dad was involved with gangsters. They think he was borrowing money from them, maybe all of them were, all the Consuela partners. They think it’s one of those situations where first they lend money and then they take over the businesses, and if the owners resist, they kill them.”

“And you agree with that? You think that’s what happened to Fuentes and your father? Sorry, our father. You think dear old dad was mobbed up?”

“Maybe. I know the men at my house weren’t Cubans.”

“How do you know that?”

“They had foul mouths, cursing all the time, and they didn’t usejoder forfuck. They usedtirar.”

“That’s Colombian.”

“I know. I think they were all Colombians. Detective Finnegan thinks it was either a hit by a rival gang or that the men at my house weren’t guarding us from someone else, they were holding us hostage, and for some reason they decided to kill Dad.”

“This is Matt Finnegan at MDPD?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“Yeah, a little. A good cop. How does he explain the dead guard?”

“Not very well. Either the other gang got him or Dad got him. But Dad’s gun was never fired. And there’s the giant-cat business.”

At this Paz felt the hairs prickle on his arms, on the back of his neck. He suppressed an actual shiver. “The giant cat.”

“Yes. There were cat prints in the study where he was killed and on the walk outside. And claw marks on the wall under the window. It’s nonsense, of course.”

“Of course. I take it you’re sticking with the gangster theory.”

“I don’t know. Yes, I think Dad was connecting with some bad characters, but…I saw what they did to him. What was the point of all that…carnage? It had to be something more personal, something we’re not understanding.”

“For example…”

“I don’t know!”This was delivered in a suppressed shriek. Victoria closed her eyes and a shiver ran through her upper body. “I’m sorry. This whole thing…I’m hanging on by my fingernails here. But the thing is, if it’s a mob killing, then the police aren’t going to do anything. Whoever did it is in Colombia by now. And if it’s not, if it was personal or, I don’t know, some horrible maniac, then they won’t find him either, because they’re not looking in that direction. I mean, they’ll try, God knows, two important Cuban businessmen killed, I imagine they’ll pull out all the stops, but, well, I have to spend all my time and energy holding the business together. The idea that JXFC is in with gangsters is going to send all our creditors running. The only thing that will stabilize things is if the killers are found and all this goes away. That’s why I came to see you.”

These words and their implication struck Paz like a slap on the ear. He stared at her. “Wait, you wantme to find these guys?”

“Yes.”

“Because what, I’m theson? I have to avenge my father?”

“Yes. I don’t care what he did to you, how he treated you,un padre es un padre para siempre.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” cried Paz, who had heard a similar sentiment expressed in the same language many many times, with the substitution of the female parent as subject. “First of all, I’m not a cop anymore. Second of all, what gives you the idea that I’d be any better at it than Matt Finnegan with all the resources of the police behind him?”

“You’ll have a personal interest. And you’re better than they are. You caught the Voodoo Killer. That’s when I found out who you were. I was just a kid, watching the news with my Aunt Eugenia, the story about when you caught him. Every Cuban in town was watching because of what he did to that Vargas girl. I mean, weknew them, that whole family. And you came on and said something, and my aunt said, Do you know who that is? And then she told me, and said that I should never let my dad know that I knew. After that I looked up stories about you in the papers in the library. And I was proud that you were my brother.”

But not proud enough to look me up until you needed something, thought Paz, but said, “The answer is no. I’m sorry, I’d like to help you out, but I…I’m just not set up for something like that. I’m a guy runs a restaurant, for crying out loud…”

He noticed that Victoria was no longer staring at him but at a point beyond his shoulder. He turned and saw his daughter standing there, regarding them both with interest.

Victoria said, “Hi, what’s your name?”

Amelia stepped closer and looked down at her silver name tag, holding it a little away from her dress.

“Amelia? That’s a pretty name. I’m happy to finally meet you. I’m your Aunt Victoria. Your half aunt.”

“Where’s the other half?” asked Amelia after some consideration. She was not entirely sure what an aunt was. She had an uncle, her mother’s brother, she knew, who lived in New York and who went through aunts at a rapid clip. She had friends who had aunts, though, invariably associated with birthday and Christmas presents (“my Aunt Julie gave me this”), to which Amelia had not until now had any response. A half aunt, she supposed, was better than no aunt at all.

“There’s no other half. It’s just an expression,” said Victoria.

“Uh-huh, but if you gave me a Christmas present it would be thewhole present, wouldn’t it?”

“Amelia, don’t hustle,” said Paz. “And I think you need to go help Brenda fold napkins.”

“Daddy, I will, but I’m talking to myaunt now. Would it?”

Victoria said, “Yes, it would. What were you thinking of?”

“I don’t know yet, because I just got you. Is that a make-believe diamond bracelet or a really real one?”

“It’s really real. Would you like to try it on?”

“Yeah!” Pause. “I mean yes, please.”

Some preening occurred, the child lifting the glittering thing up to see it catch and throw back the lights of the room. Paz watched this with confused and painful emotions, thinking about blood and the way it told.