"What go? That man was not my son."

"Please," I said. "Five minutes."

Mrs. Perez sighed and stepped back. We entered. The shampoo smell was even stronger in here. Too strong. She closed the door and led us to a couch.

"Is Mr. Perez home?"

"No."

There were noises coming from one of the bedrooms. In the corner were some cardboard boxes. The inscription on the side indicated that they were medical supplies. I looked around the room. Everything, other than those boxes, was so in place, so coordinated, you would swear they bought the model unit.

The unit had a fireplace. I stood and walked over to the mantel. There were family photographs. I looked at them. There were no pictures of the Perez parents. There were no pictures of Gil. The mantel was full of images of people I assumed to be Gil's two brothers and one sister.

One brother was in a wheelchair.

"That's Tomas," she said, pointing to a picture of the smiling boy in the wheelchair graduating from Kean University. "He has CP. Do you know what that is?"

"Cerebral palsy."

"Yes."

"How old is he?"

"Tomas is thirty-three now."

"And who's that?"

"Eduardo," she said. Her expression said not to press it. Eduardo looked like a hard case. I remembered Gil telling me that his brother was a gang member or something, but I didn't believe it.

I pointed to the girl. "I remember Gil talking about her," I said. "She was, what, two years older? I remember he said that she was trying to get into college or something."

"Glenda is a lawyer," Mrs. Perez said, and her chest puffed out. "She went to Columbia Law School."

"Really? So did I," I said.

Mrs. Perez smiled. She moved back to the couch. "Tomas lives in the unit next door. We knocked down a common wall."

"He can live on his own?"

"I take care of him. We also have nursing."

"Is he home now?"

"Yes."

I nodded, sat back down. I didn't know why I cared about that. I wondered though. Did he know about his brother, about what had happened to him, about where he'd been the past twenty years?

Lucy had not left her seat. She remained quiet, letting me take the lead. She was soaking in everything, studying the house, probably put ting on her psychology suit.

Mrs. Perez looked at me. "Why are you here?"

"The body we found belonged to Gil."

"I already explained to you-"

I held up the manila envelope.

"What's that?"

I reached in and slipped out the top photograph. It was the old one, from camp. I put it on the coffee table. She stared down at the image of her son. I watched her face to see the reaction. Nothing seemed to move or change, or maybe it was just happening so subtly that I couldn't see the transformation. One moment she looked okay. Then, seamlessly, everything collapsed. The mask cracked, laying the devastation bare.

She closed her eyes. "Why are you showing me this?" 1 he scar.

Her eyes stayed closed.

"You said Gil's scar was on the right arm. But look at this photo graph. It was on the left." She didn't speak. "Mrs. Perez?" "That man was not my son. My son was murdered by Wayne Steubens twenty years ago."

"No."

I reached into the envelope. Lucy leaned in. She hadn't seen this picture yet. I took out the photograph. "This is Manolo Santiago, the man from the morgue."

Lucy startled up. "What was his name?"

"Manolo Santiago."

Lucy looked stunned.

"What?" I said.

She shook me off. I continued.

"And this"-I plucked out the final photograph-"is a computer rendering using age-progression software. In other words, my lab guy took the old photograph of Gil and aged him twenty years. Then he matched the shaved head and facial hair of Manolo Santiago."

I put the pictures next to one another.

"Take a look, Mrs. Perez."

She did. She looked for a long time. "He looks like him maybe. That's all. Or maybe you just think all Latinos look alike." "Mrs. Perez?" It was Lucy, speaking directly to Gil's mother for the first time since we entered. "Why don’t you keep any pictures of Gil up there?" Lucy pointed to the fireplace mantel. Mrs. Perez did not follow the finger. She stared at Lucy. "Do you have any children, Ms. Silverstein?"

No.

"Then you wouldn't understand."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Perez, that's a load of crap."

Mrs. Perez looked like she'd just been slapped.

"You have pictures up there from when the children were young, when Gil was still alive. But not one photograph of your son? I've counseled parents who are grieving. All of them kept a picture out. All of them. Then you lied about which arm was scarred. You didn't for get. A mother doesn't make that mistake. You can see the pictures here. They don't lie. And lastly, Paul hasn't hit you with the coup de grace."

I had no idea what the coup de grace was. So I stayed silent. "The DNA test, Mrs. Perez." We got the results on the way over here. They're just preliminary, but it's a match. It's your son."

Man, I thought, she's good. "DNA?" Mrs. Perez shouted. "I didn't give anyone permission to run a DNA test." "The police don't need your permission," Lucy said. "After all, according to you, Manila Santiago is not your son."

"But… but how did they get my DNA?"

I took that one. "We're not at liberty to say."

"You… you can do that?"

We can, yes.

Mrs. Perez sat back. For a long time she didn't speak. We waited her out. "You're lying." "What?" "The DNA test is wrong," she said, "or you are lying. That man is not my son. My son was murdered twenty years ago. So was your sister. They died at your father's summer camp because no one watched them. You are both chasing ghosts, that's all."

I looked over at Lucy, hoping she would have a clue here.

Mrs. Perez rose.

"I want you to leave now."

"Please," I said. "My sister disappeared that night too."

"I can't help you."

I was going to say more, but Lucy shook me off. I decided that it might be better to regroup, see what she thought and had to say before I pressed. When we were outside the door, Mrs. Perez said, "Don't come back. Let me grieve in peace."

"I thought your son died twenty years ago."

"You never get over it," Mrs. Perez said.

"No," Lucy went on. "But at some point, you don't want to be left to grieve in peace anymore."

Lucy didn't follow up after that. I headed back to her. The door closed. After we slipped into my car, I said, "Well?" "Mrs. Perez is definitely lying."

"Nice bluff," I said.

"The DNA test?"

"Yeah."

Lucy let that go. "In there. You mentioned the name Manolo Santiago." "That was Gils alias." She was processing. I waited another moment or two and then said,

"What?"

"I visited my father yesterday. At his, uh, home. I checked the log book. He's had only one visitor other than me in the past month. A man named Manolo Santiago."

"Whoa," I said.

"Yes."

I tried to let it settle. It wouldn't. "So why would Gil Perez visit your father?" "Good question." I thought about what Raya Singh had said, about Lucy and me lying. "Can you ask Ira?"

"I'll try. He's not well. His mind has a habit of wandering."

"Worth a try."

She nodded. I made a right turn, decided to change subjects.

"What makes you so sure Mrs. Perez is lying?" I asked.

"She's grieving, for one thing. That smell? It's candles. She was wearing black. You could see the red in the eyes, the slump of the shoulders.

All that. Second, the pictures."

"What about them?"

"I wasn't lying in there. It is very unusual to have pictures dating back to childhood and leaving out a dead child. On its own, it wouldn't mean much, but did you notice the funny spacing? There weren’t enough pictures for that mantel. My guess is, she took away the pictures with Gil in them. Just in case something like this happened."