Blowout

house slippers, or Ben might have turned right back around and left. No, his house slippers were a manly dark brown leather.
    “Who’re you, sonny?”
    Ben pulled out his badge, held it out for Mr. Avery to study, which he did, pushing his glasses up on his nose and looking at Ben’s badge for a long time, silent the whole while. He finally looked up. “Okay, you’re really a cop. And you?”
    “I’m Callie Markham. I’m with him.”
    “What are you two doing here all duded up?”
    “We had dinner at Filomena’s,” Ben said smoothly. “The swordfish was excellent.”
    “I never cared none for swordfish.”
    Callie said, “Do you think we could speak to you about last night, and the man you saw jump into that car and drive off?”
    “I already spoke to a good half-dozen local cops. I was hoping maybe the FBI would call, but they haven’t checked in yet. You think they might?”
    “Nah. I think we’re the best you’re going to get,” Ben said. “It’s been twenty-four hours since you spoke to anyone, and I’ll bet that you, Mr. Avery, have thought and thought about it, replayed the scene a lot in your mind.”
    “Well, yeah, that’s true enough. I know all about that agent’s house getting shot up—we haven’t ever had anything that exciting happen in this neighborhood.”
    “Maybe, sir, if we all discuss it together, you might remember something new that could help us.”
    Mr. Avery’s glasses were sliding down his nose as he waved them into a dark living room where the TV was on, but there was no sound. “Marylee, don’t worry, it’s the cops!”
    An old woman with lots of beautiful silver hair, wearing an identical pale pink chenille bathrobe and fluffy pale pink slippers, was sitting in a La-Z-Boy chair, feet up, staring at them. “What did you say, dear?”
    Mr. Avery raised his own voice to a yell. “It’s the police! Go back to your knitting, Marylee. Everything’s okay. Where’s Luciano?”
    There was a surprisingly robust bark, and then a tiny black dog pranced out, tail wagging like a fast metronome. “That’s Luciano, my little boy. He’s only two, my happy little camper, always on the go. I have to walk him six times a day. He loves to waggle around, walks right up to big dogs and barks at them, tries to lick them.” Mr. Avery leaned over, knees creaking, and picked up Luciano, who licked him all over his face, barked, and then paused, cocked his little head, and stared at Ben and Callie.
    “Now Luciano is a seriously cute dog,” Callie said. “What’s his breed?”
    Mr. Avery leaned close, whispered, “He’s a miniature poodle, but he doesn’t know it. If you asked him, he’d say he’s human.” He patted the dog, raised his voice, and waved them in. “All right, you come in and sit down. Marylee doesn’t use the sound on the TV, couldn’t hear it unless it was loud enough to blast out the neighbors, but she likes it on while she knits. Good lip-reader, Marylee.”
    Mr. Avery settled himself in a matching La-Z-Boy, settled Luciano on his bony legs, and waved Ben and Callie to a very lovely brocade sofa opposite him.
    “All right. Ask your questions, Detective Raven.”
    “Let’s go over exactly where you were when you saw this man, Mr. Avery.”
    “I was maybe twenty feet south of my house.”
    “There was a half-moon last night, so that means light. Were you wearing your glasses?”
    “Yep, have to when Luciano does his business because I gotta scoop it up. And I don’t want a car to run me down when Luciano wants to walk over to Madison Avenue, that’s one of his favorite areas around here.”
    “Okay, so you saw a man. How old was he? What did you think when you saw him?”
    “He wasn’t old, but gawldarn, Detective Raven, a guy’d have to be seventy before I wouldn’t think he was a kid. Okay, let’s say he was getting up there, middle age, fifties, I’d say. He was big, looked fit, no fat that I could tell. He was wearing a Burberry coat. I know Burberrys because that’s all my brother wears, the affected dufuss. I only noticed him because he was running. You don’t see that very often on a Saturday night in this neighborhood. No druggies hang out here, just good solid folks, like Marylee and me and Luciano. We’ve been here for forty-five years.”
    “Where was his car parked?”
    “About twenty feet north of my house, on this side, it was the only car out on the street. Like I said, this is a homey neighborhood, folks have