Remember When

you anything?"
    "Steve?"
    Steve looked over as he heard his wife's voice. "Let's put this away for now," he said quietly.
    "Your mother knows all about this, but I don't like dragging it out. Down here, Pat. Trevor's dropped by."
    "Trevor? Oh, I'll be right down."
    "We need to talk about this," Trevor insisted.
    "We will." Steve gave his son a nod and an approving smile. "We will, and I'll try to remember anything that may help. I'm proud of you, Trevor, proud of you for thinking about trying to find a way to make things right. I don't know if it can be, but knowing you want to try means the world to me. I'm ashamed I never thought of it myself. That I never thought beyond putting it all away and starting fresh instead of cleaning the slate."
    Trevor kept his annoyance behind a pleasant mask as he heard his mother hurrying downstairs. "I haven't been able to think of much else for weeks."
    ***
    He left an hour later and strolled along in the steamy heat rather than hail a cab. He could count on his father to line up details. Steve Whittier was hell on details. But the visit had already given him his next move. He'd play concerned grandson the very next day and go see his grandmother in the loony bin.
    ***
    About the time Trevor Whittier was crossing the park, Eve stifled a yawn. She wanted another hit of coffee, but knew that would mean getting through Roarke. He had a habit of knowing when her ass was dragging before she did.
    "Three potentials on the woman, twice that on the kid." She scratched her scalp, hard, to get the blood moving.
    "If we discount the rest of the first-level matches."
    "I'm discounting them. The computer likes these picks, so we go with them. Let's move on the kid-man now. See if anything looks good."
    She shot those six images on screen and began to scan the attached data. "Well, well, lookie here.
    Steven James Whittier, East Side address. Owns and runs his own building company. That's a nice pop for me."
    "I know him."
    She looked around sharply. "You know this guy?"
    "Mostly in that vague professional sense, though I've met his wife a number of times at various charity functions. His company has a solid rep, and so does he. Blue-collar him, meets blue-blood her. He does good work."
    "Check the lists from the job sites you got earlier. Let's see if Whittier's got anything going in or around Alphabet City."
    Roarke brought up the file, then leaned back in his chair. "I should learn not to question your instincts."
    "Rehab on Avenue B. Five-story building, three sections." She pursed her lips, made a popping sound. "More than enough to take a closer look. See there, he's got a son. One son, Trevor, age twenty-nine. Let's get that image."
    Roarke did the tech, and they studied Trevor Whittier's face together. "Not as close on the artist rendering as I'd like, but it's not a total bust. Let's see what else we can find out about Trevor."
    "You can't do anything about him tonight. It's nearly one in the morning. Unless you think you can build a case strong enough with this to go over and scoop him up and into a cage, you're going to bed. I'll set the computer to gather data while you get a few hours' sleep."
    "I could go wake him up, hassle him." She considered. "But that would just be for fun. And it would give him a chance to whine for a lawyer. It can wait." She pushed to her feet.
    "Until morning. We'll check out this job site, see if we can nail it to the trace from Cobb's body. I need to approach Whittier and find his mother, interview her, too. They might be in on this. This Trevor feels the best to me. Smarter to wait to move on him until I have it all lined up."
    "While it lines up, you lie down."
    She'd have argued, but her eyes were starting to throb. "Nag, nag, nag. I'll just contact the team and tell them we're going to brief at seven hundred instead of eight."
    "You can do that in the morning. It's easier, and more humane."
    "Yeah, but it's more fun to do it now," she protested as he took her hand and pulled her out of the room. "This way I get to wake them up so they have to work at getting back to sleep. The other way, I just get them out of bed a little early."
    "You're a mean one, Lieutenant."
    "Yeah. So?"

28
    While she slept it all played in her head. Father to son, murder and greed, blood gleaming on sparkling stones. There were legacies you couldn't escape, no matter how fast or how far you ran.
    She could see herself, a child, with no mother to panic or protect. No one to