I motioned them to the couch. It had come with the place. It had one spot that nearly sagged to the floor. I had slipped a piece of plywood under the cushions there, and though it no longer sank, it was seriously hard on the ass.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“I could use some,” Charlie said, then to the man in the suit. “You?”

The man shook his head.

Charlie gave me the bag. I put it on the table and opened it. Doughnuts.

“The stitches come out soon?” Charlie asked.

“Pretty soon.”

I pulled down nonmatching cups, poured coffee. Charlie sat on the couch and drank his, I leaned against the sink. The man sat by Charlie with his hands in his lap, looking around. It was as if he was avoiding placing his arms or hands on the sofa for fear of contamination, or a possible attack from a rat hidden in the cotton.

“I’m just living here till they get my condo built,” I said.

He turned toward me. This time he did smile. Nothing to get excited about, but teeth were involved.

“This is Elmer Bond, Hap,” Charlie said.

The name hit me. That had been the girl’s name, the one that had been stomped by the maniac. Bond. Sarah Bond.

I switched my cup to my left hand, stepped over and shook his hand. “I presume you’re kin to Sarah Bond.”

“Father,” he said.

“I’m sorry about what happened. How is she?”

“Not good. But better. She’ll live. She lost an eye. There’ll be extensive plastic surgery. But, thanks to you, she’ll live, and the bastard who did this to her is in custody. I hope he decides to hang himself, but if he doesn’t, I hope they give him the needle. I’m not very sympathetic to him.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to be,” I said.

“Mr. Collins,” he said. “I-”