"Oh, yeah. Sometimes I think that was the reason."

"Yet she hates me drinking?"

"Never mind Maggie, Mum."

"How can I not mind? She won't let me see my own granddaughter."

"I know."

"She's never liked me."

"I know. But just try to focus. Tell me if you can think of anyone who'd want you out of the way."

"Out of the way." She closed her eyes. "Jesus," she said. "Why should I give a hoot about helping you? Not as if you're helping me."

"You could help yourself by not drinking."

"Listen to yourself."

"You're missing the point."

"You may think so."

"Mum, shut up."

"What did you say?"

"You heard."

She shut up.

"Somebody wants you dead," Carlos said. "Enough to pay me a substantial sum of money to make that happen. You can get all moral on me after we've figured out who it is. Unless you don't care."

She stared into space, said nothing.

"Well," he said. "Do you?"

"Of course I do." She picked up her glass again. "Of course I want to know who hates me that much."

"That's what I thought."

She gulped down the rest of her drink. "So how do we find that out?"

Carlos took the long way home, listened to some flamenco for a few minutes, but it was too tortured and mournful for his mood. He stuck on one of Maggie's compilation CDs instead. Good driving music. Nice tempo but relaxing too.

And Carlos needed to relax. Seeing his mother at the best of times was a strain. Tonight, well, he'd felt the back of his eyeballs start to hurt and that was always a bad sign.

His mother's reaction had seemed genuine. What he'd told her had surprised and shocked her. Either that or he didn't know her like he thought he did. No, there was no act there.