“And because of that you volunteered?”

“We picked straws. Mine was seriously short. Mine was the runt of the litter, the jockey of straws. So lucky me, here I am to interview you. This afternoon you were with this Parma at a restaurant?”

“That’s right. La Vigna.”

“When?”

“About eleven.”

“What did you have?”

“The cheesecake.”

“Ricotta?”

“Absolutely.”

“Any good?”

“Not good enough that I want to taste it twice.”

“When did you last see him?”

“It was about eleven-thirty when we left.”

“You and Parma just met up for an early lunch?”

“Something like that.”

“Simply a friendly chat?”

“Sure.”

“What did you two boys chat about?”

“He was a client.”

“You’re claiming privilege,” said McDeiss, nodding his head. “I have a great respect for constitutional privilege, yes I do. I would never do anything to trample on privilege.” Pause for effect. “But your client is dead.”

“It doesn’t make a difference.”

“Don’t be a dickhead.”

“Tell it to the Supreme Court.”

“We already know they’re dickheads. But, see, I’m a little puzzled with you claiming privilege. We checked his record. You had just gotten this Parma off the burglary rap, some sleazy trademark Victor Carl maneuver from what I understand. But Parma wasn’t up on anything else. No pending charges, no parole violations. What I’m wondering is what kind of trouble was he in which required him to consult with his criminal defense attorney at eleven in the morning?”

I didn’t answer, I just lifted my head out of my hands and stared at the detective.

“Anything that might have gotten him hurt?”

I said nothing.

“The killing was apparently done somewhere else, a knife through the throat, in a car maybe, and then he was dropped here. Forensics will check him for fibers, see if we can match a make and model. Wherever he was killed, there’ll be a whole lot of blood. And it looks to us like he was beaten too. His eye, for example, was pretty busted up. How’d he look when you saw him?”