“How many treatments did he have?”

“I don't know, three, maybe four. When he'd come home he'd be wiped out, fuzzy about remembering- like what you see in head-injury patients. They say ECT works better now but I'm sure it damaged his brain. He faded in middle age, took early retirement, sat around reading and listening to Mozart.”

“He must have been severely depressed to get ECT,” I said.

“Must have been but I never really saw it. He was quiet, sweet, shy.”

“What was his relationship with Nolan?”

“There wasn't much of one that I could see. Even though Nolan was gifted, he was into typical macho stuff. Sports, surfing, cars. Dad's idea of recreation was…”- she smiled-“reading and listening to Mozart.”

“Did they have conflict?”

“Dad never had conflict with anyone.”

“How did Nolan react to your father's death?”

“He cried at the funeral. Afterward, we both tried to comfort Mom for a while, then he just drifted away again.”

She pinched her lower lip. “I didn't want Nolan to have one of those big LAPD funerals, gun salutes, all that crap. No one at the department argued. Like they were happy not to deal with it. I had him cremated. He left a will, all his stuff is mine. Dad's and Mom's stuff, too. I'm the survivor.”

Too much pain. I backtracked. “What was your mother like?”

“More outgoing than Dad. Not moody. On the contrary, she was always up, cheerful, optimistic. Probably why she stroked out- holding it all inside.” She rubbed her knee again. “I don't want to make our family sound weird. We weren't. Nolan was a regular guy. Partying, chasing girls. Just smarter. He got A's without working.”

“What did he do after dropping out of college?”

“Bummed around, worked different jobs. Then all of a sudden he calls me, announces he's graduated from the police academy. I hadn't heard from him since Mom died.”