‘That’s just it. I don’t know what I need. I need help in general.’ Graham hung his head and shook it, then looked back up. ‘The cops have been around, asking questions.’

‘What kind of questions?’

‘Where was I on Friday? Did I know about my dad’s condition? Like that. It was obvious where they were going.’ Graham’s blue eyes flashed briefly in anger, maybe frustration. ‘How can they think I know anything about this? My dad killed himself for a lot of good reasons. The guy’s disoriented, losing his mind. He’s in awesome pain. I’d’ve done the same thing.‘

‘And what do the police think?’

‘I don’t know what they can be thinking.’ Another pause. ‘I hadn’t seen him in a week. First I heard of it was Saturday night. Some homicide cop is at my place when I get home.’

‘Where’d you get home from?’

‘Ball game.’ He raised his eyes again, spit out the next word. ‘Softball. We had a tournament in Santa Clara, got eliminated in the fourth game, so I got home early, around six.’

‘So where were you Friday night?’

Graham spread his Rodin hands. ‘I didn’t kill my dad.’

‘I didn’t ask that. I asked about Friday night.’

He let out a breath, calming down. ‘After work, home.’

‘Alone?’

He smiled. ‘Just like the movie. Home alone. I love that answer. The cop liked it, too, but for different reasons. I could tell.’

Hardy nodded. ‘Cops can be tough to please.’

‘I worked till nine-thirty…’

‘What do you do, besides baseball?’

Graham corrected him. ‘Softball.’ A shrug. ‘I’ve been working as a paramedic since… well, lately.’

‘Okay. So you were riding in an ambulance Friday night?’

A nod. ‘I got home around ten-fifteen. I knew I had some games the next day – five, if we went all the way. Wanted to get some rest. Went to sleep.’

‘What time did you go in to work?’