“We don’t know, Ms. Lipton,” Frank said, “not yet.”

“My boy dead, and that Pencil gonna live…” Lipton mused, trailing off as if she had banked something she had to think about later. She assumed a businesslike tone. “When we get his car?”

“Like I said, Ms. Lipton, it’s at impound. We’ll be going over it for evidence.”

“Evidence?” Lipton’s mouth tightened. “Evidence against who?”

“Just evidence,” Jose said evenly.

“How long?”

“Beg pardon?”

“How long before we get his car?” Lipton’s exasperation was growing.

Frank watched as Marcus, standing behind her, stirred restlessly, gunner’s eyes locked on the two detectives. Frank became aware of the weight of his own shoulder holster and the drape of his coat over his left armpit.

Him first. Then… then her?

“Can’t say, exactly,” Jose said.

“Can’t?… Or won’t?”

“Can’t, ma’am. I can’t say right now, and you know that. As soon’s we can, that’s all I can say.”

For several heartbeats the four remained motionless, trapped in amber.

Frank broke the silence. “Ms. Lipton. Your son’s killer… you have any idea… any guess?”

Lipton took a deep breath. She held it, then let it out, rocking ever so slightly in rhythm with music only she could hear.

“Idea?” she said in a hard-edged whisper. “I got an eye- dea. I got an idea that you folks did him in.” She paused as though listening to her own thinking coming back to her. “Yes,” she said with finality, “I think I’m looking at the people who did my boy in.”

Frank was unlocking the car when Jose’s cell phone chirped. Jose stood head thrust forward, phone pressed against his ear, massive body locked in place, as if the slightest movement might break a fragile connection. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. His shoulders relaxed. He turned.

“Daddy,” Jose explained. “Wants me to drop by.”