“So he was born after you came to Mars? Does he still live here?”

“Yes. Always has.”

“Is he a prospector, too?”

“No. He’s an engineer. Works for the water-recycling authority.”

I nodded. Not rich, then. “And Megan’s money is still there, in her bank account?”

“So says the lawyer, yes.”

“If all the money is going to Ralph, what’s your interest in the matter?”

“My interest, Mr. Lomax, is that I once loved this woman very much. I left Earth to come here to Mars because it’s what she wanted to do. We lived together for ten mears, had children together, and—”

“Children,” I repeated. “But you said all the money was left to your child, singular, this Ralph.”

“My daughter is dead,” Jersey said, his voice soft.

It was hard to sound contrite in my current posture—I was still leaning back with feet up on the desk. But I tried. “Oh. Um. I’m… ah…”

“You’re sorry, Mr. Lomax. Everybody is. I’ve heard it a million times. But it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, although…”

“Yes?”

“Although Megan blamed herself, of course. What mother wouldn’t?”

“I’m not following.”

“Our daughter JoBeth died thirty years ago, when she was two months old.” Jersey was staring out my office’s single window, at one of the arches supporting the habitat dome. “She smothered in her sleep.” He turned to look at me, and his eyes were red as Martian sand. “The doctor said that sort of thing happens sometimes—not often, but from time to time.” His face was almost unbearably sad. “Right up till the end, Megan would cry whenever she thought of JoBeth. It was heartbreaking. She couldn’t get over it.”

I nodded, because that was all I could think of to do. Jersey didn’t seem inclined to say anything else, so, after a moment, I went on. “Surely the police have investigated your ex-wife’s death.”