Once Jennifer Makris was processed, Officer Roussos interviewed her while the lab analyzed the weapon.

Detective Fog sat in a comfortable waiting room with a cafe vibe and free coffee. She put her feet up on a glass tabletop and settled in with a magazine. On the couch perpendicular to her, a family — mother and a couple of kids — cried while filling out paperwork. The comfort was intended for them, members of the community, victims. The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out at the bay past pier 50 and a yacht parking lot in the back of the building. The idyllic vista was marred by a hundred yards of construction, ugly abandoned industrial structures, and new condos painted garish red and orange.

Someone had tried to make the waterfront more appealing by planting cherry blossoms and privets along the road, but the park looked post-apocalyptic, and the shrubs weren't doing well in the drought.

Roussos appeared in the door and beckoned Detective Fog with his hand. She ditched the magazine and let him lead her down a hall she used to know and into the first empty office. He didn't close the door.

Not caring if anyone overheard, he said in full volume, "I'm not sure what you were expecting, Ms. Alafogiannis​. Makris denies any involvement in the murders of Paul Aniston and Nick Minardos. She claims she bumped into you in the street, and you made your accusation and arrested her. With no proof."

He raised his arms and started to pace around the small table in the little room. "Now, I hear you used to be a well-respected cop. A young hotshot. Until you royally fucked it all up, fell right off your rocker, and destroyed your career like that." He snapped his fingers. "I just want to make sure you're aware — because I have my doubts — that you can't arrest someone just because you think they did it."

"I needed you folks to check out that gun for me," Detective Fog said. "My lab's out of order. And I had a hunch that you were excellent at your job and would be able to finagle a confession out of her. Guess I was hoping for the best. Is she pressing charges?"

"She's called a lawyer, and she will be filing a false arrest suit against you."

"If she's guilty of a felony, the suit goes away. Right?" Malyssa blinked her eyelashes rapidly for comedic effect. This guy needed to loosen up.

"Call your lawyer and ask that." Roussos got into her face. "What were you thinking, bringing her down here? You've wasted all of our time and made us look like pompinaras. How am I going to 'finagle' a confession out of Jennifer Makris — I've got nothing, no evidence, no leverage, all I can do is ask her over and over again, 'Did you kill Paul Aniston?' 'Did you kill Nick Minardos?' 'You'd tell me if you did, right?' You turned this investigation into a joke.

"I can't hold her for one more second, you realize that. And good luck getting a warrant to pick her up later; no judge is going to want to see her face in here again after this disgraceful conduct."

Fog didn't have a habit of grinding teeth, but now her molars ground together like a car crusher in a junkyard. "Doesn't she give you these goading stares that say she did it and you're never going to catch her for it? Are you going to let her go after she talks to you like that? Come on, I've brought you a bona fide mafia hitman who killed two men on Saturday, and today she's all but bragging about it. You've gotta get it out of her. Or how about you let me do the interrogating?"

"You must be new at this," Roussos growled.

"Since I began work in the private sector, I've brought to the attention of the authorities the evidence that put away three mafia button men and five or six pushers. I say 'or' because maybe one of them was secretly a capo. But at least eight real criminals. How many convictions do you have to your name?"

"You, a private citizen, are not interrogating the suspect — end of the story. If you have any actual evidence to submit, now would be the time, Ms. Fog, because if I leave this room empty-handed, I'm getting my keys and unlocking the door to Jennifer Makris's cell. That mobster is going to walk free."

"I don't have anything else. Just Jen, and the certain knowledge that she did it. And if she did it, she can confess to it. You just have to know where to apply the pressure. Somehow I thought it would be a good idea to leave that part to the professionals, but it turns out you are all just a bunch of quitters." She waved a finger under his nose.

Roussos stepped away and put his back to her, starting for the door. "No, no, and no," he said. "No interrogation, and no holding Jennifer Makris in custody for another second." He disappeared into the hallway and left Malyssa alone in the office, apparently confident she could see herself out.

Instead, she took a seat across from the little desk. She pulled out her phone but didn't really look at it, just shook her head and blew her lips out like a racehorse as the beginnings of a scheme she really didn't like came to her. She really didn't like it, and it might even be too late; she should have thought of it before impulsively arresting Jennifer Makris. The plan made on the fly had not panned out and would have been much more successful with the proper preparation. Now she only had about ten minutes to cut off all her hair and steal a police uniform. And the seconds ticked away while she stared at her phone and clucked her tongue at her own foolishness.

Less than forty-five seconds later, she dialed Dianthea's number and held the device up to her ear. Her sister picked up on the third ring.

Malyssa started to say, "I need a favor. Are you working today?"

The final word trailed off like an old walkman running out of batteries when Roussos walked literally backward back into the office.

She put the phone down and ignored her sister's muted reply through the receiver.

Roussos turned around and said, "The gun was used to shoot Nick Minardos."

Malyssa hit the button to hang up on her phone. The line went dead. She studied his face for one inhale and said, "No, it wasn't." The words hung in the air. They were the only possible reply. After another two breaths, she added, "I love you for saying that, but it wasn't."

Roussos was having a hard time keeping a smile from his face. He shook his head as if he really were trying to win the battle but gave up and grinned. "That gun, that Glock Seventeen, one of the most popular firearms in the world, is registered to Jennifer Makris, and it was used on the night of Sunday, November First to shoot Nick Minardos."

Malyssa glared at him and interrupted. "Nick Minardos was killed by the gun in my hand. A Smith and Wesson 9 mm. It was self-defense, but it was me who shot him, my gun. So just what in the hell are you talking about?"

"A pile of shell casings ​and bullets​ was recovered from the crime scene. Two bullets. Nick Minardos's blood and DNA were found on the bullet casings. The shells came from this gun. The pile appeared to be the result of an attempt to hide the evidence of a shooting. As if someone swept the evidence away from the location of the shooting, further down the hall from where you entered.

"Only it was a half-assed attempt, Detective. The officers on the scene found the pile as soon as they extended their search beyond the room where Nick was murdered, carelessly hidden underneath some scrap sheet metal." He paused and added excitedly, "Almost as if someone had wanted us to find them."

"That makes no sense," said Detective Fog.

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