“Everyone likes Ronnie,” said Greg. “Particularly the girls.”

Greg considered a punch, but his eyes met mine and he dropped his hand to his lap.

“What about his parents?” I asked.

Greg and Winn looked at each other before Greg said, “His mother’s dead. His father travels. We’ve never met Ronnie’s father.”

“I don’t think his father makes much money,” said Winn. “He drives a twenty-year-old Toyota.”

The ride over and the two biscotti and coffee was the price I had to pay for the information. I listened.

“Did you know that, in their duel, Alexander Hamilton fired at Aaron Burr first, and that Hamilton had been undermining Burr, who at the time was Vice President of the United States?”

“What has this to do with the murdered man and your friend in jail?”

“Nothing,” said Winn, adjusting his glasses. “Greg is a master of non sequiturs.”

“A connection will occur,” said Greg with enthusiasm. “String theory.”

“Any other connections between Ronnie Gerall and Philip Horvecki?”

“No,” said Greg, squirming in his seat.

The woman at the next table was trying not to listen for more talk about rods being applied to orifices. She was failing.

“Who else would want Horvecki dead?”

“Everybody,” said Greg.

“I didn’t want Horvecki dead,” I said.

“You didn’t know him,” said Greg.

“Lots of people are happy that Horvecki is dead,” said Winn.

“Can we narrow that down a little?”

“Horvecki had legal trouble with people,” said Winn.

“Like?”

“We don’t know for sure,” said Greg. “It was all kept quiet, but everybody knew. Okay, okay, you didn’t know.”

“Just talk to Ronnie, please,” said Winn. “Start there. What do you charge?”

“Eleven thousand dollars a week, but in your case I’ll give you a discount because I was recommended by Ettiene Viviase’s daughter.”