"If they did, it's news to me, dear," she said, picking a nonperforming leaf off the nearest hibiscus.

"Oh, well. I must be mistaken. The reason I am here is that my friend was killed on the site and-"

"A friend, was she? How sad." She patted my hand kindly. I felt bad at lying to this lovely woman. Anabel had not been a friend, although I'd known her since she was a child.

"It was very sad. I wondered if you happened to see her the day she died?"

"Oh!" she said.

"I am sorry to ask you to revisit that day. It must have been upsetting enough talking to the police about it."

"The police?"

"Yes. They must have asked you questions after the accident happened."

She shook her head. "They didn't. I would have been happy to talk to them. I don't get that many visitors up here, you know."

"Maybe you were out when they came around?"

She shrugged. "I don't go out that often except on my balcony. This was, let me see, back in March? I have no idea what I was doing then. The days do blend together. I might have had a doctor's appointment, I suppose. Or gone for groceries. I could check my calendar, but I'd have to find it first. Silly me, I didn't even offer you a glass of water or a cup of coffee. I still make good coffee. I spent enough time in Europe to learn how to make a decent brew."

I accepted that. She turned down my offer of help, and I stayed on the balcony watching the car and foot traffic below. When she teetered out with a tray, two cups, and a steaming little Bodum of wonderful smelling coffee, my heart was in my mouth. I gave myself a mental talking to. After all, I couldn't even make coffee that smelled that wonderful.

Once the coffee was poured, she said, "Yes, I had wondered about that, too."

Letting my cup pause in midair, I said, "Did you see anything?"

"I believe so. It had been such a rainy week, coming down in buckets for days and days. It was a Friday, I believe, because there was no one left working on the site. Then the sun finally came out, very late in the afternoon, and for a short time it was beautiful. In March we are desperate for a bit of sun. I came out to enjoy the last bit of warmth and plan a bit for my balcony in the summer. I like to ponder what to plant and what to buy and what containers to use."

"And what did you see?"

"I saw the young woman who died slip in behind the gate to the construction area. I wish now I had realized how dangerous it would have been after all that rain, so slippery. I could have called for help. It would have made a difference. And she seemed to be wearing a lovely swirly cream-colored skirt and pretty shoes, high heels."

"Can you see someone's shoes clearly from here?" We were on the second floor.

She chuckled. "Oh, you caught me out. I do have a pair of binoculars. I often take a peek at birds or people. Better than television. I'm old. Need a bit of diversion. I'm probably not the only one."

It was convenient that a witness had been using binoculars at the right moment. Of course, the fact that Anabel had been wearing dress shoes didn't do much more than confirm it would have been dangerous on that slippery site. I reminded myself that that was what I wanted to establish.

"She ducked in through the opening? Do you think she was meeting someone?"

"I couldn't tell. But I think that if she'd planned to meet somebody in that place, she wouldn't have been wearing a light skirt and those high heels."

I said, "Was the gate to the site open?"

"I suppose it must have been. She pulled it toward her and disappeared through it. I was surprised that she'd risk ruining those shoes. I don't think I'm much help to you if that's all I remember."

I smiled. "You're doing fine. And you're right. Most young women wouldn't go onto a site like that with their heels on. Wouldn't want to ruin them for one thing."

She said, "Well, there was a tall fellow in a blue coat, very odd-looking, with a hat, who seemed to be waiting for someone. The young woman was walking toward the youth center. When she saw him, she stopped and changed direction. That's when she ducked into the site."

"You think she was dodging him?"

"I thought it at the time, but now, well, I don't know."

"Did he follow her onto the site?"

"No, he didn't. He hung around for a while, then walked away. The next thing I noticed, the police were arriving. And then ambulances and fire trucks. Such a fuss. I didn't realize that the young woman had died. But at any rate, I didn't have much to add to the story. A terrible accident."

"Yes," I said. "And either she had had a brain wave about something and decided to stick her nose in and then slipped in just the wrong place or, more likely, didn't want to see this man and decided to dodge him." And drowned alone senselessly as a result.

"I suppose so. Such a tragedy."

"Do you think anyone else saw the man in the blue coat?"

"Somebody must have. There were other people coming and going. Friesen Street is always busy. The kids from the center, shoppers. I especially noticed your friend, because of her shoes, I suppose. One of my former neighbors thought he heard a call for help. He was out for a walk and he hurried home to call 911."

"Really? I'd like to talk to him."

"We all would. He was a lovely kind fellow, but he had bypass surgery in April and he didn't survive it, I'm afraid."

I said, "Here's my telephone number, Thalia, if you think of anyone else. And I suppose I'd better have yours, too." I handed her a business card with my cell phone number on it.

Thalia wrote out her phone number for me and pocketed my card. I took a couple of seconds to transcribe her number to my phone list. She said, "And you could ask Rudy."

"Who's Rudy?"

"He's the merry fellow on the motorized scooter. With the lovely fedora, just like the old days. You haven't seen him?"

"I have. In fact, he's tipped his hat to me more than once."

When I left Thalia Waverman's place, I made a point of dropping into the office of Hope for Youth at Risk. Gwen spotted me and her beautiful face hardened. The person she was talking to continued to lean forward, speaking intensely to her. He twisted around when I approached, and I got my first really close look at Dimitri.

"I'm Charlotte Adams," I said, extending my hand.

He grunted. A shame. Someone that striking should be able to communicate.

Never mind. I'm capable of carrying a one-way conversation. I shot off with both barrels: "Anabel Beauchamp's mother has asked me to look into her death. She thinks it was murder."

Gwen rose and crossed her arms over her chest. "This conversation is not going to happen. Please leave."

I said as if I hadn't heard, "But I believe as you do that it was an accident. I need to have enough anecdotal information to help her mother accept this. I've been told that Anabel was wearing a skirt and heels when she entered the site. I've never seen Anabel in anything but very casual work clothing or sports gear. That sounds like she was going to a meeting or on a date-it's certainly not something you'd wear to a muddy construction site. Do you know if she was planning to meet someone?"

Dimitri turned away briefly. If that wasn't grief written on his face, then he should have had a brilliant career in acting. He had the looks for it, too. He faced me and said, "Yes, she was meeting me. We did have plans. Then she never turned up because she was dead. As you know."

After the grunt that I'd first heard, I was surprised by his voice, soft, gentle, and his words, which were a lot more articulate than I would have expected. There may have been a subtle trace of an accent, exotic for Woodbridge. Russian, I assumed. I could easily understand why Anabel was so taken with him.

I said, "I am so sorry for your loss. I understand you and Anabel were close. It must have been very difficult for you."

He swallowed and nodded. I was glad he didn't grunt again. He said, "You want to reassure her mother? Then you will have to work very hard to do that because whatever else, it was not an accident. I guarantee that. I don't care who says otherwise."

Gwen Jones widened her expressive eyes. "Dimitri, you know that's not true. As hard as it is to accept, Anabel's death was a terrible fluke."

"A fluke? She died and you call it a fluke? We were going to be married and you think she would take a stupid chance with her life? She was waiting for me. She didn't meet anyone. She would never go check out that site in her dress shoes."

Gwen snapped, "But she could afford a hundred pairs of designer shoes."

Dimitri shook his head. "She took care of her things. She was never wasteful. You know that, Gwen."

Gwen turned away, and Dimitri turned back toward me. "Somehow she was lured onto that site and someone killed her. We'll never find out what kind of monster did that until people like Gwen, who pretends to be so good, or the police, who don't want any bad statistics, or maybe her mother, who doesn't want any bad publicity, stop blocking the truth. You want proof it was an accident? You won't find it because it wasn't. It was murder. Everyone knows it and no one will do a thing."

Gwen sputtered, "That's not true."

I said, "Why do you believe it, Dimitri?"

His raised voice betrayed the barely contained emotions. "I just told you. Isn't that enough?"

Before I could counter that, he was out the door. I raced after him, but he had disappeared from view. Down that alley, I supposed.

Gwen said, "Thanks a lot. None of this crazy talk is going to bring Anabel back. Now, in case I wasn't clear before, I will be now: Do not come back to this office making trouble again."

After the intensity of Dimitri's reaction and being tossed off the premises by Gwen, I sat somewhat shakily in the Matrix for a few minutes trying to figure out what was going on. Although common sense and official opinion told me it was an accident, a small nagging voice at the back of my brain insisted that if Anabel had been murdered, her killer had gotten away with it. Still, I found myself upset by the raw emotion behind Dimitri's outburst. I'd had an up-close view of how strong his feelings had been for her. And still were. There was no doubt in my mind that he truly believed that Anabel had been murdered.

But did Gwen honestly believe it was an accident, or was she trying to protect her vulnerable organization? Something I'd heard about the neighborhood buzzed in the back of my brain. What had Tierney said when we'd met him at Betty's? He'd talked about some badass types they were keeping an eye on. What else? Serious criminal activities in that area and they were working to keep a lid on them. Could they be connected to Anabel's death? Was there more going on and the cops were unwilling to admit it because it might compromise some other investigation? Let the Beauchamps suffer-who cared? I opened my handbag, extracted my notebook, and wrote Gwen and Dimitri. I gave Gwen a question mark. Under Dimitri's name, I wrote Criminal activities? Thank God for paper.

Paper.

That reminded me, why the hell hadn't I taken a look at the small folded paper I'd found in Nick's pocket? Where was it? I closed my eyes and thought. I'd left it on my desk that night, meaning to check it to see if it was a private note to Pepper or something relevant. I put that down to how upset I'd been about Nick flying through the window when Tierney and his team came in. That stirred up a few other thoughts. Tierney seemed to have made up his mind about Nick without considering any other options. He was determined not to listen to anything in his defense. Another thing: Tierney had insisted that the cops had done a door-to-door search on Friesen Street and talked to the people in the apartment building. But Thalia Waverman told me they hadn't. I believed her.

Was Pepper right and Tierney was not to be trusted?

I pulled myself together and edged the Matrix out into the street. I took a look at that alley at the same time. Not a place I'd ever walk. Where did it come out? It was a long shot, but I wondered if I might find Dimitri on the other side. I drove slowly to the corner, turned right and right again to Potter Street, which ran parallel to Friesen. The alley did indeed exit on Potter Street. I parked again and got out of the car. No sign of Dimitri, but as I said, that had been a long shot. Just then, Rudy whizzed out of the alley in his motorized scooter and tipped his fedora to me.

I waved to him and gestured for him to wait. I trotted over and introduced myself. "Hello. I need to speak to Dimitri. He got very upset about something I said and I didn't get a chance to apologize."

Rudy stared at me without blinking. I hoped he wasn't going to do a Gwen on me.

I added, "Do you know where I might find him? I thought he might be on this side."

Rudy said, "Not much happening here. All the action's on Friesen. There's only people on Potter, that's all."

I looked around and had to concur. The only two people on Potter at that minute were Rudy and I. The street was lined with aging triplexes with sagging roofs and front stairs you could break your neck on. I wasn't sure where Dimitri would have gone from there.

I said, "Does Dimitri live here?"

Rudy studied me.

I smiled, encouragingly.

He said, "No."

"Do you know where he does live?"

"Yes, I do."

I waited and then tried again. "Would you be willing to tell me?"

"Dimitri's had enough trouble. He don't need no more."

"I agree. I don't plan to give him any trouble. I want to talk to him about Anabel and how she died. He was upset when I repeated that Anabel's death was an accident. He insists she was murdered. I'd like to know why he thinks that. Maybe I can help."

"You don't mind me saying so, miss, but you don't look like you could help out much with no murders."

I raised my chin. "Appearances can be deceiving."

"Yeah, I sure know that, but I'm still not going to rat out Dimitri to you."

"Are you his friend?"

"I guess I am."

"He's lucky then that you look after his interests. Will you give him my card and ask him to give me a call? He can name a place to meet and leave a message if I can't get to the phone. I'd like to find out more from him. I will do my best to help him. I can write it all down if you'd like."

"No, miss," Rudy said, tapping the side of his head. "It's all up here, and I'll give it to him."

As he rumbled down the street I wanted to kick myself for not asking Rudy about the man in the blue coat. I chased after him and caught up panting.

"Do you remember an odd-looking man in a blue coat who was hanging around the day that Anabel died?"

He looked up and blinked.

I said, "He had a hat, too. Something like yours, I think."

Rudy thought hard. "You know, I would have remembered that. I pay attention to hats. Didn't see any guy like that, that day."

"Not that day, but some other day?"

He shook his head. "No, miss. Never seen a guy like that at all around here."

He was gone in a whir of wheels, leaving me feeling I hadn't asked the right question. Had Rudy seen such a man somewhere else? Why would that be relevant? Oh well, I'd pursue it the next time.

When I returned to the Matrix, I noticed the construction site fronted on Potter Street as well as Friesen. I walked toward it. The back side of the site had the same boards blocking the view of the fence, the same slot for viewing, and, this hit me, its own door, also padlocked. I stood on my tiptoes again and peered in through the viewing slot.

Had Anabel met someone on the site without being spotted by witnesses on Friesen Street? I figured someone with the right footwear could easily have made their way to the other side where Anabel entered without being injured. I was thinking of a man with boots with a good grip. But had that happened?

And who might have seen that from Potter Street? If the police hadn't taken the trouble to interview Thalia Waverman with her unobstructed view of the site, would they have bothered to ask the residents of Potter Street? I added that to my list of questions to ask . . . but ask whom?

Minutes later, I sat in the Matrix and took out my notebook. Under Rudy's name, I wrote: Did the police talk to him?