“Michael.” A pause. “Did you find it strange that Frankie mentioned Simon going to his brother’s apartment at Trinity?” Another pause. “What do you think? You’re the investigator here. Maybe you should…investigate. It’s a clue, Sherlock. Call me.” I’d already wondered about that offhand remark, one that bothered Simon. Why the secret? From Hazel’s remarks I’d concluded that Michael, the oldest child, had little to do with the young boy—or his family. Perhaps that was wrong. He answered the phone on the second ring, not a pleasant “Hello” but “What?” with a comical inflection, as if he’d been expecting a call from a close friend and this was his way of being funny. I chuckled. “What indeed?” A hesitant bit of tsking. “Sorry. Yes?” Still no hello, replaced now with impatience. I identified myself, and he startled me by breaking in.
