Detective Lieutenant Anita McElone (rhymes with macaroni) sat at her desk and regarded me up and down. “Who hired you to investigate a guy’s death when you don’t even know his whole name?” “Believe me, it wasn’t my idea,” I assured her. “I’m just glad you knew it. Now if you can also tell me that the police department has the whole thing all sewn up, I’ll let the people who hired me know that they don’t need my services, and everybody walks away happy. So go ahead.” McElone just sat there. “Tell me,” I urged. McElone did not even so much as blink. “Please?” Maybe the magic word would help. Nothing. I sighed. “Okay. Since they hired me, I’m obligated to investigate, so—anything you can tell me?” McElone sighed louder. “Many, many things,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean there’s much that I will tell you.
