He was behind the counter showing a fresh-faced Latina how to scoop ice cream.When he saw me he smiled, like I was a customer.Then his face went colder than the Rocky Road. “You that lawyer!”“Mr. Roshdieh, if I could—”“You get out of here! You get out of my store!”The fresh-faced girl looked scared.“How about a scoop of mint chip?” I said.“Out!”“Mr. Roshdieh, I need your help.”His eyes narrowed. “Why I should help you?”“I’m after the truth,” I said. “Like you are.”“The truth I know!”“You think my client killed your wife.”“I know it! Now you get out!” He came out from behind the counter, waving his arms. As if he were shooing away locusts.“I want to find out who really killed your wife,” I said.“You lawyer! All you want is for getting your client to get out! Now you get out!”“Please.” I pulled a photograph out of my inside coat pocket. “Would you just make sure?”I held up the photograph.He started to nod. “Yes! I tell you yes!
