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“Yes.”

“Okay, handsome. You lead, I will follow.”

But that didn’t work. He told her right away about Suzze. When he finished, Terese said, “So what are you going to do?”

“I want to chuck it all. I’m just so tired.”

She nodded.

“I want to come back to Angola. I want to marry you and just stay there.”

“I want that too,” she said.

“There’s a ‘but’ coming.”

“Not really, no,” Terese said. “Nothing would make me happier. I want to be with you more than you could ever know.”

“But?”

“But you can’t leave. You’re not built that way. For one, you can’t just abandon Esperanza and the business.”

“I could sell her my share.”

“No, you can’t. And even if you could, you need to learn the truth about Suzze. You need to figure out what’s going on with your brother. You need to look after your parents. You can’t just dump that all and come here.”

“And you can’t come home,” Myron said.

“Not yet, no.”

“So what does that mean?”

Terese shrugged. “We’re screwed. But just for a little while. You will find out what happened to Suzze and settle things.”

“You sound confident.”

“I know you. You’ll do all that. And then, well, when things are settled, you can come for a long visit, right?”

She arched an eyebrow and smiled at him. He smiled back. He could actually feel the muscles in his shoulders relax.

“Definitely right,” he said.

“Myron?”

“Yes.”

“Do it quickly.”

Myron called Lex in the morning. No reply. He called Buzz. Same. Chief County Investigator Loren Muse, however, answered her cell phone—Myron still had the number from their previous encounter. He persuaded her to meet him at Suzze and Lex’s high-rise, the scene of the drug overdose.

“If it will help wrap this up,” Muse said, “you’re on.”

“Thank you.”

An hour later, Muse met up with him in the front lobby. They got into the elevator and started up to the top floor.

“According to the preliminary autopsy,” Muse said, “Suzze T died of respiratory arrest caused by an overdose of heroin. I don’t know if you know much about opiate overdoses, but classically the drug just decreases the victim’s ability to breathe until it just stops. Often the victim still has a pulse and survives for several minutes without breathing. I think that’s what helped save the baby, but I’m not a doctor. There were no other drugs in her system. No one conked her on the head or anything like that—no signs of any physical altercation whatsoever.”

“In short,” Myron said, “nothing new.”

“Well, there’s one thing. I found that post you were talking about last night. On Suzze’s Facebook. The one that said, ‘Not his.’ ”

“And you think what?”

“I think,” Muse said, “that maybe it’s true.”

“Suzze swore it wasn’t.”

Muse rolled her eyes. “And, gee, no woman would ever lie about paternity. Think about it. Suppose the baby isn’t Lex Ryder’s. Maybe she felt guilty. Maybe she worried about being exposed.”

“You could always run a paternity test on the baby,” Myron said. “Find out for sure.”

“Sure I could, if I were investigating a murder. If I were investigating a murder, I might ask for a court order. But like I said, I’m not. I’m giving you a reason why a woman may have taken a drug overdose. Period, the end.”

“Maybe Lex will let you do the DNA test anyway.”

The elevator arrived as Muse said, “Well, well, well.”

“What?”

“You don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“I thought you were Lex’s hotshot defense attorney.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, Lex is already gone with the baby,” Muse said.

“What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

“This way.” They started up the spiral staircase that led to the rooftop terrace.

“Muse?”

“As you, a shining star of a defense lawyer already know, I have no reason to hold Lex Ryder. Early this morning, against doctor’s orders, he checked his newborn son out of the hospital—as is his right. He left his pal Buzz behind and hired a pediatric nurse to accompany him.”

“Where did they go?”

“Since there’s no murder here or even suspicion of one, I had no reason to actively pursue his destination.” Muse reached the rooftop. Myron followed. She walked over to the Cleopatra-like chaise near the arch. Muse stopped, looked down, and pointed at the chair.

Her tone turned dead serious. “Here.”

Myron looked down at the smooth ivory chaise. No blood, no wrinkles, no sign of death. You would expect a chair would show something about what had taken place. “This is where they found her?”

Muse nodded. “The needle was on the floor. She was passed out, totally unresponsive. The only prints on the needle are hers.”

Myron looked out through the arch. In the distance, the Manhattan skyline beckoned. The water was still. The sky was purple and gray. He closed his eyes and traveled back two nights ago. When the wind whipped across the balcony, Myron could almost hear Suzze’s words: “Sometimes people do need help. . . . Maybe you don’t know it, but you saved my life a hundred times.”

But not this time. This time, per Lex’s request, he had backed off, hadn’t he? He had finished up her favor—they knew who posted “Not His,” they knew where Lex was—and Myron had chosen to butt out, to leave Suzze on her own.

Myron kept his eyes on the skyline. “You said a guy with a Spanish accent made the nine-one-one call?”

“Yes. He used one of their portable phones. It was on the floor downstairs. Probably dropped it when he was running out. We checked it for prints, but everything is pretty smeared up on it. We have Lex’s and Suzze’s and that’s about it. When the paramedics got here, the door was still open. They came in and found her up here.”

Myron jammed his hands into his pockets. The breeze hit his face. “You realize that your theory about an illegal immigrant or maintenance worker makes no sense.”

“Why not?”