at Willow, silently indicating the pictures she carried in her pocket. Intuitively understanding his intent, she withdrew all eight and handed them to him. Steve sorted through them quickly, selected the one he wanted, and handed it to Mueller.
The older man was silent for a long minute, studying the picture in his hand. "You want to know about the suicide, don'cha?"
"We want to know about that summer," Steve said. "Whatever you remember."
"Why?"
"The reason is confidential."
"Then so's my memory."
Steve flipped his wallet open again. "Would twenty dollars help make it less so?"
Mueller didn't so much as glance at the money.
"Forty?"
Willow reached out and put her hand on Steve's arm. "Mr. Mueller isn't interested in your money," she said. She didn't know how she knew that, but she did. The covetous look in his strange gray eyes wasn't for the greenbacks in Steve's wallet but for the secrets of other people's lives. Mueller wouldn't take money for what he knew but he would trade information for information.
"Donna Ryan was my mother," Willow said to him. "We think one of the men in that picture is my father."
"Yeah, I remember her. She was a real looker," Mueller said. "Moved in here with her girlfriend back in May of 1970. Ethan Roberts—the one who's running for senator now—he was the one who told her about the vacant apartment. He was working with her on some TV program... some soap opera thing. Guess he thought he'd have a better chance to score with her if she was close by."
"And did he?" Steve asked.
"Who the hell knows?" Mueller shrugged. "It was wild around here in those days. Parties all the time. Kids climbing in an' out of each other's beds like they were playing a game of musical chairs. Didn't have no AIDS to worry about back then. I know she went out with Roberts a couple a times. But I seen her go out with other guys, too, including Eric Shannon. You ask me whether she was sleeping with any of them, I got to be honest and tell you I don't know. She didn't let none of the guys crawl all over her like some of the girls did. Leastways, not in public so's anyone could watch it."
He pushed open the door to the courtyard and stepped outside. Steve stuck his hand out over Willow's shoulder, stopping the heavy door with his palm before it could close in her face.
"Now, right here is where Blackstone stumbled over the body that night," Mueller said with relish, pointing to a spot on the concrete courtyard patio where a tub of flowering hibiscus now stood. "The police said the Shannon kid had been dead for a couple of hours by the time Blackstone fell over him. Couple a people actually walked around him while he was lying there like that, thinking he was just was passed out drunk or on drugs or something. Two kids were lying on a chaise longue right over there, makin' out, and they didn't even notice him. He'd landed on his back, smashed in his skull real good and broke his spine in three places, but you couldn't tell that by just looking at him. And it was dark. With the shadows and everything, nobody noticed the blood."
He seemed to derive a macabre sort of enjoyment from being the teller of the sad tale. Like an ugly little troll, Willow thought, dispensing his horrid little gems, one by one, and watching to see how they would be accepted.
"Cops figure he jumped from the third floor. From that balcony up there," he said as he pointed it out. He looked straight at Willow. "That's where your mother and her girlfriend lived," he said, watching her for a reaction.
"He jumped from my mother's apartment?" She felt Steve's hands settle on her shoulders from behind. They steadied her in some indefinable way, transferring his strength into her just when she needed it most. "Was she there when it happened?" she asked calmly. "Did she see him jump?"
Mueller shook his head. "Cops figure she was down at the party in 1-G when it happened. She was the one who heard the screaming, though. Called the ambulance,
The older man was silent for a long minute, studying the picture in his hand. "You want to know about the suicide, don'cha?"
"We want to know about that summer," Steve said. "Whatever you remember."
"Why?"
"The reason is confidential."
"Then so's my memory."
Steve flipped his wallet open again. "Would twenty dollars help make it less so?"
Mueller didn't so much as glance at the money.
"Forty?"
Willow reached out and put her hand on Steve's arm. "Mr. Mueller isn't interested in your money," she said. She didn't know how she knew that, but she did. The covetous look in his strange gray eyes wasn't for the greenbacks in Steve's wallet but for the secrets of other people's lives. Mueller wouldn't take money for what he knew but he would trade information for information.
"Donna Ryan was my mother," Willow said to him. "We think one of the men in that picture is my father."
"Yeah, I remember her. She was a real looker," Mueller said. "Moved in here with her girlfriend back in May of 1970. Ethan Roberts—the one who's running for senator now—he was the one who told her about the vacant apartment. He was working with her on some TV program... some soap opera thing. Guess he thought he'd have a better chance to score with her if she was close by."
"And did he?" Steve asked.
"Who the hell knows?" Mueller shrugged. "It was wild around here in those days. Parties all the time. Kids climbing in an' out of each other's beds like they were playing a game of musical chairs. Didn't have no AIDS to worry about back then. I know she went out with Roberts a couple a times. But I seen her go out with other guys, too, including Eric Shannon. You ask me whether she was sleeping with any of them, I got to be honest and tell you I don't know. She didn't let none of the guys crawl all over her like some of the girls did. Leastways, not in public so's anyone could watch it."
He pushed open the door to the courtyard and stepped outside. Steve stuck his hand out over Willow's shoulder, stopping the heavy door with his palm before it could close in her face.
"Now, right here is where Blackstone stumbled over the body that night," Mueller said with relish, pointing to a spot on the concrete courtyard patio where a tub of flowering hibiscus now stood. "The police said the Shannon kid had been dead for a couple of hours by the time Blackstone fell over him. Couple a people actually walked around him while he was lying there like that, thinking he was just was passed out drunk or on drugs or something. Two kids were lying on a chaise longue right over there, makin' out, and they didn't even notice him. He'd landed on his back, smashed in his skull real good and broke his spine in three places, but you couldn't tell that by just looking at him. And it was dark. With the shadows and everything, nobody noticed the blood."
He seemed to derive a macabre sort of enjoyment from being the teller of the sad tale. Like an ugly little troll, Willow thought, dispensing his horrid little gems, one by one, and watching to see how they would be accepted.
"Cops figure he jumped from the third floor. From that balcony up there," he said as he pointed it out. He looked straight at Willow. "That's where your mother and her girlfriend lived," he said, watching her for a reaction.
"He jumped from my mother's apartment?" She felt Steve's hands settle on her shoulders from behind. They steadied her in some indefinable way, transferring his strength into her just when she needed it most. "Was she there when it happened?" she asked calmly. "Did she see him jump?"
Mueller shook his head. "Cops figure she was down at the party in 1-G when it happened. She was the one who heard the screaming, though. Called the ambulance,
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