Standing, I turned and looked out the window. I gazed down at the street corner directly in front of my Sherman Street building. O’Connell had arrived here in a big black four-door Lincoln town car. His barrel-chested driver opened the rear car door for him, then closed it after he slipped inside. O’Connell was made of money, of that, I had no doubt.
After they pulled away from the corner, I thought about pouring another drink and resuming my pity party along with the cold, drab city. Then I thought the better decision would be to pay Detective Miller a visit at the APD Central Avenue precinct. Miller had recommended a client to me—one I did not trust. A client who might very well hold the key to a cold case murder that took place thirty-five years ago.
Dressed in my leather coat, my t
