Nino escorted Dawson in. He sat down nervously. I hadn’t told him in advance of the meeting, just sent Nino to get him from his job. He looked freaked out.
“Dawson.”
“How are ya, Azriel? Good to see ya. How’s my Sweetpea?”
I gave him a sour look.
“Not thrilled that you’re here; I’ll say that. Drink?” I poured myself a whiskey.
“Yeah, please. Thanks,” he shifted around in the chair. He reminded me a little of Denis Leary. He was clearly nervous. Or he was tweaking from withdrawals.
“I wanted to ask you some questions about the death of Claire’s mother.”
He accepted the whiskey and drank it with shaky hands, “Yeah. It’s still raw. Hard to believe sometimes that she’s really gone. Mind if I smoke?”
“Yeah, I do mind, actually. Tell me about that day. Tell me about before you left her
