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made him uneasy. The look in the boy’s eyes had made him wonder, what the hell had he seen?
    Slowly Tracie removed her touch. She gazed into Lonzo’s eyes with a clawing, biting pain. Sparks of dark chocolate brown sprayed from her irises. Lonzo returned her stare unflinchingly. Tracie crossed her hands in front of her. She bowed her head.
    Dre spotted Randi’s clothing on a nearby table. His eyes lingered on a small gold cross lying forlornly against the stainless steel next to Randi’s wallet.
    Tracie finally lifted her head. Tears glistened in her eyes like jewels, but didn’t fall. Lonzo was staring at her, completely awestruck. She was causing a deep animal stirring to rise up in him.
    The ME slowly pulled the sheet back over Randi’s head. Monica broke the silence. “Is this your son, Randi Burlingame?”
    â€œNo.”
    Startled looks ran rampant around the room. Tracie reached into her pocket. She pulled out her own photograph of Randi, handing it to Monica. It was in stark contrast to the one the City of New York had taken of the dead Randi Burlingame.
    Monica looked at Tracie, then down at the photo of young, handsome, smiling Randi.
    â€œThat’s my baby. He kissed me good-bye when he left this morning.” Tracie shrugged. “I prefer to remember him this way.”
    Monica took a deep breath. “Miss Burlingame, you’re aware that somebody might have pushed your son from the roof?”
    â€œTracie. Call me Tracie. I am aware that Randi may have accidentally fallen from the roof.”
    Monica tugged on her earlobe. She swallowed hard. Sarcasm crept into her voice. She did not like this woman. Tracie Burlingame rubbed her the wrong way. The woman was grating on her nerves for some reason.
    â€œAnd he decided to remove his shoes before he fell? Which, by the way, were not found at the scene of the crime.”
    Dre stepped in. “That’s enough.”
    Monica reached for her badge. She stepped forward, flashing it, up close and very personal, in Dre’s face.
    â€œI’ll say when it’s enough. Monica Rhodes, Harlem Homicide Division. Official business.”
    The medical examiner glanced at Michael sympathetically. Michael smiled his appreciation at the man. At least somebody in this room had the decency to show some sympathy.
    Monica’s voice sliced through the air. “So tell me, Tracie, what was Randi wearing on his feet the last time you saw him?”
    â€œFootwear.”
    â€œCan you be more specific?”
    â€œKarl Kani . . . boots. Gold and black hiking boots. Black hardware. Gold strings. Kani emblem on the side.” The light cocoa-brown eyes shed a couple of teary jewels, which spilled and glistened on Tracie’s high cheekbones.
    â€œExcuse me. Hardware?” Monica said.
    As though explaining to a child, Tracie said, “The eyelets in which you lace up the boots.”
    â€œYou’re a fashion expert?” The sarcasm dripped from Monica’s voice without disguise.
    â€œNo. I’m a mother.”
    Dre gripped Tracie’s hand. He glared his hostility at Monica. “My mom is tired. So, you’re gonna have to do this another time.”
    Monica nodded at the arrogant young punk. She smiled. “Count on it.”
    Tracie looked at the medical examiner, her eyes filled with anguish. Her voice was barely a whisper. “What time did this happen?”
    The ME reached for his chart, consulting it. He looked up at Tracie gravely. “Randi expired at approximately two p.m.”
    â€œExpired . . . I see.” Tracie smoothly turned her back on them. She headed for the door with her two sons right behind her. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor. She sailed through the door. It slammed behind them.
    Lonzo looked at the sheet-draped body. His eyes grazed the now empty space left by Tracie.
    Hubert glanced at his chart. “There was one other thing I wanted to discuss with