"Have you got something better to do, Wingate?" Bragg asked. "Got an appointment to have your nails manicured?"

Evan thought that Wingate remained remarkably calm, considering. "It's just that four of us can't find out anymore than one of us can, and time is of the essence."

"And you'd be doing what?"

"There's a crowd outside. They won't hang around all day. I thought someone should question them to see if anyone noticed anything last night or to find out what the neighborhood buzz is about Alessi. These rumors often have a lot of truth in them, you know."

For a while Bragg studied Jeremy Wingate's elegant profile, then he said, "All right then. Get on with it. I want Evans with me when I talk to the widow. You can take Pritchard."

"Thank you, sir," Wingate said. "Come on, Jim. Let's get cracking."

Evan watched as they stepped back out into the sunlight, then he followed Bragg up the stairs. He was glad that Wingate had voiced his own frustration. Bragg turned back to him. "What he doesn't seem to understand is that it's good to have more than one person in the room. While I'm talking you can notice things-what the room looks like, how she reacts to questions. I've always found it's very useful to have extra men hanging round, apparently doing nothing."

So now Bragg was trying to make him into an ally-two against two. Evan stomped behind him up the stairs.

The door at the top of the stairs was not locked and led to a small, square hallway. Ahead of them was a living room. Evan poked his head in and looked around. Shabby, old fashioned. Carpet that had seen better days. A hand-crocheted afghan thrown across the back of the sofa. A lurid print of an Italian street scene on the wall. A new big-screen TV in one corner. There had been a TV set in the kitchen, too. It was clear where Luigi's priorities lay.

"In here, Evans," Bragg barked a summons. Evan followed him into the adjoining room, which was a front bedroom. The curtains were closed. Only a fringed pink lamp beside the bed was on, illuminating the figure in the bed, but plunging the rest of the room into deep shadow. A woman was lying propped up on pillows, wearing a purple satin robe. She was rounded but not fat, with bleached blonde hair, already showing traces of dark at the roots. She must have been quite a looker in her younger days, Evan thought, but now she'd started to sag. And there were plenty of worry lines too.

"Mrs. Alessi?" Bragg said softly. "May we come in?"

"Oh yes. Of course." She pulled up the covers instinctively as they came in.

"Sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Alessi," Bragg said. "We're police officers from the Major Crimes Unit. I'm Detective Inspector Bragg and this is Detective Constable Evans. We'd like to ask you a few questions if you're up to it."

"Yes, I think I'm all right now," she said. It was hard to pinpoint her by her accent. "I was so zonked out earlier. I've no idea what I said to that other officer. Then I went right back to sleep. Can you believe it? Those bloody pills do that to me."

"How often do you take them?" Bragg asked. He looked around for a chair and found none. "Evans, be a good lad and bring me something to sit on."

"Yes, sir." Evan went through to the unit's tiny kitchen and brought back a lime green plastic-and-chrome kitchen chair. Bragg pulled it up close to the bed and sat.

"There, that's more comfy. Now you were saying about your sleeping pills."

"I've been taking them every night recently. The doctor prescribed them because I was having such trouble sleeping. I haven't been well lately."

"Really, what's been wrong?"

"My nerves," she said. "Luigi said it was the change. I'm getting to that age, you know. He may be right. Doctors don't really have time for you these days, do they? They just hand out prescriptions and want you out of there."

"So he prescribed sleeping pills, did he? How long ago?"

"I've been taking them for about a month," she said.

"And they knock you out until eleven in the morning? That can't be good for you."

"Well, you see I don't take it until I have a cup of cocoa around nine. Then I fall asleep around eleven and usually I wake about nine the next morning. Luigi doesn't like to wake up too early, seeing as he's never done cleaning up downstairs until at least midnight, and then he has to watch some telly to wind down."

"So tell me about last night," Bragg said.

"I took my pill as usual around nine," she said. "I fell asleep soon afterward because there was nothing worth watching on the telly. Then I woke up to go to the loo. I often have to go in the middle of the night. When I got back from the bathroom, I looked at the clock and it was almost three, and Luigi wasn't in bed. He falls asleep watching TV in the living room sometimes, so I went in but he wasn't there. So I went downstairs and the light was off in the kitchen. I switched it on . . . and . . . and he was lying there. I went over to him and saw the blood. Blood all around him. Blood on the floor. My head was still so groggy that I couldn't think straight, but I did manage to call the police."

"What did you think when you saw him lying there with all that blood?" Bragg asked.

"What did I think?" her voice rose dangerously. "That he was dead, of course."

"Did you think he might have killed himself?"

She looked incredulous and then laughed. "Luigi? Kill himself? That man had the biggest ego in Wales. He'd never kill himself. Kill somebody else, yes. He could do that all right."

"He had a violent temper then?" Bragg asked.

"When he'd been drinking."

"Did he ever hit you?"

She paused for a moment. "Yes, once or twice. But that was a long time ago. He's been off the booze lately and much better."

"So he hadn't quarreled with anybody recently? Can you think of anyone who might have had a score to settle with him?"

"Not that I know of," she said. "Most people liked my Luigi. He was a friendly sort. He'd go over to the pub and have a few laughs. It was only when he'd drunk too much and somebody got him riled up that he'd take a swing at them. But they were probably as drunk as he was, and they'd swing right back. That's nothing like shooting someone to death, is it?"

"No, it's not. Your husband wasn't in any sort of trouble, was he, Mrs. Alessi? He was Italian, after all. The word Mafia always springs to mind when you think of Italians."

Evan shot a glance at Bragg. It was just the kind of stupid remark he had come to expect from his new boss. Mrs. Alessi obviously agreed with him because she laughed.

"Mafia? That's the kind of thing you see on the telly, not in real life."

"So you don't know whether he might have been paying protection money on his business?"

"Protection money?" She laughed again. "What's there to protect? This dump? To tell you the truth, we'd both have been glad if somebody burned it down. Then we could have collected the insurance and got out of here. Luigi was talking about retiring. The long hours were getting to both of us. He hardly ever took a day off."

"Did you work in the café too?"

"Not normally. When someone called in sick, I helped out."

"So are you employed somewhere else, Mrs. Alessi?"

"Not recently. I used to be a bookkeeper, years ago, but my health hasn't been too good for some time and it got-difficult."

"Right, let's go back to the beginning," Bragg said. "Are you getting this down, Evans?"

Evan whipped out a notebook. "Right."

"You were born where?"

"Not too far from here. In Rhyl actually."

"You're Welsh then?" Evan asked. Bragg turned to look at him.

"Oh yes. But I don't speak the language. Neither do my parents. The family originally came from around Birmingham, back in the days of the slate mines."

"How did you meet Luigi?" Bragg asked.

"I met him at a dance at the Rhyl pavilion. He'd just come here then, and he didn't speak much English, but he was very good looking and all the girls were fighting over him. I wasn't a bad looker myself. We made a good couple."

"What was he doing in those days?"

"He was working in a hotel, but he had plans to open his own place. Big ideas in those days, of course. A fancy Italian restaurant, white tablecloths, the lot. Always did have big ideas, my husband."

"So what happened to the big ideas?"

"What always happens," she said bitterly. "I got pregnant. We had to get married in a hurry. My folks gave us some money as a wedding present, and we took over this place. Been here ever since."

"You have children then?"

"One child. A daughter. Paulina. She's eighteen now."

"Away at college?"

"She moved out when she was sixteen," Mrs. Alessi said. "She and Luigi didn't get along. She couldn't take his drinking. She went to live with her aunt in Manchester."

"Do you see her often?"

"Not really. We don't get along either. She blames me as much as Luigi for not stopping him."

"Stopping him what?" Bragg asked sharply.

"Drinking."

"So did he ever-attack her?" Bragg asked.

"Of course he didn't. He idolizes that girl. It broke his heart when she moved away."

"We'll need an address to contact her."

"I already gave it to the policeman who was here earlier. She'd want to know about her dad."

"If you can give it to my constable again, it will save time," Bragg said. "And we'll want the names and addresses of your employees here."

"If you wait a few minutes, they'll be arriving for work," she said. "They won't have heard the news yet."

"Right. Evans, go down and warn the constable on guard that any employees are to be sent straight up to me."

Evan went down the stairs and stood outside for a moment, looking at the kitchen window with that arm still hanging out of it. It would have been easy enough to stand in the alley without being seen, get a good angle at the window, watch Luigi moving around inside, and then call him over. And the moment he looked out to see who was calling him-bam. Only this time it was bam, bam, bam. Not such a good shot on this occasion.

Evan made his way around to the front of the building. He had just finished delivering his message to the constable standing duty when Wingate emerged from the hairdresser's shop.

"He's let you out alone, not on a leash?" Wingate said.

"Only to pass on a message to the officer standing guard. Then I've got to go back and stand to attention with my little notepad."

"Bloody twit," Wingate muttered. "Anything come up yet? She hasn't confessed to shooting him, has she?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"Because the Asian family next door say they have some bloody good shouting matches. He's always yelling, they say. Not the best of pals, Luigi and the Asian bloke at the curry place. He said Luigi always had his television blasting away late at night and then complained if they ever played their music. He called Luigi an uncivilized man, a bully and a drunkard who liked to throw his weight around. Of course, being Muslims, they don't drink."

"They're Muslims?" Evan said. "I thought they were Indians."

"They are. Muslims from North India."

"Oh, I see. Did they hear the shots last night?"

"They said Luigi's television was going full blast as usual, and he always keeps that window open because it gets so hot in the kitchen, so if they'd heard anything they would have thought it came from the television."

"But they didn't notice the shots particularly?"

"They were in bed, and the bedroom is at the front."

"Too bad," Evan said. "What did the hairdresser say?"

"She thinks Luigi was charming. An attentive gentleman. But then she doesn't live above the shop. She goes home at five, and she's never seen him drunk."

"So who lives above the shop?"

"Nobody at the moment. It's vacant."

"Someone along this row must have heard something. Or in one of the houses behind."

"They're not likely to have seen anything though," Wingate said. "I've checked the alley. There's no light. They wouldn't have seen much even if they'd looked out of a window at the right time."

The last part of this sentence was drowned out by the toot of a diesel horn and the rumble of another train.

"And if the killer timed it correctly," Evan said as the train passed, "the telly and the train between them would mask most sounds."

"You're right. It wasn't as big a risk as I originally thought. I'm going to see what Pritchard's turned up. I left him to chat to the lads across the street. He's more their age. He's speaks their language, and I don't mean Welsh."

Evan grinned as he headed back to Bragg. He glanced up thoughtfully at the Taj Mahal Take-out. Funny how he hadn't been aware of a Muslim community in Wales and now everywhere he went there seemed to be Muslims involved. He climbed the stairs back to Mrs. Alessi's room.

She was sitting up in bed now, looking distressed and fully awake. Evan thought that ten minutes alone with DI Bragg would have that effect on most people.

"I really don't know what else I can tell you," she said. "He was an ordinary man. He had his ups and his downs; but as for suggesting that he was mixed up with the underworld just because he was Italian, that's just plain silly."

"Someone wanted him dead and carried it out efficiently, Mrs. Alessi," Bragg said. "Very different from getting into a bar brawl."

"I can't really comprehend it." She ran her fingers nervously through her mop of blonde hair. "It doesn't seem real. Like watching a movie. Someone else's life. I expect it will sink in soon enough."

"I'll arrange for a female police officer to be with you, if you like. You shouldn't be alone at a time like this. Have you got a relative or friend living nearby you could call?"

"My parents moved away," she said. "They live on the Isle of Wight now. Nice little bungalow. But I should call my daughter. She may come down to be with me." There was a wistful look in her eyes.

"That's right. Call your daughter. And in the meantime we'll have someone here with you to make you a cup of tea or whatever you need."

"You're very kind," she said. "You will find who did this, won't you?"

"We'll do our best, Mrs. Alessi. If you can tell us everything you know-names of his friends and family. What he did in his spare time."

"Spare time?" She laughed. "When did he ever have spare time. He had Sundays off, and that was it. Most of the time he was so bushed that he'd watch telly and sleep."

"So he had no close friends nearby?"

"Blokes he met at the pub, I suppose. I don't know their names. I never went with him."

She broke off as there were heavy footsteps on the stairs.

"The employees have shown up, Inspector," Pritchard said. "Where do you want me to put them?"

"Take them through to the café, get their names and addresses, and I'll be with them in a minute," Bragg said. "Anything you can tell me about the employees, Mrs. Alessi? Got on well with your husband, did they?"

"Pretty much. The waitress, Mona, has been with us for years. The two boys who help in the kitchen haven't been with us long. Tommy's been here about a year, and the other one, Sean, only a month or so. There's a lot of turnover in the restaurant business. Usually they're looking for something better, or they're students supplementing their income."

"And these two?"

"Yeah, they're both students, I believe. Nice boys, from what I can see. No problems with them, other than the usual. Not always being reliable; not turning up when they have to study for an exam or drank too much the night before."

"Students at the university in Bangor, are they?"

"I believe Sean is. Tommy's just at the local community college."

Bragg looked at Evan. "Right. Let's go and chat with the young men, shall we? I wonder if Sean is studying history." He patted the eiderdown over Mrs. Alessi's legs. "We'll let you rest for a while, Mrs. Alessi. And if you can think of anything else that might be important, you'll know where to find us. There's a constable stationed outside, and the forensic team will be out of your hair soon, I expect."

"And my husband's body?"

"Will be taken to the morgue any moment now."

"That's good because I don't want to see-I couldn't go through. . . ." She shuddered.

"Get some rest," Bragg said. "Evans, why don't you make Mrs. Alessi a cup of tea?"

"I can make my own tea," she said. "I'm not quite an invalid, you know. I'd rather have something to do. I'm not used to being waited on. And I want to call my daughter in private."

"Right. Come on, Evans." Bragg stomped down the stairs.

"You didn't mention the other crime to her," Evan said.

"No. That will come later. My philosophy is to question them in small doses. Make them think they're off the hook, then come back with more."

"You don't suspect her, do you?"

"Not when she was snoring her head off, I suppose," Bragg agreed. "But in my experience people often know more than they want to tell you. Silly little things like owing money or feuding with neighbors. They can all be important."

"Are you going to requisition her phone records?" Evan asked.

"Not a bad idea."

"And the Rogers's too. If we found the same number turning up on both. . . ."

Bragg laughed. "I can't see Mrs. Rogers calling Mrs. Alessi to chat, can you? But it's worth a try. Anything's worth a try at this point."

Bragg and Evan found the three employees were sitting, wide eyed and ashen faced, on the vinyl benches of the café. Mona, the waitress who had been with them since the café opened, was decidedly weepy. "He was such a nice man," she repeated over and over.

All three of them had left well before midnight. They all claimed to get along well with Luigi and couldn't offer any suggestions as to who might have wanted to kill him.

"You do get bad types hanging around here at night sometimes," Mona ventured. "Homeless people, druggies. We're too close to the railway station. You'll probably find it turns out to be some crazed druggie."

"What do you boys think?" Bragg asked.

The boys stared at him and shrugged.

"Don't know what to think," Tommy muttered. "It don't seem real."

"Did you ever see any suspicious types hanging around here?" Bragg asked. "People who might have underworld connections?"

"Crooks, you mean?" Tommy asked.

"I wouldn't know what a crook looked like if I saw one." Sean had a choirboy's face.

"I was wondering if you ever saw your boss meeting with someone who upset him or got him rattled," Bragg went on.

The two boys shook their heads again.

Bragg looked up at Evan. "I think that's all for now, don't you, Evans? We've got their names and addresses in case we want to ask them more questions."

"So I suppose the place won't be opening again for a while?" Tommy asked. "Now I'll have to find another job with the right sort of hours."

"I was thinking of moving in with friends closer to the uni anyway," Sean said.

"What subject are you reading, Sean?" Evan asked.

Sean blushed. "Theology."