The night sky opened up above us. The sounds of New York drifted up from below us. The night was cold, but Enzo had equipped his rooftop paradise with space heaters that blasted out warmth from nearby, keeping our naked bodies warm and cozy as we lounged together. I wasn’t surprised by how much I was opening up to Enzo, but I was surprised at how easy it felt. Speaking about my past was hard for me, but everything with Enzo came easy. Life was that much easier with him by my side.

And so I told Enzo everything. About my foster life, about my silence, about my first crush. I hadn’t opened up to anyone in this kind of way since… well, since Jose. It felt good to finally be able to connect with someone again and share my life’s experience with.

I dropped my head to the side so that I could kiss Enzo’s. His hair smelled good, like coconut and strawberries. “When did you come out?” I asked, wanting to hear about Enzo’s experience.

“I was sixteen when I made it official. My pa wasn’t having it at first, gave the whole ‘must be your friends influencing you’ type spew. At one point, I’m sure he even blamed it on the water I was drinking or something. Mamma had a much easier time accepting it. She said she had known from the beginning.”

“Yeah, sometimes it takes a little time. Your dad is good with everything now?”

“Oh yeah. He’s a hundred percent fine. Even cracks some risqué jokes now and then. One time, I had a boyfriend over for dinner and we were all eating, I asked to get a spoonful of meatballs on my plate. So he had said something like ‘balls, huh, isn’t that for after dinner?’ Mamma almost flipped the table. She turned as bright red as the glass of wine she’d been drinking, while we all started laughing.”

“He sounds like a great man,” I said, laughing up at the sky. “Makes sense because he raised a great man, too.”

“Yeah, they both did a pretty good job, I’ve gotta admit.” I looked over. Enzo was smiling, his eyes bright with the ambient light.

We lay there, comfortable in the silence that followed our conversation. A good sign. It was important to appreciate the empty spaces without feeling the need to constantly be chattering about mindless things.

It was Enzo who broke the silence, something clearly entering his mind with the way he perked up. “So… nah, forget it.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Come on, Enzo. What were you going to ask?”

He sighed. “I didn’t want to bring work into this, but… do you think Ricky did it? Killed Luanne and Oscar?”

I took a breath. I didn’t want to overcalculate my answer. “I’m still not sure. It’s looking more likely, Enzo, I’ve got to be honest. His last interview came off as desperate. Someone clutching at straws. And since he wasn’t honest with us from the start, he could be hiding even more. What if he really did threaten Oscar and Luanne on that tape? If he really did say ‘you’ll regret this’?”

I could feel Enzo deflate a little. But I trusted in him being an adult and being able to handle my professional opinion. “I hear you,” Enzo said, proving my trust was placed correctly. “It’s difficult, because I really do see him as innocent. I’ve had to defend some bad people in my career, and he doesn’t strike me as one of them. Besides, threats don’t always equal crime. But again, you’re right, he has held things back from us.”

“Well, there’s still what Tito told me, about Luanne looking like she’d just been in some kind of altercation the day he saw her. That could lead us somewhere.”

“But how are we going to find out who fought her? Ricky hasn’t seen many other people visit Luanne’s place.”

“Except her sister.” I looked up at the sky, spotting a few bright stars twinkling through the light pollution. “Maybe I should give Susan another visit. She may know if Luanne had been arguing with anyone.”

“She didn’t even know about Tito, though. Sounds like she didn’t know much about her sister.”

“No, she did know about Tito, just didn’t know exactly who he was. They seemed to have a fine relationship judging off social media and the way she was acting during our interview.” That was when a bell rang in my head. A distant one. “Well… wait a second. She did say she hadn’t been to her sister’s place in a while, but Ricky said she was there all the time.”

It was a question that quickly started to burn at the base of my brain.

“Huh, maybe Ricky isn’t being a hundred percent correct with his statements?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Regardless, I’ll have an interview with her tomorrow afternoon.”

“Afternoon? Wanna grab some drinks for happy hour after the interview, then? What part of town is she in?”

I closed my eyes, mentally drawing out her street in my head. “Brooklyn,” I said. “But I can come back down to Manhattan if you want to have drinks around here.”

“Sure, that works. Then we can have another relaxed evening up here?”

“That sounds parfetoh.” My tongue got a little twisted on my attempt at Italian, but Enzo seemed to love it regardless. He loved it so much, he started kissing me, climbing on top of me and kissing me harder, his tongue parting my lips.

“Perfetto,” Enzo repeated, sounding much sexier than I had. I was instantly hard, and so was he.

We spent most of the night out on the rooftop, playing with each other under the blinking stars.

It was hard getting out of bed. Figuratively and literally. Enzo made it difficult, when his warm body was pressed against mine under the big heavy white comforter. I knew it was much colder outside than in, and all I wanted to do was stay with Enzo, our naked bodies providing all the warmth (and entertainment) I would ever need.

But the sun was already up, although it wasn’t shining. I expected a bright beam of sunlight breaking in through the floor-to-ceiling window Enzo had in his bedroom, but the day was dark. I could hear the hard taps of raindrops smacking against the window. It was going to be one of those days.

I managed to get out of bed and get ready without waking up Enzo, who didn’t have to be into the office until an hour later. I liked being up early, and I felt like I needed to make sure I woke up early so I could nail down that interview with Susan. By the time I was tugging on my jeans, Enzo was blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hey, sexy,” Enzo said, his voice still groggy. He sat up in bed, and his chest showing above the covers was giving me another reason to stay.

“Good morning,” I said, walking over to the bedside so I could steal a quick kiss.

“Drinks today, right?”

“Definitely,” I said, feeling like a new man after last night. It felt as if I sold an old beat-up ’94 Honda and upgraded to a brand-spanking-new Porsche. I was riding on a pure high.

“Okay, bello. I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you,” I said, tugging on my shirt and giving Enzo one last kiss.

I left Enzo, already counting down the minutes until I saw him again. I took the subway back to my place and then picked up my car, just to have it. Enzo’s building had parking, so it wasn’t like I’d have trouble finding a spot for it later.

It was while I was waiting for the subway that I was able to make contact with Susan. She still sounded a little distraught and upset by the prospect of another interview with me, but I assured her it wasn’t like I was some tough police officer. I sold it to her as if I were a friend, looking for just a couple more answers. She agreed to a short sit-down, asking to make sure I wasn’t bringing over a big group of investigators since she was still very stressed.

The entire drive to Susan’s consisted of me smiling like a goofball and listening to dumb pop songs I’d normally roll my eyes over before changing the station. I was tapping my fingers on the wheel and shaking my head and just fucking living. It had been a while since I’d sung in my car. I forgot how great it could feel. By the time I reached her apartment building (and luckily found parking right in front), I had almost made it through an entire Katy Perry album. I almost expected to step out of the car wearing some bright pink costume worn by a pop princess, as though I’d blacked out on love and changed into it.

Thankfully, I was still wearing my simple black tee and faded blue jeans.

Susan seemed to have been waiting by the door, opening it almost as soon as I knocked. Her hallway was dark and musty, so I appreciated not having to wait outside too long.

“Hi, Mr. Holden.”

She stuck a hand out. I noticed she appeared a little thinner than the last time we’d spoke. I made a mental note to make sure she’d been eating properly before I left. It wasn’t uncommon for someone suffering from grief to forgo meals.

“Hi, Susan. Thank you for your time.”

She nodded and turned, walking toward her couch. She was wearing a stained sweater that appeared a size too big, with a pair of khakis that also needed a good wash. “Do you want anything? Water?” she asked over her shoulder.

“No, thank you, though.” I stepped into her living room. It smelled like smoke and old pizza. Sure enough, I spotted a couple of boxes stacked next to an overflowing trash can. I could see there were dirty dishes in the sink, a few fruit flies dashing around them.

“Susan, how have you been doing?” I looked to her now. Her big eyes were red. Must not have been sleeping well.

“Not too great,” she said, slumping down onto the couch. “I just want this all to be over.”

“I know,” I said, sympathizing with her. The murder happened some time ago, and by me coming over, I was tearing off whatever scab she had been forming over the wound that her sister’s loss left her. “Hopefully it will be soon.”

“So, what do you need from me?”

I sat down on the hard wooden chair she had next to her small dining table. “There’s a couple of questions.” I had to choose my words carefully. This was where being a private detective was harder than being a detective on the force. If I wanted information, I needed to coerce it out of people, sometimes by sneakily misdirecting conversations or by throwing in a few white lies here and there. Cops couldn’t lie, but they could bring someone down to the station for questioning and pursue things even further if they thought someone was purposefully withholding crucial information.

“Shoot,” she said.

“Okay, first I wanted to ask if you knew about anyone Luanne could have gotten into a physical fight with? I’ve gotten confirmation that she’d been in a pretty bad state a few nights before the murder, and I have a suspicion it could be linked to her death.”

Susan looked down at her hands. She was chipping away at her nails, using her fingers before bringing them up to her teeth. “No.” Her voice was tense. “We grew distant before she died. Biggest regret of my life.” She threw a glance up at the door and stood up suddenly. She walked over to the door and clicked the lock shut.

“Sorry,” she said, looking at me before diverting her gaze back to the floor. “It’s a bad neighborhood.”

She walked into the kitchen and disappeared behind a wall.

A thought invaded, like a cannonball blasting through the skull.

Could Oscar have been with someone other than Luanne and Ricky?

Could he have been with Susan, too?

“Susan,” I asked, loud enough for her to hear me. “Were you and your sister fighting?”

“See”—her voice sounded strained—“I was thinking you might ask that.”

Something else blasted against my skull, then. Not a thought. Something solid.

Something hard enough to knock me out cold.