Then Nico had cordially rebuffed every question they’d asked about his father.

Mason thought the guy should be in politics. Their inquiries were answered with questions.

Nico’s primary concern was the company cleaning his father’s home. That was it. He showed no interest in helping them discover who’d murdered his father. He wanted to know when the cleaners would be finished and when the house would be released.

“It’s the site of a murder,” Ray had spit out, shock on his face.

“Well, we still need to get it on the market. Do prospective buyers have to be informed someone was killed there? That would affect the home’s value.” Nico took a careful sip of his tea.

Mason was stunned. What was wrong with this family?

“Uh… that might be part of disclosure laws. You’ll have to ask your Realtor,” Ray answered helpfully. “Now, about your father—”

Nico waved a hand at him. “I haven’t talked to my father in years.”

“You live in the same city. Surely you had some family gatherings or heard about him from your brothers.” Mason ached for any sign that this family gave a rat’s ass about the murdered Lorenzo.

Nico gave a casual shrug. “My wife would go clean his house occasionally. She hasn’t gone for a while. She didn’t care for him.”

Judging by the state of Lorenzo’s house during the murder scene, Nico’s wife hadn’t been there in several years. “Can we speak to your wife?” he asked.

“No, she doesn’t have anything to tell you.”

Mason looked at Ray. Ray stared back. What the hell?

“I’d like to hear from her that she has nothing to tell us,” Mason said politely, gritting his teeth. Nico Cavallo was as much of a dinosaur as his father. People called Mason old-fashioned sometimes, but at least he pretended to live in this century.

“She has nothing to say,” Nico stated. He met Mason’s gaze over his teacup, his eyes calm. “Now, how long before the home can be put on the market?”

Ray scooted forward on his chair, leaning conversationally toward Nico and clearing his throat.

Good luck, Ray.

“Mr. Cavallo,” Ray began. “I don’t think you realize why we’re here. We’re not here to help plan your future; we’re here to find out who killed your father. Anything you can tell us about your father’s social circle or daily interactions would be very helpful. I hate to think that there’s a murderer wandering around this city, possibly interested in your family.”

Mason watched Nico carefully. The man hadn’t flinched during Ray’s plea, but his eyes had narrowed slightly at the mention of his family.

“My family will be fine. I seriously doubt someone would target me. Why would they?” he replied stiffly.

Ray jumped on the question. “You’re not worried? This doesn’t read like a random attack. There was nothing stolen from your father’s house. Robbery probably wasn’t the motive. It felt very personal to me. Why would that be?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t that your job to find the answers? I already told you I didn’t keep in touch with my father. I don’t know what he’s been doing for the last ten years.”

“When he came in and talked to us, he mentioned his sons several times. I saw a proud father. He said nothing of being estranged from his family. Why did you shun him for the last ten years?” Ray pushed.

“You’re asking personal questions. Things that have nothing to do with his death.”

Ray waited. Nico’s teacup rattled as he set it back in its saucer.

“We didn’t get along,” Nico added. He clamped his mouth shut and turned his gaze to Mason, his message clear. He was done talking to the police. He stood. “I’m sorry I haven’t been of more help to you, detectives. But I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

Mason and Ray slowly stood, the interview clearly over.

Outside Nico’s home, Ray had commented, “He’s lying. He has a good hunch why his father was killed.”

Mason had completely agreed.

Sipping on his coffee at Starbucks, Mason let his mind sift through the interview. “I wish his wife had come in. I could hear someone clinking dishes in the kitchen. I assume that was her.”

Ray leaned back in his chair, stretching out long legs. “I wanted to pound on his face because of his attitude about her input.”

“Sounded just like his father,” commented Mason. “Apparently they’d been close enough at one point, so he could hand down his asshole views on women.”

“I don’t get how attitudes like that survive today. Don’t people watch TV? Don’t they interact with their community? Especially here in Portland. I mean, this is where changes in America’s behaviors begin, right? Portland always has it first, whether it’s the newest foodie trend or social behavior. Doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed to catch on. But you can’t live here without being exposed to new shit.” Ray looked perplexed.

“Succinctly put,” Mason agreed. “Portland is where new shit is shoved in the face of the mainstream. But there are always pockets of people who don’t like change.” Like me. “Takes a while for stuff to catch on.”

“But surely no one believes that whole ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane’ crap. We’ve come further than that, right?”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Mason wanted to smack him in the head. Ray talked about the way he wanted the world to behave, not how it did. “How many battered women do our people deal with every day? How much domestic abuse? I think communities try to fool themselves that we’ve moved beyond that, but the fact is it’s still there. Every fucking day. And maybe the Cavallos don’t beat on their women, but they sure as hell beat them down in other ways.”