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before you started playing around with f-stops and film speeds, did you happen to take a stab at acting?”
    She smiled. “For a few years, yes. I was actually starring in a film until the financing was pulled.”
    “And that point the gun, ‘Oh-my-God,’ collapse into a sobbing heap on the sidewalk thing, that was just part of an act?”
    Her smile broadened and there was something sly and inviting in it. “I need your help.”
    “You made the right decision giving up on the dramatics.” I thought for a moment that it might be entertaining to see her go up against Jimmy Vigs with her pop gun, but then thought better of it. And I did like that smile of hers, at least enough to listen. “All right, Caroline, tell me why you think my friend Jimmy killed your sister.”
    She sighed and inhaled and sprayed a cloud of smoke into the air above my face. “It’s my brother Eddie,” she said. “He has a gambling problem. He bets too much and he loses too often. From what I understand, he is into this Jimmy Vigs person for a lot of money, too much money. There were threatening calls, there were late-night visits, Eddie’s car was vandalized. One of Eddie’s arms was broken, in a fall, he said, but no one believed him. Then Jackie died, in what seemed like a suicide but which I know wasn’t, and suddenly the threats stopped, the visits were finished, and Eddie’s repaired and repainted car maintained its pristine condition. The bookie must have been paid off. If this Jimmy Vigs person had killed Eddie he would have lost everything, but he killed Jackie and that must have scared Eddie into digging up the money and paying. But I heard he’s betting again, raising his debt even farther. And if your Jimmy Vigs needs to scare Eddie again I’m the one he’ll go after next.”
    I listened to her, nodding all the while, not believing a word of it. If Jimmy was stiffed he’d threaten, sure, who wouldn’t, and maybe break a leg or two, which could be quite painful when done correctly, but that was as far as it would go. Unless, maybe, we were talking big big bucks, but it didn’t seem likely that Jim would let it get that high with someone like this girl’s brother.
    “So what I want,” she said, “is for you to find out who killed her and get them to stay away from me. I thought with your connections to this Jimmy Vigs and the mob it would be easy for you.”
    “I bet you did,” I said. “But what if it wasn’t Jimmy Vigs?”
    “He did it.”
    “Most victims are killed by someone they know. If she was murdered, maybe it was by a lover or a family member?”
    “My family had nothing to do with it,” she said sharply.
    “Jimmy Dubinsky is not a murderer. The mere fact that your brother owed him money is…”
    “Then what about this?” she said while she reached into her handbag.
    “You did it again, dammit. And I wish you wouldn’t keep putting your hand in there.”
    “Frightened?” She smiled as she pulled out a plastic sandwich bag and dangled it before me.
    I took the bag from her and examined it. Inside was a piece of cellophane, a candy wrapper, one end twisted, the other opened and the word “Tosca’s” printed on one side. When I saw the printing my throat closed on me.
    “I found this lying on her bathroom floor, behind the toilet, when I was cleaning out her apartment,” she said.
    “So she had been to Tosca’s. So what?”
    “Jackie was an obsessive cleaner. She wouldn’t have just left this lying about. The cops missed it, I guess they don’t do toilets, but Jackie surely wouldn’t have left it there. And tomato sauce was too acidic for her stomach. She never ate Italian food.”
    “Then someone else, maybe.”
    “Exactly. I asked around and Tosca’s seems to be some sort of mob hangout.”
    “So they say.”
    “I think she was murdered, Mr. Carl, and that the murderer had been to Tosca’s and left this and I think you’re the one who can find out for me.”
    I looked at the