At 234 Kasdan Street in Brooklyn, Kinsey Gallagher took a deep breath, steeling herself as she knocked on Rose Boscorelli's door.

A pretty woman in her fifties answered the door. She was smiling at first until she noticed that the young woman at the door was wearing a police officer's uniform.

"Oh my god... Has Maurice been-" Rose Boscorelli's face was the picture of terror.

"No, Mrs. Boscorelli, Officer Boscorelli is fine. I'm Officer Gallagher. Kinsey Gallagher, may I come in?"

Confused, but obviously a sweet woman, Mrs. Boscorelli said, "Of course."

Kinsey stepped in to a modest, well-kept apartment, and stood stiffly, wondering what in hell she was going to say.

"Mrs. Boscorelli, you may want to sit down."

Fear filling her face again, Rose Boscorelli sat, "What?" she whispered.

"This is about your younger son, Michael." Kinsey said softly.

Rose Boscorelli raised a trembling hand to her face, "Oh no, please no."

Kinsey stepped closer, and placed a tentative hand on the older woman's shoulder, "I'm sorry, but Michael was killed this morning."

"No." Rose Boscorelli moaned, almost inaudibly, and tears began to run down her cheeks. Her slender shoulders began to shake helplessly as if in a palsy.

"I'm so sorry." Kinsey murmured, feeling totally helpless.

"I should've let Maurice keep him in jail." Rose whispered, staring at her hands.

"What?" Kinsey was lost.

"If he was still in jail, he wouldn't have had any drugs. He wouldn't have overdosed."

Kinsey was learning all sorts of things about the Boscorelli family. The older son was a cop, while the younger one had been drug addict. Odd...

"It wasn't a overdose Mrs. Boscorelli." Kinsey said.

"What?" it was the other's woman's turn to be confused.

"He was...um, he was stabbed. Murdered." Kinsey said reluctantly.

The woman's face went pale. Kinsey was alarmed at the transformation.

"Mrs. Boscorelli, are you alright?" Kinsey grabbed her arm, trying to steady her.

"My poor baby," she whispered, "I think I'm going to be sick."

She stood, and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Kinsey winced as she heard the sound of violent retching.

After about fifteen minutes, Rose emerged, white-faced, tears still running down her face.

"Mrs. Boscorelli, why don't you sit down, and do you have a sister, or someone I could call to come sit with you?"

She said, her voice fading in and out, "My sister, Amelia Beckett, her phone number 565-989-344."

She then laid, face down, on the sofa, and began to sob harder.

Kinsey nodded, and picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hello?" a soft, modulated female voice answered.

"Yes, is this Amelia Beckett?" Kinsey kept an eye on Mrs. Boscorelli, who was staring vacantly at the wall.

"Yes, who is this?"

"This is Officer Kinsey Gallagher from the 31st Precinct. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, then "Go on."

"Your nephew, Michael, was killed this morning. I'm over at his mother's house, and she's not doing well. Could you come over right away?"

"Yes, yes, I live about fifteen minutes away. Could you stay with her until I get there?"

"Of course ma'am."

There was a soft click as the phone was disconnected and Kinsey hung up. She then was faced with the daunting task of keeping a terribly distraught woman company.

Hell, I don't even make good "normal" company!

She was beginning to panic, a bead of sweat running down her forehead, and she was mentally cursing Swersky for calling on her to do this.

Rose Boscorelli sat up abruptly.

Kinsey took a step back, wary, "Are you all right, Mrs. Boscorelli? Can I get you something?"

"Do they know who did this?" her tone was fierce.

"Who...?" Kinsey didn't want to say the words for fear that it would set off another crying jag.

"The person, this fucker who murdered my baby." she spat.

"I don't know Mrs. Boscorelli. I'm not Homicide. But I..."

"Call them and find out!" the woman's voice was edging towards hysterics.

Kinsey nodded, and hastily dialed numbers, and got patched to Lieutenant Swersky.

"Do they have a suspect for Michael Boscorelli's murder?" she asked quickly. Rose was looking moodily out the window, not at her, thank god.

"No. Not yet anyway. There wasn't anybody in the alleyway, just him, and their still processing the fingerprints on the knife."

Kinsey turned and cupped the receiver in her hand and whispered, "But sir, what am I going to tell this woman? She sounds nuts, she wants there to be a suspect!"

"Well, I'm sorry, there isn't one. Tell her that the information is still being processed."

"Oh yeah, that's like sticking a wad of gum in a crack in a dam." Kinsey muttered sarcastically.

"Officer." Swersky said, his tone warning.

"Sorry."

Again, the phone was disconnected.

*****************************************************************************

Faith Yokas sat alone in her apartment, feeling cool and lonely. Charlie and Emily were at school, Fred was at work. She had gotten to the point where she could get around by herself unassisted, so she could be left alone.

And today, she didn't want to be.

Because she left alone with her thoughts of Bosco, thanks to Sasha Monroe.

"Here Faith. When I was asking what he was going to do for Christmas, he said he was going to his mom's, and that was it. He said he used to go to your house, and you could tell how much he misses you. But you broke his heart, even though he tried so hard to apologize."

She had forgiven Bosco for transgressions time after time. So when she got shot, she told herself that this was the last straw. Had told him that she didn't want to see him again.

Sasha said that those words broke his heart.

Faith brushed back a strand of blond hair from her eyes as she sighed, her emotions conflicted.

What should she do?

******************************************************************************

Bosco stopped 29 Rayner Street in the Bronx. It was dirty, littered with crack, crack-heads, whores, pimps, and all kinds of filth that made the world go 'round.

Right now, Bosco was looking for a particular piece of trash. One of his snitches, a pimp named Gemini, who was disgusting, knew lots of dirty deeds that went down on the street. Maybe he'd have some information on who killed his brother.

He spied the pimp, his coffee-colored skin that wasn't covered with a puffy parka was gleaming in the weak winter light. He also had a dark pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses, baggy jeans that threatened to reveal his ass, and a cigarette jammed between his lips.

When he spied Bosco, he grinned, "Hey Boscorelli. How's it hangin'?"

Bosco slowly shook his head, "Do you know anything about a guy getting murdered this morning? Stabbed to death in a alley?"

Gemini took a long drag on his cigarette, his already lean cheeks hollowing out further, cheekbones prominent. He shook his head slowly, "Nah man, haven't heard nothin'."

Bosco watched him closely. He had knew Gemini for years. That coupled with his cop instincts, told him that the man was lying to him.

And that pissed him off because he didn't have the fucking patience. His brother was dead, and somebody needed to pay.

With a snarl, Bosco grabbed Gemini by the front of his parka, and slammed him up against the concrete wall hard. Even though Gemini was a foot and half taller, and outweighed Bosco by at least fifty pounds, Bosco had something better on his side. Blinding rage.

"Hey Bosco, man whatya doing?" Gemini choked out, his cigarette dropping to the ground.

"Listen to me, you miserable little skel. I know you're lying. You think after all this time you could lie to me? Now listen good, that guy in the alley? He was my younger brother, Mikey. So if you know anything about it, you better start talking unless," Bosco gave him a cold, dead smile, "you want to become a missing person?"