Tuition for Jayson and Stasia at Porter’s International School. A Manchester United jersey for Jayson. Stasia’s pink dress for prom. A satellite dish with eight hundred channels. Life insurance. Jemma’s salon visits. Her annual shopping trip to Saint Kitts. Bikes for Christmas. Our house in Crofton Hills. A loan to Don when he was hard up. A surprise trip to Kingston with Jayson to see Man-U play the Jamaican national team. Miss Verna to clean the house weekly. Jemma’s smooth hands. Stasia’s acne treatment. Jayson’s club football fees. The headstone for little Jamie’s grave, pure granite. The diamond on Jemma’s finger.

I used to feel mad guilty over all of it. We never could have lived this way if I didn’t start giving these tours. Pawning off my friendship with Edwin and Clive as secret insider information. Alison Thomas: Behind the Headlines, I call it. Ninety dollars a person, kids under twelve half price. On the tours, I’m careful to call it an unexplained death, not a murder. As if that makes what I’m doing any better.

I tried to stop once. I told Jemma it was dirty money and I had to put an end to it.

She took my face in her hands and made me look her right in the eyes. “Don’t you ever apologize for providing for this family. You’re a good man. You hear me, Desmond Phillips? You’re a good man leading a good life.”

I want to believe that.

If it weren’t me, I guess it would just be somebody else getting rich driving Yankees past the houses where Edwin and Gogo came up, and the building where Paulette’s used to be, and boating folks out to Faraway. But it’s not somebody else, it’s me. They were my brothers.