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toothpick. “I was in a lawsuit once where my lawyer told me to make that kind of offer. What did he call it? ‘Nuisance value,' right?”
    “That's what some people call it, but that number could be quite high here.”
    Shifrin leaned back in his chair and studied the toothpick. “So that's what my Judith's death means to those miserable bastards, huh? Just a nuisance?”
    “It's only a word, Mr. Shifrin.”
    “Only a word? I have a word for them, Mr. Hirsch. My word is ‘guilty.' About the money I couldn't care less. This is my daughter they killed. Money is nothing here. What I want is for a court to tell the world they're guilty.”
    “Our settlement demand could include an expression of regret.”
    Shifrin crossed his arms over his chest. “No confession, no deal.”
    “If the defendants pay enough, Mr. Shifrin, the money becomes an admission. Sometimes a person makes an admission with his actions.”
    He snorted. “Money talks, eh?”
    “Occasionally.”
    “It's got to do more than just talk, sir. What did you have in mind?”
    “That's one of the reasons I came over here. We need to talk about that.”
    “Let's go in the living room.”
     
    Hirsch leaned forward to study the framed portraits that hung side by side on the living room wall across from the couch. One was a high school photograph of Judith Shifrin—a standard yearbook shot of a smiling young woman with a pale airbrushed complexion, straight dark hair, and dark eyes. The other was of her mother—one of those Sears specials with a flowery background and artificial light. Mrs. Shifrin was a washed-out version of her daughter—a thin, pallid woman with sad eyes and limp hair streaked with gray.
    From the couch Shifrin said, “That was my Harriet,
aleya ha 'sholem.
”
    Hirsch turned toward him. “When did she pass away?”
    “Almost fourteen years ago.
Oy,
she had so many problems, but in the end it was the cancer that killed her. Ovaries, the doctors said.” Shifrin shook his head. “It was very hard.”
    “I can imagine.”
    “You have no idea, Mr. Hirsch. No one said life would be easy, of course, and no one said life would be fair. Even so, those were difficult times for me. She was bedridden for years.”
    “How old was Judith when her mother died?”
    “Just fifteen. Think about that, why don't you. There I was, burying a wife and trying to raise a teenage daughter. Believe me, Mr. Hirsch, those were not easy years for me.”
    “Were you and your daughter close?”
    “I thought so back then, but what did I know?”
    “Why do you say that?”
    Shifrin stiffened. “And why should this be any business of yours, my daughter and I?”
    Hirsch came over and sat down across from him. “These are difficult subjects to discuss, Mr. Shifrin, but they're important for the lawsuit. We need to talk about them.”
    “Why?”
    “Because the lawyers for the defendants will. They are going to ask you lots of questions about your relationship with your daughter.”
    “
My
relationship?” He blinked his eyes. “How can they do that?”
    “One of the ways a jury determines damages in these cases,” he explained, “is to place a dollar value on the loss of a loved one. You're the only living member of Judith's family. Under the law, you're the only one who will suffer the loss of her companionship. That means that your relationship with your daughter is an important factor for the jury to consider in determining the damages in this case.”
    “So what does that mean then? I become like one of those rape victims? All of a sudden I'm on trial?” Shifrin crossed his arms over his chest. “All of a sudden they're staring at me instead of the bastards who killed my daughter, those sons of bitches. This is what you call justice?”
    “You won't be on trial, Mr. Shifrin. I won't let them put you on trial. But your relationship with your daughter is part of the lawsuit. This is a wrongful death case. That means that you are one of the