"Did Claire have any enemies you were aware of?" said Milo.

"No way. I never saw her offend anyone-maybe some nutcase at County got an idea in his head, stalked her or something. I still remember those drunks leering, smelling of barf, leaking all over the place when they walked. I couldn't see how Claire could work with them. But she was real business like about it, giving them these tests, doing research. Nothing grossed her out. I'm no expert, but I'd concentrate on County."

He folded his handkerchief and Milo and I used the split second to exchange glances. Stargill didn't know about the job switch to Starkweather. Or wanted us to think he didn't.

Milo shook his head. Don't bring it up now.

He said, "How much is owed on the house, Mr. Stargill?" Quick change of context. It throws people off balance. Stargill actually stepped backward.

"Around fifty thousand. By now the payments are mostly principal; I was thinking of paying it off."

"Why's that?"

"Not much of a tax deduction anymore."

"Who gets the property in the event of Dr. Argent's death?"

Stargill studied him. Buttoned his coat. "I wouldn't know."

"So you and she didn't have any agreement-in the event of her demise, it reverts to you?"

"Absolutely not."

"And so far, no will's turned up-do you have a will, sir?"

"I do. Why is that relevant, Detective Sturgis?"

"Just being thorough."

Stargill's nostrils expanded. "I'm the ex, so I'm a suspect? Oh, come on." He laughed. "What's the motive?" Laughing again, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels-a courtroom gesture. "Even if I did get the house, three hundred thousand equity, tops. One of the things I did when I moved to S.D. was invest in seaside property. I've got a net worth of six, seven million, so murdering Claire for another three, before taxes, would be ludicrous."

He walked to the bare kitchen counter and rubbed the Formica. "Claire and I were never enemies. I couldn't have asked for a better ex-wife, so why the hell would I hurt her?"

"Sir," said Milo, "I have to ask these questions."

"Sure. Fine. Ask. Hearing about Claire made me sick to my stomach. I felt this stupid urge to do something-to be useful. That's why I drove up, brought you all the documents. I should've figured you'd see me as a suspect, but still it's…" Shrugging, he turned his back on us. "All I can say is, glad it's your job and not mine. Anything else you want to quiz me on?"

I said, "What can you tell us about Claire's family background, her social life?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing about her family?"

"Never met her family. All I know is she was born in Pittsburgh, did undergrad at the University of Pittsburgh, went to Case Western for her Ph.D. Only reason I know that is I saw her diplomas in her office. She refused to talk about her past."

"Refused, or avoided?" I said.

"Both."

"And she never talked at all about her family?"

Stargill pivoted and stared at me. "That's right. She was a closed book. Claimed she had no brothers and sisters. Her parents ran some kind of store. Other than that, I don't know a thing."

He shook his head. "I talked plenty about my family, and she listened. Or pretended to. But she never met my side, either. My choice."

"Why's that?" I said.

"Because I don't like my family. My mother was okay-a quiet drunk-but by the time I met Claire, she was dead. My father was a violent, drunken sonofabitch I wouldn't have tossed a stick at, let alone introduced to my bride. Same for my brother."

He gave a sick smile. "Get it? I'm one of those adult children of alcoholics et cetera, et cetera. Never developed a drinking problem myself, but I watch myself, went through the whole therapy thing after my mother killed herself. When I saw Claire with that ginger ale I wondered if maybe she had some history with alcohol, maybe we had something in common. I ended up telling her about my colorful background." The smile acquired teeth. "Turned out, she just liked ginger ale."

"Not a mention of her family in two years of marriage," I said. "Amazing."

"Like I said, it wasn't your typical marriage. Every time I tried to get personal, she changed the subject." He rubbed his scalp and the corners of his mouth curled up-outward trappings of another smile, but his mood was hard to read. "And she had an interesting way of changing the subject."

"What's that?" I said.

"She took me to bed."

Chapter 9

Stargill was eager to leave but Milo convinced him to tour the rest of the house. The bathroom provoked no comment. In the office he said, "Now, this looks exactly the same. This was Claire's place, she spent all her time here."

"Where was your office?" said Milo.

"I didn't like bringing work home, used a small desk in the bedroom."

That room widened his eyes. "No memories left here. We had a king-size bed, brass headboard, down comforter, antique nightstands. Claire must have realty wanted a change."

His expression said he still took that personally. He looked into the empty closet. "Where are all her clothes?"

"At the crime lab," said Milo.

"Oh, man… I've got to get out of here." Grabbing his beard for support, he left the room.

Outside, he got the carton of documents from his BMW, handed them over, revved noisily, and barreled down the hill.

"What's your take on the guy?" said Milo.

"He's got his share of problems, but no bells are ringing. And unless Claire wasn't as financially benevolent as he made out-or he's not as rich-where is the motive?"

"Three hundred even after taxes is still serious bread. And guys with big net worth can still get into trouble. I'm going to take a crash course on his finances. What do you mean, problems?"

"Bleeding in public-telling us his life history. Maybe that's what attracted Claire to him. Someone so self-absorbed he wouldn't try to get into her head. Their marriage sounds like a passion-with-a-stranger fantasy gone stale. That shows an impulsive side to Claire, sexually and otherwise. Stargill says they avoided each other for most of the marriage, meaning both of them could've had multiple affairs. Maybe Claire's been dating strangers for years, and finally met the wrong one."

"The neighbors never saw anyone."

"Neighbors don't notice everything. Pick someone up in a bar, bring them back in your car late at night, who's to know? Or she had liaisons away from home. That would fit with no prints except hers in the house.

"Stargill described her the same way everyone else has: nice but detached," I went on. "But there's one thing he did add: a touch of dominance. She moves into his house, takes over the office; he gets a desk in the bedroom. He shares his past, but she refuses to reciprocate. When she tires of him, she decides they're going to divorce. And what the settlement is going to be. The fact that Stargill didn't press her on anything tells us something about him."

"A submissive lawyer? That's a novel concept."

"Some people keep work and play separate. Think of the specifics of the settlement: Claire ends up with the house, gets him to carry the mortgage and the taxes, and he feels grateful because she didn't take more. Even their first meeting has that same lopsided feel: she's sober, he isn't. She's in control, he isn't. He spills his guts about his drunken father and brother, alcoholic tendencies of his own that he keeps in check. The guy's her polar opposite: turns every conversation into therapy. Some women might be put off. Claire goes upstairs with him and gives him the time of his life. Later on, whenever she wants to shut him up, she uses sex. She was clearly drawn to people with serious problems. Maybe she left County because she needed a bigger dose of pathology."