“He did it.”

“Who?” asked Beth.

“The bastard who was doing her. You asked me who did it. I’m telling you right now. It was him. I have no doubt about it. She was staying with me, and he didn’t like it. He knew how to get in. Maybe she had even given him a key to the house. Maybe she had even shown him the gun. He did it. He did it, damn it. We have to find him. He’s a murderer. He killed Hailey.”

I stared at him with disgust, even as I thought the theory through. It wasn’t bad, it had promise. Guy had never been a legal scholar, but he was a trial lawyer himself and had always been a clever strategist. And now he had come up with a damn clever strategy. Just what I did not need.

“It’s a theory,” I said, “but there’s no evidence to support it.”

“Find the evidence. Find the bastard. He did it, I know it. Find him, and if you can’t find him, that doesn’t change a thing. He did it. That’s what I want you to argue, Victor. That’s what I want you to prove. That’s our theory.”

“Without proof it’s a loser,” I said.

“I don’t know,” said Beth. “It sounds pretty good to me.”

“If you make the lover the issue,” I said slowly, as if instructing a first-year Criminal Law class, “you just throw Guy’s motive in the jury’s face over and over and over. Every time you mention the lover, Guy’s reason to kill her becomes more evident. And of course, if we make the lover the issue, then Jefferson will put every resource into finding him. And if he does find him, and there’s an alibi, then you might as well check the guilty box on the verdict form yourself.”

“Guy, have you thought any more about the deal?” asked Beth.

“Some. Maybe I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Don’t lose your nerve here, Guy,” I said.

“I can’t spend my life in here. It’s been only a week, and already I’m a wreck.”

“Don’t lose your nerve,” I repeated, ignoring Beth’s gaze.

“Okay.”

“Everything still looks solid,” I said.

“Okay, okay. I’m sticking with you, Victor. So when can I get out of here? When can I get a bail set?”

“That’s also what we came to talk about,” said Beth. “You remember, at arraignment, when the judge set no bail, she indicated that she might reconsider if we could come up with a complete financial profile so she could set a figure high enough to be sure to deter flight. To that end we began to examine your economic resources, using the authority you gave us when you signed those documents.”

“Then let’s get moving. If I have to spend another night in here, I don’t know if…” He stopped speaking. He clasped his hands tighter to stop the shaking.

“We found your account at Schwab.” Beth reached into her briefcase and took out a statement. “It was registered in your and Hailey’s names, as joint tenants, as you told us, and we wanted you to have a look at it and maybe explain some things to us.”

“Fine,” he said, holding his hand out for the statement.

“Before you look,” I said, “can we go over again why you and Hailey had a joint account?”

“We were committed to each other, Victor. That’s the way you do it when you’re going to spend the rest of your lives together. She had some money from a case, I had some money for me to live on after I left Leila, we put it together.”

“What case did she get the payment from?”

“I don’t know, some big medical malpractice case.”

“When did it settle?”

“Last year or something.”

“You don’t know the name?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Who was the defense attorney? He’ll know the name.”

“I don’t know who it was.”

“Didn’t you discuss it with her at all?”

“Sure. War stories, you know.”

“And you don’t know the name of the opposing counsel? Because when I tell my war stories to other lawyers, I always mention who was on the other side. It makes the tale of victory so much sweeter.”

“I don’t remember.”

“How much was in the account?”

“Maybe half a million.”

“Who had access to the money?”

“Hailey mainly. I let her deal with it. Didn’t we already go over this? Can I see the statements?”

“You said you fought with Hailey now and then about the usual things,” said Beth. “The most usual thing for couples to fight about is money. Did you ever fight with Hailey about the money in the account?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t remember. Maybe.”

There was a pause, which neither Beth nor I deigned to fill.

“Yes. Once. Or maybe more than once. There was some money missing. I called up the brokerage. I wanted to make a payment to Leila for the house without Hailey knowing. It was silly, but she had been complaining about having to sign checks for my wife, so I thought I’d wire some money right to the mortgage company to take care of a few months and everything would be fine. But I was surprised at the amount they said was available. It was less than I thought it should be, about half, actually. I asked Hailey about it. She told me it was none of my business, that she was taking care of it, that some of her investments hadn’t worked out.”

“Did anyone hear you fight?” asked Beth.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Was it at home or in a public place?”

“Maybe a restaurant, I don’t know. I decided after to take some cash out of the account, just to be safe.”

“The cash you had in the suitcase?”

“That’s right. Can I see the statement?”

“Do you know a man named Juan Gonzalez?” I asked.

He stopped, made a show of searching through his memory. “The ballplayer?”

“No. Not the ballplayer. Someone else.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about Hailey? Did she ever mention someone by that name?”

“No. Never heard of him. I would have remembered. The name rings no bell.” Pause. “Where did you hear it?”

“From your wife. She’s actually willing to put up the house for your bail. She still loves you.”

Guy didn’t respond, he merely shrugged, as if it were expected.

“She also said she had sued Hailey Prouix.”

“Yes,” said Guy. “Alienation of affection.”

“She said she thought that Hailey had all this money that made her worth suing, and as she said it the name Juan Gonzalez slipped out.”

“Well, as usual, when it comes to Leila, I have no idea what she’s talking about. Don’t take anything she says too seriously. Can I see my financial statement now?”

I stood there for a moment and then nodded. Beth handed it over. I watched carefully as he examined the document, watched him screw his face into puzzlement and scratch his head, watched his eyes shift from uncertainty to fear.

“What happened to the money? There’s nothing here.” His voice dropped from his normal swift confidence to something scared, to something desperate and caught, like a furry animal trapped in a corner discovering that its escape hole has been cemented shut. There was nothing of the deliberate sliding through the expected here, this was real and desolate and terrifying, and his whole body shook as his voice whined like a siren, “Where is my money? Where is it? Where?”

After the guard led him away, Beth and I sat quietly together in the conference room for a moment.

“Things grew a little heated there,” said Beth.

“It’s going to get more heated if he takes the stand. It was time for him to get a taste of what it will be like.”

“I had a dog once,” she said. “A bichon frisé, a pretty little white thing we called Pom Pom. I had begged so shamelessly for a dog for so long that my mother finally gave in. But she insisted Pom Pom stay in his little crate in the mud room whenever he wasn’t being walked on his leash. Pom Pom hated his crate, cried incessantly, whined and yipped and snapped at all of us whenever he was let out for brief reprieves. You could hear his moans all through the house. He had an eye condition common to the breed, so his eyes were surrounded with a red crust that only made his whining all the more pitiable. Then one day after school my mother picked me up in the car and held me tight and told me Pom Pom had been killed by a car.”