“Now, see, there you go again. How do you know? How do you know anything, you fool? How do you know you’re not being set up by a spider with dark hair and nice legs?”

“Because I found her alibi.”

McDeiss shot me a look through the rearview mirror. “Is this an alibi she manufactured and pushed you to find?”

“No,” I said. “I found it on my own, and she made me promise not to tell anyone.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. But it’s tricky, because the main alibi witness himself was committing a crime at the time, and so he won’t want to testify either.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Do me a favor and grab a look at the coroner’s report on the dead man. I’m wondering specifically about the toxicology findings. And on the wife, too, if you can manage it.”

McDeiss drove on in quiet for a moment. “Drugs?”

“Just take a look.”

“You talk to this witness personally?”

“Yah, mon,” I said, with an island lilt.

“Where? Jamaica?”

“Closest thing we got.”

He glanced again at me through the mirror. “You understand, Victor, that if she has an alibi, that makes you the more attractive suspect.”

“With this gel in my hair, I don’t think so.”

“You should have just walked away when I told you.”

“It’s not so easy.”

“Why not?”

I didn’t answer, because in truth I didn’t have an answer.

“What is it, Victor?” said McDeiss. “You think you love her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shouldn’t that tell you enough right there, son?”

“Maybe we both changed. Maybe it will work out this time.”

“And in your experience we all get better as we age?”

“No.”

“But still you’re willing to gamble your life because you think if only everything will go away – the dead husband, the cops, the suspicions, the fear – if everything can disappear, maybe that old love will blossom anew and save your stinking life, is that it?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“Past performance.”

“She’s not a horse.”

“You gave her your love, and she stepped on your face when she left to marry someone else. Then this someone else, he gave her his love and his name, and he ended up with a bullet in his head. There’s something wrong with her. There’s a hole in her heart. It’s what ruined the thing you had in the past, and it’s only gotten deeper. She’s not going to save your life, she’s going to tear it apart for good, if you let her.”

“So what should I do?”

“Give Sims everything you have, give him the alibi if you insist on trying to save her life, and then stay the hell away from her.”

“It won’t be that easy.”

“Why not, Victor?”

“Isn’t love worth risking everything for?”

McDeiss was quiet for a long moment, and then said, “You’re an ignorant son of bitch.”

19

The same green room with the large mirror, the same smell of sweat and vinegar and dead mice, the same clot of suppurating fear at the base of my throat. So why did the room suddenly seem smaller than before?

“We just wanted to chat a bit, Victor,” said Sims, sitting across from me at the table, his hands clasped before him as unthreatening as a preacher’s. He wore a gray suit, a dark purple shirt, an unctuous smile. “I’m sure you don’t mind.”

“Don’t be so sure,” I said.

“Did you hear the hostility in his voice, Hanratty?”

“I heard,” said Hanratty. His back was against the door, his jaw was pummeling a stick of gum.

“I thought we were friends,” said Sims. “I thought we had an understanding.”

“Is that why you sent McDeiss to my apartment to scoop me up like one of the usual suspects, because we had an understanding?”

“There are a few things we need to clear up,” said Sims. “Nothing major, just timeline matters. The night of Mr. Denniston’s murder, you were home.”

“That’s right.”

“Doing what?”

“Nothing.”

“Be more specific, please,” said Sims. “Were you watching TV, ironing your shirts, jacking off to Internet porn, reading the Good Book, what, exactly?”

“Nothing.”

“How many times did you go out after you got home from work?”

“I didn’t.”

“You sure? We received a report that you went out.”

“What kind of report?”

“And after you came back,” said Sims, “Mrs. Denniston called, isn’t that right?”

“I never went out.”

“Did she call you on your cell or your landline?”

“I don’t remember, but I figure you have the records already, so you can tell me.”

“Cell. And when you got the call on your cell phone, where were you?”

“Home.”

“Doing what?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“I’m not the one wearing the puce shirt.”

“You don’t like my shirt?”

“It’s quite puce. And who the hell told you I went out that night anyway?”

“It came as an anonymous tip.”

“And how does that work in court, exactly?”

“Not so well in court, but it’s boffo before the grand jury. Now, before that night, had she ever been up to your apartment?”

“No.”

“Did the two of you have any furtive assignations at the Denniston mansion?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I never saw the place.”

“Did you hear that, Hanratty?”

“I heard,” said Hanratty, still pounding like a heavyweight on the gum. The way he was staring at me, it was almost like he was staring through me. Involuntarily my hand reached up and touched the pocket where sat the letter that was meant to frame me but good.

“I think he’s holding something back from us,” said Sims.

“He’s been holding back all along.”

“But I don’t think he means to. It’s just that he’s a lawyer, he can’t help himself.”

“Hey, guys,” I said. “I’m here, remember?”

“We found your fingerprint in the Denniston mansion,” said Sims, staring now right into my eyes. “On the panel leading to the safe where the gun was kept. The gun that was taken on the night of the murder. The gun that we suspect killed the doctor.”

“Now, how did your fingerprint get there if you never saw the place?” said Hanratty.

“I never saw the place until Dr. Denniston was murdered,” I said, as calmly as I could manage. “I assume you picked that up on your second go-round, the morning before you released Mrs. Denniston. The night after the killing, I visited the house and talked to Gwen. She took me into the room, showed me the safe. I must have touched the panel then. You can ask her, although I assume you already have. I assume it because if you hadn’t, I would be under arrest. Am I under arrest?”

“He wants to know if he’s under arrest,” said Sims.

“Let me work on him a bit,” said Hanratty. “I’ll squeeze something out of him. It might not be the truth, but it sure will be fun.”

“Let’s give him one more chance before we resort to fireworks,” said Sims. “You know, Victor, we’re only trying to help you here, but you’re making it so difficult. We’ve got the fingerprint. We’ve got pictures of you and the dead man’s wife together even while the husband was still lying cold in the morgue. And we know that the dead man knew about the two of you.”

“How do you know that? Another anonymous source?”

“From the beginning I suspected the wife, and I still do. And what has convinced me even more than the evidence arrayed against her is her unwillingness to cooperate. Despite her lawyer’s advice.”

“Her lawyer is a fool.”

“Yes, isn’t it wonderful? But she’s not taking his advice, she’s not answering any of our questions. So maybe we were hoping that you could convince her to open her mouth. We have some very specific questions that need answers. Based on her current situation, the answers could only help her case. Without her cooperation I’m afraid that she is heading straight toward an indictment.”

“But you’re on the wrong trail,” I said. “She wasn’t at the house at the time of the killing.”