“I suppose. He was a rather… calculated fellow.”

“You didn't like him.”

“Hope did, that's all that mattered.”

“Your feelings didn't matter?”

Seacrest's smile was eerie. “Not one bit, Mr. Sturgis.”

“If Locking was delaying, why didn't you just throw them out?”

“They were Hope's.”

“So?”

“I… felt they should be preserved.”

He licked his lips, averted his eyes.

“Before she died they were hers, Professor. Wouldn't that make them yours? So why give them to Locking?”

“For safety,” said Seacrest. “I thought the police might search Hope's room.”

“But still,” said Milo. “You didn't want to sully Hope's name, yet you kept a couple hundred photos?”

“I hid them,” he said. “In my University office. Not that I needed to. Those first two detectives never even bothered to search Hope's room. You never really did, either.”

“So you brought them to your University office, then back home.”

“Correct.”

“Then you waited for Casey Locking to take them off your hands- but what role did they play for you?”

Seacrest gave a start. “What role should they have played?”

“I'm asking you, sir. All I know is you kept them instead of destroying them. That tells me you had some use for them.”

Seacrest flexed his neck again. Adding a forward bend, he opened and closed his fingers. “Because, Mr. Sturgis, they were the only pictures I had of her, except for her book jacket. She hated the camera. Hated having her picture taken.”

“Except this way.”

Seacrest nodded.

“So these were mementos.”

Seacrest's jaws clenched.

“But you let Locking have them, anyway.”

“I… kept some.”

“Where?”

“In my home.”

“Special ones or did you just stick your hand in and grab randomly?”

Seacrest shot to his feet. “I am terminating this.”

“Fine,” said Milo. “I guess I'll have to get my information elsewhere. Ask around at some bondage clubs and see if anyone knew your wife. If that doesn't work, I can go to the press, see what that stirs up.”

Seacrest shook a finger. “Sir, you are…” His hands fisted. “You said if I came down and talked to you here, you'd be discreet.”

“I said if you came down and cooperated.”

“That's exactly what I'm doing.”

“Think so?”

Seacrest flushed deeply, the way I'd seen in his office. I watched his breathing get quicker until he closed his eyes and seemed to concentrate on slowing it down.

“What more do you want?” he finally said. “I keep telling you this had nothing to do with Hope's murder.”

“Yes, you do, Professor.”

“I knew her! Better than anyone. She didn't go to bondage clubs! She'd never have countenanced anything so…”

“Plebeian?”

“Vulgar- and stop looking at the pictures every time I defend her. They were private.”

“Private games.”

“Yes!” Striding forward, Seacrest swiped at the table, knocking most of the photos to the floor. Snapping his eyes toward Milo, as if expecting retaliation, he placed his hands on his hips and stood there.

Milo looked at him briefly, wrote something down.

Seacrest's shoe had settled near one of the pictures. He stepped on it, ground it under his heel.

“Private,” said Milo, softly. “Hope and Locking and you.”

“Exactly. Nothing illegal- absolutely nothing! Neither of us killed her.”

I expected Milo to follow that up but instead he said, “Are you terminating this interview, sir?”

“If I stay will you promise not to expose Hope?”

“I'm not promising anything, Professor. But if you cooperate, I'll do my best.”

“The first time we met,” said Seacrest, “you told me we were on the same side. What a line.”

“Show me we are, Professor.”

“Are we?”

“I'm out to catch your wife's murderer. How about you?”

Seacrest started to lurch forward, stopped himself, his whole body shaking. “If I found him I'd kill him! I'm well-versed in medieval torture devices, the things I could do!”

“The rack, huh?”

“You have no idea.” Seacrest placed one hand on his own wrist, steadying it.

“Any idea who killed Locking?”

“No.”

“No hypotheses?”

Seacrest shook his head. “Casey was… I never really knew him.”

“Outside of the games.”

“Correct.”

“The night I dropped by he returned your wife's car.”

“Yes.”

“Helping out?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you didn't really know him.”

“Hope knew him.”

“So he merited driving her car.”

“Yes. And I was grateful to him.”

“For what?”

“The pleasure he brought Hope.”

“That night, he acted formal toward you, called you Professor Seacrest. Trying to make it seem as if you two had no personal relationship.”

“We didn't, really.”

Milo lifted one of the photos remaining on the table.

Seacrest said, “The relationship wasn't between Casey and myself, Mr. Sturgis. Both relationships- everything revolved around Hope. She was the… nexus.”

“One sun, two moons,” said Milo.

Seacrest smiled. “Very good. Yes, we were in her orbit.”

“Who else was?”

“No one I'm aware of.”

“No other games?”

“None she told me about.”

“Would she have told you?”

“I believe so.”

“Why?”

“She was honest.”

“About everything?”

Seacrest gave a disgusted look. “You saw the pictures. How much more honest could anyone be?”

Milo stretched a hand toward Seacrest's chair.

“I'll remain standing, Mr. Sturgis.”

Smiling, Milo got up, kneeled, and began collecting the fallen photos. “Three-way game, and two of the players are dead. Do you feel threatened?”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“I don't think about myself much.”

“No?”

Seacrest shook his head. “I don't think much of my own value.”

“That sounds kind of depressed, sir.”

“I am depressed. Profoundly.”

“Some might say you had a motive to kill both of them.”

“And what motive is that?”

“Jealousy.”

“Then why would I leave the pictures near Casey's body and incriminate myself?”

Milo didn't answer.

“You're wasting my time and yours, Mr. Sturgis. I loved my wife in a way few women are ever loved- I obliterated myself in her honor. Losing her has sucked all the joy from my life. I appreciated Casey because he contributed to her joy. Other than that, he meant nothing to me.”

“Where did your joy come from?”

“Hope.” Seacrest smoothed the lapels of his jacket. “Be logical: Casey was shot and your own tests proved I haven't fired a gun recently. As a matter of fact, I haven't touched a firearm since I was discharged from the service. And at the time Casey was murdered, I was home.”

“Reading.”

“Would you like to know the title of the book?”

“Something romantic?”

“Milton's Paradise Lost.”

“Original sin.”

Seacrest waved a hand. “Gorge yourself on interpretation- why don't you go fetch Delaware, get him into the act, I'm sure he'll have a field day. May I go, Mr. Sturgis? I promise not to leave town. If you don't believe me, have a policeman watch me.”

“Nothing else you want to tell me?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay,” said Milo. “Sure.”

Seacrest walked shakily to the door that led to the observation room, found it locked.

“That one,” said Milo, indicating the opposite door.

Seacrest stood taller, reversed direction.

Milo squared the stack of pictures. “Reading at home. Not much of an alibi, Professor.”

“I never imagined I'd need one.”

“Talk to you later, Professor.”

“Hopefully not.” Seacrest made it to the door and stopped. “Not that you'll believe me, but Hope was never coerced or oppressed. On the contrary. She made the rules, she was the one in control. Being able to surrender herself without fear thrilled her, and her pleasure thrilled me. I admit that at first I was repelled, but one learns. I learned. Hope taught me.”