I knew what he was getting at, but I wasn't in the mood to admit it. "You sound like a prosecutor," I said. "Am I on trial here?"

"Just answer me."

"In some cases, women with postpartum depression have pled not guilty by reason of insanity after killing their babies," I allowed.

"In a few cases, it even worked," he went on. "They successfully argued that they were so depressed they lost contact with reality."

"I had one of the cases," I said. "A woman down in Georgia who shot her daughter and killed a neighbor's kid. The jury let her off."

"And Julia Bishop has a psychiatric history. Depression."

I thought back to my lunch with Julia, particularly to my worry that her lack of sleep and lack of appetite might reflect a recurrence of that depression. "What you're saying makes some sense," I said, "but-"

"But she has pretty eyes and a great ass, and Frank Clevenger loves the ladies, especially the broken ones." He grimaced. He knew I hadn't gotten over losing Kathy to mental illness. "Sorry," he said. "Now it's my turn to apologize."

Part of me wanted to grab Anderson by the throat, but another part of me knew he was right. I couldn't exclude Julia Bishop as a suspect in the murder of little Brooke. "Don't worry about it," I said.

He still wouldn't let go. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"She goes on the list," I said. "I don't think she filled Brooke's throat with plastic sealant, but I can't prove it right at this moment, okay? Satisfied?"

"Yes." Anderson relaxed. He sat back in his chair. "Don't get me wrong. I'd be blown away if she were the one, Frank. But I've been blown away before."

Dinner arrived. Swordfish for me, sirloin for Anderson. I thought to myself how I would love a glass of Merlot to go with the whole spread. I meditated a bit on those words. I would love a glass of Merlot. Maybe Anderson wasn't off base at all. Maybe addiction was at the heart of my romantic feelings for women, including Kathy-and Julia. Maybe it truly was the broken parts of them that attracted me, because they spoke to what was broken inside me.

We finished dinner and made plans to meet in the hotel lobby at 10:00 a.m. the next morning. Anderson would be driving me to a ten-thirty appointment with Darwin Bishop. I offered to get myself there, but he reminded me that an official backup wasn't a terrible idea, so long as white Range Rovers were following me around.

I headed back to my suite. The bottle of wine was waiting for me in the hallway, where I'd left it. I looked straight at it because my impulse was to look away. Then I walked into the room, quickly closed the door, and slid the dead bolt home.

9

Wednesday, June 26, 2002

As soon as Anderson and I had reached Wauwinet Road, we picked up a tail-one of Bishop's Range Rovers. It followed us down the road and pulled up behind Anderson 's cruiser when he parked in the semicircle in front of the Bishop estate. "Take your time in there," Anderson said. He grinned. "Doesn't look like I'll be lonely."

"I won't be long," I said. I walked to the door alone and rang the bell. I looked out toward the tennis courts and saw two men crossing the grounds on ATVs, rifles strapped to their backs. Security had obviously been beefed up around the complex.

Half a minute later Claire Buckley greeted me, holding Tess Bishop in her arms. The infant was wrapped in a pale yellow blanket, asleep. "She was fussy," Claire said dreamily. "She wouldn't let me put her down." She moved aside. "Come in."

I stepped into the foyer. Seeing Tess in Buckley's arms made me anxious, but I tried not to show it. I focused on Tess's delicate fingers where they curled around the edge of her blanket. Her tiny fingernails were cotton-candy pink. Her skin had the luster of silk. "She's beautiful," I said.

Claire looked down at the baby, smiled, and nodded to herself.

Our life stories begin to take shape very early, and completely without our consent. At five months, Tess had lost her twin sister to murder and was being nurtured, in part, by her father's mistress. She was being weaned on violence, duplicity, and danger. I wondered whether she would ever overcome her first twenty weeks on the planet. "I feel badly for her," I said automatically.

"At least she never really knew Brooke," Claire said quietly. "It's better that way."

I supposed that was true, but I didn't think it was Buckley's place to say it. I wanted to remind her that Tess belonged to someone else. "Do you plan to have children of your own?" I asked.

She looked up at me, seemingly taken aback by the question. Maybe she actually felt Tess was hers, or maybe she just felt I was getting too personal. "I haven't thought that much about having kids," she said. "I'm still young. You know?"

I had noticed. So had Darwin Bishop. Claire's youth was hard to miss. Her straight brown hair, which she had worn in a braid on my last visit, was loose this time and hung halfway to the small of her back. Her body, more visible now in shorts and a simple light blue, sleeveless blouse, had the muscle tone of a gymnast. I let my gaze linger on her face and realized that she was more than pretty; she was a natural beauty, with deep brown eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones that mixed elegance and sensuality. She had the looks of a freshly minted high school English teacher who makes half the class-the male half-daydream about being kept after school. "You're right," I said. "You have plenty of time. And you're certainly needed here."

"I'm glad I can help. The Bishops have been wonderful to me," she said. Tess stirred in her blanket, stretching her arms so that Claire had to readjust her own. "She'll need a bottle soon. I'd better bring you to Win."

We started toward the study. "Is Julia at home?" I asked.

"I gave her the day off," Claire joked.

"Nice of you," I said flatly.

She stiffened. "Actually, she went to the Vineyard to visit with her mother. The two of them will come back together by late afternoon." She paused. "Brooke's funeral is at five."

"I plan to stop by," I said.

"I'm sure the family would appreciate that," she said. "I'll be here with Tess. I think we can spare her the mood at the church."

"Probably a good idea," I said, even though I didn't think it was the best one. I would rather have seen Tess stay close to Julia or Julia's mother.

Darwin Bishop was working on a laptop computer when Claire and I got to the door of his study. Looking at him, I felt a surge of loathing. The intensity of the emotion took me by surprise.

He glanced at me over half-glasses. "Please, come in," he said.

"I'll see you on your way out," Claire said to me.

I watched her leave with the baby, then walked into the study. I lingered a few moments on the portraits of Bishops' polo ponies, buying time to calm myself.

"Doctor," Bishop said, motioning for me to take the seat in front of his desk. I did. He kept watching the computer screen.

"Do you need another minute?" I asked.

"I need another year," he said, pulling his eyes away from the screen. "Acribat Software is down forty-five percent since last March. I have a rather substantial position."

It bothered me that Bishop was tracking his portfolio on the day of his infant daughter's funeral, but it didn't surprise me. "Sorry to hear that," I said, trying to filter the sarcasm out of my voice.

"Not as sorry as I am." He glanced back at the screen. "Do you follow the markets?"

"Not much," I said.

"You're better off." He removed his glasses and focused on me for the first time. "It's a rough game. Like a lot of things in life, you don't want to get into it unless you can stand to lose. You can get hurt badly."