'When was the last time you saw her?'

'She was here,' he rasped. 'She was always here.'

'Here at the school?'

'Yes.'

'But I mean alone. Did you see her alone after she got engaged?'

'I told her she had to stop. It was all a lie. She was tormenting me.'

'Stop what? You mean call off her marriage?'

'No. Teaching here. Coming here.'

'That was tormenting you?'

He nodded. 'Every time I saw her. I knew she was laughing at me that I had believed her. I told her she had to stop.'

'When was this?'

'This new semester. Just now.' He gripped her hand again, so hard that it hurt her. 'You must not make this thing, this memorial. She was a whore. She was laughing at Allah and, of course-' The eyes. The eyes were crazy. He laughed. 'That is what happened, you know. He put an end to that.'

'Abe? Are you all right?'

'I'm under house arrest. My boys.'

'Dismas said you were in bed.'

'That would be accurate, but the prescription wasn't bed rest. The doctor just doesn't want to see me out walking the streets, but he'd actually like me to move around a little here.'

'But today? Your heart-'

'Is pumping away even as we speak. I'm sorry I didn't call you earlier myself. I just woke up.'

'That's a long sleep. It's almost eleven o'clock. Are you sure you're OK? Something else didn't happen, did it?'

'No, nothing happened.'

'Really?'

'Really. How are we doing on our work?'

'It's moving along, but I'm not calling about that. I'm calling about you.'

'I'm fine. This is routine. Honest. A couple more days and I'm dancing.'

'But not till the doctor says so, OK?'

'My jailers will see to that.'

'But you yourself?'

'Me myself, too.'

'Would you promise me?'

'I promise.'

It seemed forever before she spoke again. 'All right, then,' she said. 'All right.'

Treya knew that Jonas Walsh took Friday afternoons off, so she had called him at home Thursday night to prevail upon him to let somebody from the firm come by the condo he and Elaine had shared in Tiburon and look at Elaine's things the next day. She wasn't demanding as a matter of law, but requesting as a favor, as a friend. Elaine might have left something lying around that might prove useful to their investigation.

He didn't like it, but the question of what he was going to do with Elaine's belongings was still unresolved. And Treya knew that after his apology in the R &J offices here last week, that she had some leverage. He'd let them look.

She was right.

But that didn't mean he had to be pleasant about it. Walsh shook hands perfunctorily with Curtis Rhodin, but made no effort to try to be friends. 'This is a total waste of some very valuable time.'

Treya had briefed Rhodin about what to expect from Walsh. In any event, it was unlikely the greeting would have thrown Curtis, who was no wimp, off his stride. He exuded confidence and savoir-vivre. At six-three, he towered over the other man. There was no sign of fat on his body, although he carried two hundred pounds to Walsh's one seventy. The charcoal Brioni suit had set him back nine hundred dollars, but he fitted into it so perfectly that it might have been his day-to-day lounging attire. His face was long and slender, his eyes somber. If Modigliani had painted men, Rhodin could have been one of his subjects.

'If you've got somewhere else you need to be, Doctor, I'll be fine here on my own.' They were in a large, bright living room with sparse, almost antiseptic modern furnishings and floor-to-ceiling windows. The condo was set on a hillside overlooking the yacht harbor. The sun was out brightly here twenty-five miles north of the city, and from where they stood in the living room, the panorama was breathtaking – the Marin headlands and Mount Tamalpais on the right, Angel Island and the graceful though largely unsung Richmond Bridge in front of them, a glittering white-capped bay under a robin's egg sky. 'This is beautiful,' Rhodin said. 'I couldn't get any work done if I lived here.'

'This isn't where I work,' the doctor replied, 'and I hope the view won't be too distracting today. I don't really understand all this continuing investigation into Elaine's murder. They've got her killer in jail, for Christ's sake. I'd like to see an end to it.'

Rhodin nodded understandingly and tried to sound prosecutorial. 'We're on the same page, then. But we need to make sure some surprise doesn't come up during the trial. To tell you the truth, I don't even know what I'm supposed to be looking for. If you've got other plans, that's fine, but if not and you'd like to show me where to look, it might move the process along.'

Reluctantly, Walsh led him into the back of the condo, past the gourmet kitchen – a granite counter-top with dishes piled on it, more dishes stacked in the sink, a strong odor of garbage. There was an office to his left down a short hallway – two desks, two computers, some file cabinets. The bedroom was a few steps further along on the right and Walsh showed him in. He hadn't made the bed and made no apology for it. 'That's her closet,' he said, pointing. 'The near one is her dresser. I'll be in the office.'

Left alone, Rhodin went to work. In spite of what he'd told Walsh, he had received a reasonably specific laundry list from Hardy and Glitsky the day before. Mostly, it was stuff he'd expect to find in the office – a Rolodex file, maybe, or old checkbooks and financial records, perhaps a diary. But there might be something elsewhere – it was worth looking everywhere.

Curtis Rhodin was a methodical man. He had known Elaine only slightly – she was older and a partner at Rand and Jackman and light years from him on many levels – and it felt strange to be going through her things, but he knew what he was supposed to do, and he was going to do it.

She had a lot of dresses, thirty pairs of shoes. There was a smaller, built-in set of drawers in her closet containing sweaters, blouses, exercise clothes. At the bottom of the lowest one, under a pile of sweatshirts, he found a smallish, flat white box. Taking it out and opening it up, he recognized it for what it was – Elaine's collection of meaningless memorabilia from her past.

Rhodin smiled to himself. He had a similar stash himself, although his was a cigar box in which he kept twenty or thirty stupid items that he just couldn't bring himself to discard – a jade rock he got diving off Big Sur, a guitar pick from a B.B. King concert he'd gone to in college, his first pocket-knife, a diamond tie tack in case they ever came back in style, a signed Willie Mays rookie year baseball card. Junk. But priceless junk.

Elaine's box wasn't all that different really, considering she was a woman. There were several pins for various political campaigns – her mother's, Chris Locke's, Sharron Pratt's. A man's college ring. A garter. A.38 caliber bullet. A packet of business cards with a rubber band around them. Many coins from different foreign countries. He closed the box back up – this was coming back with him.

A framed picture of Elaine's mother rested on top of her dresser next to the lamp. In the drawers, he found underwear, socks, foldables. Condoms. The top right drawer, however, contained nothing at all, and this straightened Rhodin up in surprise. He walked across to the office and asked Walsh if he could come in for a minute. Sighing, putting down his magazine, the doctor labored up and followed him. 'Do you know what she kept in this drawer?' Curtis asked.

Walsh looked, shrugged. 'I guess not much. Did you just take something out of it?'

'No, it was like this. Was it always like this?'

Another shrug. 'I don't know. I didn't go through her drawers.'

'No, of course not,' Rhodin said, 'but there was nothing at all in this one. That seems a little odd, doesn't it?'