“There isn’t,” Conrad said suspiciously. “Mr. Rafferty, how close are you to Claire Doniger?”

“I’ve known Claire since she and Arnie first met – at the Decorator Show House a few years ago. She’s a wonderful designer.”

“Do you spend a lot of time with her?”

“I’ve called on her a few times since Arnie died, to make sure she was okay. Beyond that, we haven’t really spoken; she prefers to keep to herself.”

“How about before her husband died – you didn’t see her socially?” Conrad asked.

“Not really,” Rafferty said. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Sara jumped in. “Listen, Mr. Rafferty, we don’t want to take up any more of your time. You’ve been a big help.”

“Well, please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you,” Rafferty said. “Did you get everything you needed from Business Affairs?”

“I think so,” Sara said, standing and shaking Rafferty’s hand. “Once again, thanks for taking the time to talk with us.”

“Anything I can do to help,” Rafferty said as he walked them to the door.

When the door closed, Kozlow peered out from the bathroom.

“Come on out, they’re gone,” Rafferty said.

As Kozlow stepped out of the bathroom, the door to the office flew open. “Just one more thing,” Sara said. “I wanted to give you my card – just in case you need to reach us.”

Kozlow stopped dead in his tracks. Standing in the middle of the office, Rafferty had Sara on his far right and Kozlow on his far left, in their respective doorways. As Sara was about to step inside, Rafferty quickly moved toward her, blocking her entrance. “Thank you,” Rafferty said. “If anything comes up, I’ll be sure to call.”

“I appreciate it,” Sara said. “And once again, I’m sorry to bother you.”

“No bother at all. I’m glad to help.” When Sara left the office, Rafferty closed the door behind her. Neither he nor Kozlow moved for ten seconds.

“She’s mine,” Kozlow finally said. “Enough of this.”

“Shut up,” Rafferty said, picking up his phone and dialing.

“Jared Lynch.”

“Listen, you overpaid, egotistical talking head, what the hell are you doing over there?”

“What’s wrong?” Jared asked. “Did something happen?”

“You’re damn right something happened! I just spent the last ten minutes entertaining your wife and her pathetic staff!”

“You saw Sara?”

“I not only saw her; I was questioned by her. And I’m telling you, that was it. She’s finished. I’m going to rip a hole in her so deep-”

“Please… just wait. Let me talk to her.”

“I don’t give a shit about your promises.”

“I’ll take care of her. I swear. Just give me a little more time.”

“This isn’t optional, Jared. If she doesn’t back off, I’m going to reunite her with Barrow. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Of course,” Jared said, sounding shaken. “I’m sorry it happened.”

Rafferty readjusted his jacket and paused. He didn’t like losing control, but he wasn’t going to let them take it all away. “Now, do you have any good news for us?” he asked Jared.

“I think so – I just got word from the judge’s clerk. The decisions on our hearings are coming down tomorrow. If we win a few of those, we’ll be able to exclude some of the evidence from Sara’s case.”

“You better pray for a good outcome,” Rafferty said. “Because if you stay on this path, she’s dead.”

“So what’d you think?” Sara asked Conrad as they left the offices of Echo Enterprises.

“My gut says he’s a liar, but I can’t prove it yet,” Conrad said. “Even when I tried to provoke him, he never once started to sweat.”

“Not only that, he seemed like he really wanted to help us.”

“I wouldn’t take anything from that,” Conrad said, standing on the sidewalk. “Feigning assistance is easy. Keeping calm is an entirely different magic trick. Besides, no matter how polite he is, he’s the only person who clearly benefits from Arnold’s death. That alone makes him one hell of a suspect. I mean, he’s about to inherit a fifty-million-dollar business, and he wants us to believe he doesn’t know what’s in the will?”

“Well, if anyone cares, I didn’t like him,” Guff said.

“Anyone who has three telephones – that’s not a good vibe.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” Conrad said, hailing a cab. “Guff got a bad vibe; Rafferty must be a murderer.”

“What’s on the agenda for the rest of the day?” Sara asked.

“We prepare for tomorrow’s hearing, we take another look at the will, and we do our best to figure out if Oscar Rafferty is a concerned friend or one of the best bullshit artists we’ve ever seen.”

“I just wish we had a better way to nail down the exact day of the death,” Guff said. “That might change the whole story.”

As she was about to get in the cab, Sara stopped. “That’s not a bad idea,” she said. “You guys mind taking a ride to the East Side?”

“Can’t do it,” Conrad said. “I have some stuff to do back at the office.”

“Just put it off for a-”

“I can’t,” Conrad said. “I have to get back.” Motioning for Sara and Guff to get in the cab, he added, “You guys go ahead, though.”

“Are you sure?”

“Stop worrying and get out of here,” Conrad said. “I’ll see you when you’re done.”

As the cab pulled away from the curb, Guff turned to Sara. “So where’re we going?”

“To do exactly what you said. We have to nail down the time of death.”

“Wait a second,” Guff said, trailing behind Sara as she walked toward Claire Doniger’s house. “That psycho told you to check out Doniger’s basement, and you’re just getting around to it now?”

“Yes, I’m just getting around to it now. I tried getting a detective assigned, but they wouldn’t give us one, remember?”

“I thought detectives had to be assigned in homicide cases.”

“They do, but the budget cuts are streamlining every department. That’s the only reason we’re doing it ourselves.” Sara walked up Doniger’s front stairs and rang the doorbell.

“Who is it?” a voice asked.

“It’s Sara Tate, Mrs. Doniger. I want to ask you a few questions.”

Opening the door a crack, Doniger said, “I’ve already spoken to an attorney, and he said I don’t have to talk to you. He said if you want to charge me with murder, that’s your right, but I don’t have to say a word unless he’s present.”

“That’s good advice you got,” Sara said. “But did your attorney also show you one of these?” Opening up her briefcase, she pulled out a single sheet of paper. “This is a search warrant. If you want me to, I can fill it out and call in a busload of cops, who’d love to help me embarrass you in front of your neighbors. Or you can be cooperative and let me in, which would make a lot more sense. The choice is yours.”

Hesitating at first, Doniger slowly pulled open the door. She looked far more tired than the last time they saw her. Her once-perfect salon-styled hair was now flat and lifeless, and her usually well-rested visage was now bordering on haggard. Although she had tried to mask her pallor with a heavy layer of makeup, it was clear that Doniger was not having her best week.

As she stepped inside the lavishly decorated house, Sara turned to Doniger. “How’s everything going?”

“Wonderful,” Doniger said bluntly. “Now have your look around and be done with it. I’m very busy today.”

Making her way toward the parlor room of the beautiful nineteenth-century brownstone, with its matched pair of Dutch landscapes, heavy brocade drapes, and Louis XIV furniture, Sara felt an awkward sense of déjà vu rush over her. For months, she’d been mentally walking through this place. To do it in person felt unnerving.

“Crazy, huh?” Guff whispered as they made their way to the living room.

“Like a dream,” Sara responded. When they reached the kitchen, Sara once again approached Doniger. “So on the night you say he died, this is where you gave him his apple juice and granola bar?”