On the way over, I picked up a latte and a bagel with cream cheese at a deli. Not exactly what you′d call a healthy start to the day, but I gave myself brownie points for rejecting the apple fritter, which had a thick layer of glaze and must′ve packed a gazillion calories.

The silhouette of the Durham police headquarters squatted beneath a sky the color of cin derblocks. Inside the main lobby, Tanya, the desk sergeant, nodded to me through the ancient Plexiglas divider.

″Working on something here today, Kate?″

″Yeah, Tanya, I′m here to do a little research in ballistics. Okay if I just wander around a bit?″

″Sure thing.″

I′m the only reporter Tanya lets roam the hallways of headquarters without an escort. She and I had forged an early bond after we discovered that we were both avid shoppers of plus-sized clothing. Sergeant Tanya′s got ″back″ as the saying goes. She jokes that her butt pushes her police trousers far beyond the call of duty. We′ve been buddies ever since I told her about Sassy D′s, an online treasure trove for women who have more to love. The other reporters never could figure out why I have such pull with Tanya. I call it the Sisterhood of the Plus-Sized Pants.

″You should check out that sale at Sassy′s this week,″ Tanya whispered after buzzing me through the door. ″I just bought their last pair of fence-net hose in a size double-X.″

″Fence-net hose?″

″Yeah,″ she said with a smile that showed a slight gap between her front teeth. ″It helps me fence in my boyfriend, Hugo.″

″I could use some fencing right now when it comes to my love life,″ I said, signing the registry sheet. ″My boyfriend seems to have kicked down the corral posts.″

Oops. I hadn′t meant to refer to Jonathan at his place of work. My bad.

Inside the detective′s bureau room I shot an involuntary glance at Jonathan′s empty desk. Its surface was neat and organized-amazingly clean, as if he′d sprayed it with disinfectant before leaving. Not a single personal picture was on the surface, including none of me, I noted. His desk looked like it belonged to someone who might not be coming back.

Luke′s desk, on the other hand, was strewn with personal tokens and other artifacts-family pictures, file folders in various colors, plus an ancient, crumpled brown bag.

Luke looked up from his reports. He gave me a flinty-eyed cop stare.

″I′ve got to tell Tanya to start doing her job better and swat away fruit flies like you at the door,″ he said.

″Catch,″ he said, tossing me a tangerine.

I caught it one-handed. ″Thanks.″

I wasn′t hungry after my bagel. But I knew better than to reject Luke′s peace offering.

While I peeled the tangerine, an awkward silence fell between us. Normally one of us would have filled the gap with a mention of Jonathan. The fact that we didn′t meant that something strange was going on. Jonathan had become an unmentionable elephant in the room.

To break the pall I said, ″So what happened after I left the hospital? With Jana′s husband, I mean?″

When Luke hesitated, I rolled my eyes. ″And I know I don′t have to mention that we′re off the record right now.″

″Right,″ he said. ″But seeing how you′re a reporter, I know I′ve got to watch my ass around you. If anything off the record goes on the air, you′re shit on my shoe-you got that? I′m only talking to you at all because you′re a friend of Jana′s. And because you′re my friend, kind of. When I′m not having to scrape you off my heel, that is.″

″Consider me scraped.″

Luke spread open the red file folder in front of him.

Red files, I knew, were used for open homicides; cold cases went into blue folders; closed cases were sent to the archives.

″We interviewed Jana′s husband,″ Luke said. He′s got a solid-sounding alibi. ″There′s nothing at all to implicate the guy in her murder. Nothing at all.″

″What about the fact that he had his hand down his girlfriend′s blouse in the hospital′s parking garage? And the fact that Jana was divorcing him and that he gets nada much unless she′s dead? That′s not solid enough to implicate him for you?″

″We′re considering all of that. I′m just saying that so far, Jana Miller′s death has gone by the numbers.″

He peered down at his notes in the file and made an exasperated gargling noise in the back of his throat.

″Strip!″ he projected in a booming voice. ″Does the-″

″Jesus Christ, Luke.″

Detective Stripling′s head rose above the other side of a filing cabinet. He had one fist wrapped around the unwrapped portion of an energy bar. Stripling nodded at me, then used the bar to make a rude gesture at Luke.

″I′m right over here eating a snack where I always am,″ he said. ″How many times do I have to tell you that you don′t have to scream?″

″Sure I do,″ Luke replied. ″Normal people can′t tell when you′ve got those damned music plugs in your ears. Is Jana Miller′s family insisting on doing a private autopsy?″

″I couldn′t talk ′em out of it. I told her brother and their lawyer that it would be a waste of their ample money. They wouldn′t listen.″

When Stripling′s head vanished behind the filing cabinet again, Luke looked at me.

″′Waste of time′ is right. Our medical examiner′s office is the best in the state. And the cause of death is straightforward in Jana′s case. Two gunshots to the head. But we′ll give them the corpse if they insist.

″Sorry,″ he added, after I flinched at the term ″corpse″ in reference to my friend.

″What will be they be looking for specifically, do you know?″ I asked him.

″They′ll be looking for anything that proves we don′t know how to do our jobs or that we screwed up,″ Luke said with a shrug. ″Rich people. What are you gonna do? They think only the private sector knows how to do anything right.″

″Have you gotten a confession from your suspect? ″

″Nah. That scumbag lawyered up real fast. He hired himself a pretty good one, too. That was actually kind of surprising. Usually these ass-holes can only afford public defenders.″

″Maybe someone else is paying for the lawyer, ″ I suggested. ″Maybe the person who is really behind Jana′s murder is footing the tab.″

″Well, aren′t you a regular little CSI. Were you thinking it was someone like Gavin Spellmore, Jana′s husband?″

When I gave a quick nod, Luke leaned back in his chair. ″Jesus Christ, Kate, would you give it a rest? Jonathan told me you lock onto a point like a pit bull and don′t let go, but I′m telling you that you′re probably wrong in this case. Okay?″

Like a pit bull? Yee-ouch.

My cheeks burst into flame. ″Certainly I could be wrong,″ I said. ″But you haven′t convinced me yet.″

″Well, you′re not the friggin′ district attorney that I have to convince, now, are you?″

Slapping the file shut, he continued, ″Anyway, Shaina has already ID′d our suspect-Antoine Hurley. She picked him out of a photo lineup after you left the hospital.″

″Shaina identified Antoine Hurley as the car jacker?″

″Isn′t that what I just said? I believe I did.″

″Yes, but what about the shooting? Shaina didn′t see a gun, she told me. And besides-even if Antoine shot Jana, he might have been hired by someone else. By Jana′s husband, Gavin, for example. Have you considered that?″

″Of course. And have you considered that having a lousy marriage and a girlfriend on the side doesn′t mean a guy had his wife killed?″

″It doesn′t mean he didn′t have her killed, either. ″

Luke was grinning now. He was having fun. ″You′d never make a real cop, you know,″ he said. ″You′re like one of those UFO conspiracy guys. You′d waste all the taxpayers′ money trying to disprove a theory that′s all in your head. Like did we really land on the moon? That′s for The X Files and nut jobs.″

″I′m not even going to dignify that,″ I replied with a sniff. ″Jana told me Gavin was stealing from her right before she died. To the tune of tens of thousands of dollars. And Fish told me-″