“Back to what?” I asked.

“To normalcy.”

She chose that moment to sit and place a hand upon my leg. I started to laugh, a shabby noise, devoid of even rudimentary joy. I sounded crazy, even to myself, and I watched as if from behind plate glass as Barbara recoiled in confusion.

“ ‘Normalcy,’ ” I parroted. “Our old life. That’s no gift, Barbara. Or are you too wired into the program to even see that?”

She stood. “What are you saying?”

I climbed slowly from the bed, naked and not quite myself. I looked at this woman, this wife of mine. I thought of our past, felt the emptiness of our shallow joys and trivial dreams. I put my hands on her shoulders.

“There are few things that I know right now, and one of them is this: I’ll never go back to the way things were.” I thought of the shadow bars from my dream. “It’s just another kind of prison.” I stepped back and my hands fell to my side. Barbara’s mouth hung open, then snapped shut. I looked down at myself. “I’m going to find some clothes,” I said, and walked past her. She followed me into the bathroom.

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

“Who?”

“That bitch has already turned you against me.”

I turned and said coldly, “To which bitch are you referring?”

“Don’t play games with me. I won’t be made a laughingstock and I won’t lose you to some inbred country slut.”

“I don’t know anybody that matches that description, and if I did, this would have nothing to do with her. This is about me! This is about us! About choices and priorities. It’s about opening your fucking eyes and seeing the truth we’re drowning in! Our life is a joke. We are a joke. Can’t you see that? Can’t you admit it, even to yourself? We’re together out of habit, because we can’t admit the mistake we made and because the truth is too damn hard.”

“Truth!” she said. “You want truth? Well, here it is. You think you don’t need me anymore. All this money’s coming your way, so now you can go and run off with your little country whore.”

“What money?”

“That’s funny, Work. We live in poverty for ten years and now that the end is around the corner, I’m not good enough for you. I read the papers. I know about the fifteen million that Ezra left you.”

I laughed at the absurdity of it. “First of all, only you could think that we’ve been living in poverty, and never mind that I’ve given you every dime I’ve ever made. As for Ezra’s will, I’ll never see any of that money.”

“That’s right, because I’m your alibi and you’re pissing me off.”

“I don’t want an alibi. I don’t need it. Go keep up your own fucking appearances. Leave me out of it.”

A crystalline silence fell between us, and I dressed behind her turned back. I was pulling on socks when Barbara spoke again. “I think maybe we both got a little carried away. I don’t want to fight and I know that you’re very upset. I think maybe you’re projecting that onto me, I don’t know. Let’s just step back a minute.”

“Fine,” I said. “Whatever.” I stuffed my feet into scuffed leather shoes and cinched up my belt.

“Let’s just get through this trouble and then we can look at our situation a little more calmly. We’ve been together a long time. There’s got to be a reason for that. I think we’re still in love. I feel it. When this is behind us and our money worries are gone, everything will look different.”

“There’s not going to be any money, Barbara. I’d have to sell my soul for it, sacrifice what’s left of my life, and I can’t do that. I can’t let him have the last laugh.”

“What last laugh? Who are you talking about? For Christ’s sake, Work. It’s fifteen million dollars!”

“It could be a billion, for all I care.” I pushed past her. “We can talk later, but I don’t know what else there is to say.”

“It’s just the timing, Work. The situation.” She followed me through the house. “Everything fades. You’ll see. It’ll get better.”

I passed through the kitchen, grabbed my keys and my wallet. “I don’t think so, Barbara. Not this time.” Then I was in the driveway, and she filled the door behind me.

“You’re my husband, Work. Don’t walk away from me.”

I started the engine.

“Goddamn it! You’re my fucking husband!”

I drove away, knowing that in one thing my wife was right. Everything fades.

CHAPTER 23

I went to the office because I had to do something. If I didn’t do something, I would drink, and if I drank, I would get drunk. The thought appalled me because it was so tempting. But booze was just more rank escapism, like denial and self-deception.

I sat at my desk, ignored the mess, and looked up the number for the medical examiner in Chapel Hill. He was an ex-football player, an ex-smoker, and an ex-husband. He was a good medical examiner and a decent witness on the stand. We’d consulted on several cases and we got along. He wasn’t scared of a drink.

His secretary put me through.

“I don’t know if I should be talking to you,” he said without preamble. His tone surprised me.

“Why not?”

“We don’t exist on some pedestal, you know. We do read the papers.”

I knew where he was going. “So?” I asked.

“I can’t discuss my findings with you.”

“He’s my father.”

“For God’s sake, Work. You’re a suspect.”

“Look, I know he was shot twice. I know the type of ammunition. I just want to know if there’s anything else. Anything unusual.”

“We go back a ways. I’ll admit that. But you’re putting me in a tough spot. There’s nothing I can tell you, not until the lead detective or the district attorney clears it. Damn it, Work! You know better.”

“You think I did it.”

“What I think is irrelevant.”

“You’re the medical examiner. Nothing you think is irrelevant in a murder case.”

“We’re not having this discussion, Work. If this goes to trial, I’ll not be sandbagged on the stand by allegations of impropriety. I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait,” I said.

A pause. “What?”

“I need to make funeral arrangements. When can you release the body?”

There was an even longer pause before he finally spoke. “I’ll release the body when I get the paperwork from the DA’s office. Same as always.” He paused again, and I could tell that something bothered him.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I’d rather release it to your sister,” he said slowly. “For the same reasons.”

“She’s in the hospital,” I said. “She tried to kill herself this morning.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do.”

A silence stretched between us. He’d met Jean once or twice.

“I’ll take it under advisement, Work. Until the paperwork comes. Then we’ll see.”

“Thanks for a whole lot of nothing,” I said.

“I’ll make a note of this conversation for the file, and someone from this office will contact you when the paperwork is finalized. Until this is cleared up, I don’t want you calling here again.”

“What is your problem?”

“Don’t jerk me off, Work. Don’t play me. I heard about your trip to the crime scene. You played Mills and now she’s paying for it. It could cost her the case, maybe her job. I’ll not be embarrassed like that and I’ll not be manipulated. Not me and not this office. Now, good-bye.”

He hung up, and I stared at the phone in my hand. Eventually, I put it down. What had he seen when he closed his eyes, held the phone to his ear, and heard my voice? Not a professional. Not a colleague and not a friend. He’d heard what he’d never heard, there in his rarefied office, with the gleaming tables and the rows of silent dead. He’d heard the voice of the violator, the killer who filled his days with chemical smells and cold, unmoving blood. I’d known him for eight years and he thought I did it. I had been judged and found capable. Douglas, Mills, my wife. The whole damn town.

I closed my eyes and saw thin blue lips mouthing words I could not hear but recognized nonetheless. White trash, they said. They were a woman’s lips, flanked by diamond earrings that sparkled like the sun itself. I saw the lips twist into a mirthless smile. Poor Barbara. She really should have known better.