“Other than the lousy alibi? No.”

“There were powder burns on his hands,” I said.

“Sure. He shot himself then got rid of the gun so we wouldn’t catch him.”

“Maybe somebody wanted to cover up the suicide.”

“Sure. Or maybe Dr. Kevorkian stopped by.”

“Just a thought.”

“Somebody points a gun at you,” Quirk said, “close range, you put your hands up in front of your face like to protect yourself.”

Quirk raised his hands.

“Guy pulls the trigger,” he said. “You get powder residue on your hands.”

“Good point,” I said. “But wouldn’t it be on the palms, where if he shot himself it would be on the back?”

“And if he shot himself it would be mostly on the gun hand,” Quirk said.

“Yes.”

“He had powder residue on both hands, mostly on the palms.”

“I hate when you’re right,” I said.

“I’m used to it,” Quirk said. “She did it. Go talk to her.”

“You know anything I don’t know?”

“A lot,” Quirk said, “but not about this case.”

“You think they’ll convict her?”

“In a heartbeat,” Quirk said. “Jury will hate her.”

“That’s pretty much what Rita said.”

“Fiore?”

“Yes.”

“Used to be a prosecutor in Norfolk County,” Quirk said.

“She’s with Cone Oakes now,” I said.

“Good-looking broad,” Quirk said.

“Yes.”

“Good ass.”

“You noticed.”

“I’m a seasoned investigator,” Quirk said. “Isn’t she the one that’s hot for you?”

“I hope so,” I said.

CHAPTER THREE

We were walking toward the Cone Oakes conference room on the thirty-fifth floor. Today Rita had on a red jacket with a short leather skirt.

“You still with that prissy Jewess?” Rita said.

“I prefer to think of her as the girl of my dreams,” I said.

“Even with me currently available?” Rita said.

“Again?”

“The bank guy didn’t work out,” Rita said. “Why not give it a whirl?”

“I’m emotionally limited,” I said.

“Probably not,” Rita said.

She opened the conference room door and we went in. Mary Smith was there with a young man.

The young man had on blue-tinted rimless glasses. He was nearly bald, and what hair remained he wore cut very short. He had a carefully trimmed blond mustache. He wore a dark gray pin-striped suit and a pale gray tie with a lavender shirt and a lavender pocket handkerchief. On the desk in front of him was a pigskin briefcase with a shoulder strap.

Mary was something else. Dark skin, big dark eyes, big blond hair, a lot of blue eye makeup. She had a big chest. She was in black as befit her recent widowhood. Her clothes were expensive but a little small for her. And the jacket of her black suit rode up a little on her hips. Rita introduced us. The guy was named Larson Graff.

“Mr. Graff is Mrs. Smith’s public relations consultant,” Rita said with a blank face.

I blinked once at her. Rita almost smiled but didn’t.

“He’s like family,” Mary said. “You can say whatever you want.”

Graff took a small tape recorder from his briefcase.

“You don’t mind if we tape this, do you?” he said.

“I wish I’d known,” I said. “I’d have brought my arrangements.”

“What arrangements?” Mary said.

Graff said, “It’s a joke, Mary.”

Rita said, “I mind.”

“Excuse me?” Graff said.

“I mind. This is privileged communication here. I don’t want it taped.”

“I thought it would be good to have a record,” Graff said.

“It would not be good,” Rita said.

Mary looked at Graff.

“Is there a problem?” she said.

“No. It’s okay, Mary. Rita’s just being careful.”

“Well,” Mary said. “Like I said, there’s no need to be careful with Larson. He’s family.”

“Sure,” I said. “Tell me about your husband’s death, Mrs. Smith.”

“Do I have to?”

“No,” I said.

“But you want me to?”

“Yes.”

Graff put his hand on Mary’s arm. “Mary,” he said, “these people are trying to help you.”

“I know they are, Larson. It’s just, the whole subject is just so really, so really, really… icky.”

I was quiet. Rita was quiet. Beyond the big glass windows of the conference room, the tops of the city were quiet. Off to the right I could see the river flowing past Cambridge.

“He died at home,” I said.

“Yes. Louisburg Square. Nathan bought it when we got married. It’s tripled, at least, in value.”

“Real estate is always a sound investment,” I said. “And you were in the house when he died.”

“Yes. He was upstairs in the bedroom. I was in the library downstairs watching ”Survivor.“ Do you watch that?”

“You bet,” I said. “Was your door open?”

“Open?”

“Yes. The library door, was it open or closed?”

“I always close it. Nathan liked to sleep with his door open and the sound of the TV bothered him.”

“And his bedroom is on the second floor?”

“The third. Nathan liked to get away from city sounds at night.”

“Where did you sleep?”

She smiled a little and lowered her eyes.

“Why, aren’t you nosy?” she said.

“I certainly am,” I said.

“My bedroom was right next to Nathan’s. We were very close. Just because we had separate rooms. We had a very full sex life.”

“Everyone should,” I said. “Tell me about when you found his body.”

“Oh, don’t say it that way. ”His body.“ It sounds so, it’s so really…”

I waited. Rita had rocked back in her chair, one spectacular leg crossed over the other. There was no expression on her face.

“How did you come across your, ah, late husband?” I said.

“I went up after the eleven-o’clock news,” she said. “I always watch Channel Five when I’m home. I really like them. You watch Channel Five?”

“Day and night,” I said. “You went up after the news?”

“Yes. I always do, and I always peek in, see if he’s awake, so, if he is, I can say nighty-night to him.”

“And you saw right away that he was deceased?”

“His light was on,” she said.

She was the center of our attention. Her face had a kind of sweet dreaminess about it, as if reciting her story pleased her.

“Which is very unusual. Nathan usually goes to sleep very early. So I went in and, my God, there was blood everywhere on his pillow.”

Her hands were resting on the tabletop in front of her. Graff patted one of them.

“It must have been so awful,” he said.

“It was awful,” Mary said.

We all sat for a time contemplating how awful it was.

“What did you do after you made this discovery?” I said.

“I don’t… I guess I don’t really remember. I think I burst into tears.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Yes.”

“How long after?”

“I don’t know. Soon, I think.”

“And no one else was in the house?”

“No.”

“No one could have slipped in unnoticed?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“Alarm system?”

“Yes. I guess. I don’t know really. Nathan took care of that. I’m not very good about mechanical things.”

I looked at Rita.

“Cops say the alarm was on,” Rita said.

“Anyone have a key?” I said. “Or knowledge of the alarm code?”

“Alarm code?”

“The code you punch in to override the alarm,” I said.

“I don’t know what that means.”

I nodded. “How about a key?” I said. “Who might have a key?”

“I have one.”

“Good. Anyone else?”

“Nathan.”

“Anyone else?”

“No. Nathan was very security-conscious. He didn’t even give a key to Esther.”

“Esther?”

Mary Smith nodded eagerly.

“Who’s Esther?” I said.

“Our cleaning woman. I love her. She’s so good.”

“What if she came to clean and no one was there?”

“I don’t know. I guess she’d have to come back.”

“So just you and Nathan had a key to the house.” I found myself speaking very slowly.

“Yes.”

“And only Nathan knew the alarm code.”

“I really just don’t know how those things work,” she said.