A breeze wafted in from his open window. Louis leaned forward and glanced out the windshield. The clouds were moving over the moon. It smelled like more rain was coming.

He leaned back against the headrest, looking at Susan’s dark windows. She wasn’t going to be happy about the Lieberman dead end, and he had been thinking all day that he wasn’t earning his pay and they should part ways. For her sake-and for his.

He shifted, reaching in his jeans pocket. He pulled out the picture, holding it so he could see it in the streetlight.

Kitty Jagger smiled back at him.

She would be thirty-five now. Maybe she would have found her rich knight and he would have whisked her off to a pink palace in Palm Beach. Maybe she would have found a way to get to college or be a model. Or maybe she would have just married a nice guy, had a couple blond kids and lived in a house over in Cape Coral, driving over on the weekends to take care of Dad’s flowers and bring him apple juice.

The smell of something sweet came in the car window, carried by the breeze. Louis looked up, almost expecting to see someone. Just darkness. He rubbed his hand over his face. He put the picture away and got out of the car.

The sweet smell followed him as he went up the walk. He knocked on the front door. When he heard nothing, he peered in the small diamond-shaped window on the door. The living room was dark. He looked at his watch. It was only nine. Who went to bed at nine?

The heady perfume was swirling around him. A porch light went on. That’s when he saw the big plant by the door, its delicate white flowers swaying in the wind.

Shit. It was just Night Blooming Jasmine.

The deadbolt clicked open and then the door. He smiled. Susan didn’t.

“You were supposed to call me,” she said, walking away. She was barefoot and wrapped in a fuzzy white robe. Her hair was pulled to the top of her head, spraying out like a small fountain.

Louis could hear soft music coming from the back of the house. Elegant. Classical. Handel’s Water Music. Frances used to play it sometimes to make him sleep. It used to make him think of palaces and chandeliers. Susan faced him, her face scrubbed clean of make-up. She looked different; fresh, younger. . cuddly. Like a polar bear cub.

His eyes went to the hallway. He could see the dim flicker of candlelight on the walls. Oh man, he was interrupting something.

Say something.

“You weren’t asleep, were you?” he said.

“No.” Susan turned, walking into the kitchen, returning with a glass of wine. “So did you track down the Lieberman thing?”

“Yes.”

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Hayley.”

Susan waited.

“That’s all I found out.”

“No address?”

“Not yet.” The last word came out too close to an apology.

Susan gave him a long look. He was trying to figure out how to bring up the idea that he wanted to quit the case when Susan spoke again.

“So what else did you do today?” she asked evenly.

He hesitated. “I went to see Vince Carissimi.”

“The M.E.? Why?”

“I wanted him to take a look at Kitty Jagger’s autopsy report. There was a second semen sample.”

“A what?”

“A second semen sample taken from Kitty, other than the one on the panties.”

“What panties?”

Louis forgot she had not reviewed Kitty Jagger’s case. He knew she didn’t want to hear about this, but he needed to tell someone.

“The biggest piece of evidence against Cade was the semen on Kitty’s panties that the cops found in Cade’s truck,” he said. He could hear the eagerness creep into his voice, an eagerness he wanted her to share.

“It was blood type O,” he went on. “There was also semen inside her. The sample was probably tested, but there is no report on the results.”

Susan was standing there, hand on hip, staring at him. He knew what was coming.

“And what does this have to do with Spencer Duvall?” she said.

“The report is missing, Susan,” he said. “What if it was taken out of the police files for a reason? What if it turns out to not be O positive, what if-”

“Kincaid. .” she said.

“Susan, listen,” he said. “I got a lead today on Kitty’s girlfriend and-”

“Kitty’s girlfriend?”

“She’s living in Immokalee and I think if I talk to her about Kitty-”

“Kincaid, stop,” she said more firmly.

He looked at her. She was shaking her head, her eyes tired. She dropped down on the sofa, holding the wine glass between her hands, head bowed.

“Susan,” he began, “I know I promised to-”

“Yes, you did,” she said. “We made a bargain, remember? You told me you’d find me something, but you’re running around chasing some damn ghost.”

He just stared at her.

She set the wine glass aside. “You have got to get off this Jagger thing.”

“It’s important to the case,” Louis said.

“No, it’s important to you, Kincaid.” She shook her head. “I can hear it, I can hear it in your voice when you say her name now.”

“That’s nuts, Susan.”

“No, it’s not,” she said. “I’m going to say this one more time, okay? You are trying to keep Jack Cade out of the electric chair. You are not trying to solve that girl’s murder.”

It was time to tell her he wanted out. But then he took a good look at her face. He knew she had been in court all day, but she had never looked this beaten down before. He sat down in a chair across from her.

“What happened today?” he asked.

She rubbed her temples. “I lost all three of my motions.”

She began to gather up a bunch of drawings and colored markers, putting them back in their case. She looked up. Louis followed her gaze.

Benjamin was standing in the hallway in his pajamas. He gave Louis a curious glance, then disappeared down the hall.

Susan waited until she heard a door close. “There’s something else, too.”

“What?”

“Sandusky told me today he’s seeking the death penalty for Cade.”

Louis was silent for a moment. “Any way around it?”

“I don’t know. He might reconsider if Cade pleads and saves him the trouble of a trial.”

“Cade will never do that.”

“Sometimes the thought of death can quickly alter how you look at life, even if it’s behind bars.”

She stacked the papers neatly on the table and put the markers on top. She ran a hand over her hair, staring vacantly at the coffee table. A toilet flushed and a moment later, Benjamin reappeared.

“Nite,” he muttered.

“I’ll be there in a minute, honey.”

Benjamin went back to his bedroom. The phone rang. Susan went into the kitchen, switching on the light.

Louis glanced down the hall. He could see the open door of Benjamin’s room.

“Dammit,” Susan said into the phone.

He looked toward the kitchen.

“I’m not on call tonight.” Susan was leaning against the doorjamb, head in hand. “Don’t you throw this up at me again.”

Louis looked back at the hall. Benjamin had ventured out and was listening to his mother. Susan hung up, her back to Louis.

“You okay?” Louis asked.

She nodded stiffly. “Idiot.”

“Who?”

“My boss,” she said, facing him. She saw Benjamin. “Get dressed, Ben. You’re going to April’s.”

Benjamin let out a whine. “I don’t wanna. I hate April.”

“Get dressed. You have to go. I have to go see a client.”

“I can stay alone,” he said.

“Benjamin, don’t argue, please,” Susan said, ripping the scrunchie from her hair. “Get dressed and pack up your clothes for tomorrow.”

Susan swept past Benjamin and disappeared down the hallway. Louis watched the boy as he slumped against the wall. Apparently he had been wrong; there was no Mr. Outlaw around. Not tonight, anyway.

“I’m not going,” Benjamin yelled.

“Don’t be a butt, Ben,” Susan yelled back. “Get dressed.”

Benjamin sank down to the carpet, burying his head in his arms. The kid looked miserable, pulled up into a tight little ball. Louis watched him, listening for tears, but he wasn’t making a sound. The Handel stopped abruptly.