“But not so fast that you didn’t have time to ‘assume’ that you were in mortal danger.”

“That’s a reasonable assumption, isn’t it, Detective?” the judge asked, sounding vexed. “If a man who’s broken into your house fires a pistol, even if his aim is lousy, isn’t it logical to assume that your life is in danger and to act accordingly?”

“It seems logical, yes,” DeeDee said. “But Dr. Brooks had another theory worth considering. He suggested that maybe Trotter was falling backward when he fired his pistol, that reflexively his finger clenched on the trigger. That would explain his aim being so far off.”

Duncan was staring hard at Elise. “But that would mean that you had shot at him first.”

“But she didn’t,” the judge said. “She’s told you that a dozen times. Why do you keep hammering away at this?”

Duncan tore his gaze from Elise Laird’s stricken face and looked at the judge. “Because I’ve got to have a clear understanding of what happened. I dislike having to put these questions to Mrs. Laird. But I was there this morning when the autopsy was performed on Gary Ray Trotter’s corpse. I feel I owe it to him, crook or not, to determine how and why he wound up like that. You’re a public official, Judge. You have an obligation to the public to do your duty. So do I. Sometimes it’s no fun at all. In fact, most of the time it’s not.”

He turned back to Elise. “Are you absolutely certain that Trotter fired at you first?”

“Absolutely.”

“There. That ends it.” The judge’s statement was followed by a tense stretch of silence. Finally he said, “I admire your sense of duty, Detective Hatcher. I appreciate your quest for the truth. Elise and I have done everything within our power to help you perform your unpleasant duties.

“Haven’t you stopped to consider that we would like a full explanation for what happened here last night, too? We would like that perhaps even more than you and Detective Bowen. Elise has been as straightforward as she could possibly be. Are you now satisfied that it was a break-in that went awry?”

Duncan let the question hover there for at least fifteen seconds before answering, “I believe so, yes.”

My ass, thought DeeDee.

The judge said, “Good. Then if that’s all, I hope you’ll excuse us.” He turned, ready to escort them out, when Elise forestalled him.

“I’d like to know…” Her voice cracked. She swallowed, tried again. “I’d like to know if Trotter had a family. A wife, children?”

“No,” Duncan said. “His closest relative was an uncle up in Maryland.”

“I’m glad of that. I would have hated…that.”

“May I show you out now?” The judge started down the hall, expecting them to follow.

DeeDee came from behind the desk. As she moved past Elise, Elise reached for her hand. “Detective Bowen, I want to echo what my husband said. I know you’re only doing your job.”

Surprised by the move, DeeDee tried to think of something neutral to say that would be a fitting response, whether Elise was lying or telling the truth. “This can’t be easy for you, either.”

“It isn’t, but if I think of anything to add, I promise to call you.”

“That would be helpful.”

“Do you have a business card?”

“Right here.” Duncan plucked one from the breast pocket of his jacket and passed it to her.

“Thank you, Detective Hatcher.” Taking the card, she shook hands with him, too.

DeeDee was as bouncy as one of those fuzzy orange dogs that look like manic powder puffs. An ex-girlfriend had owned one. The damn thing had barked nonstop. Most hyper animal Duncan had ever been around. Until today. DeeDee was practically jumping out of her skin.

“She’s hiding something, Duncan. I know it. I feel it in my bones.”

DeeDee’s “bones” were rarely wrong. In this particular case, he hoped they were. He wanted to close this case with dispatch and remain in the judge’s good graces. He’d never been a big fan of Judge Cato Laird, believing that often he talked out both sides of his mouth. Tough on crime and criminals one day, favoring the protection of their civil rights the next. His opinions seemed to drift along with the ebb and flow of public opinion, adhering only to the majority rule of the moment.

Duncan couldn’t admire a man to whom popularity was more important than conviction, but he supposed in order to win elections, the judge had to practice politics. And he certainly didn’t want a superior court judge as an enemy. That’s what he was likely to become if he continued hassling the judge’s wife because of what his partner felt in her bones.

Unfortunately, his bones were feeling the same thing. Especially after that last interview.

He jerked the steering wheel to the right and crossed two lanes of traffic to the accompaniment of blaring horns and shouted invectives. DeeDee gripped the armrest of the passenger door.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m thirsty.” The car jounced over the curb as he came close to missing the entrance to a McDonald’s.

“You had sweetened iced tea. ‘Mrs. Berry thinks that’s the only way to make it,’ ” she said, batting her eyelashes and mocking Elise Laird’s drawl.

“I was served iced tea. I didn’t drink it. Besides, aren’t you overdue a shot of caffeine? Not that you need it,” he added under his breath as he leaned toward the speaker to place their order.

“Should we go back and talk to some of the neighbors?” DeeDee asked.

“What good would that do? They were canvassed last night. None reported a recent burglary or break-in. No one saw Gary Ray Trotter lurking around the neighborhood. Nobody heard anything out of the ordinary last night.”

“Maybe Mrs. Laird opened the door and invited him in.”

“That’s a real stretch, DeeDee.”

After picking up their drinks at the window, he got back onto the street and rapidly closed in on the bumper of a soccer mom’s van. “What is with everybody today?” he said as he went around the van. “People are driving like there’s ice on the road.”

“What’s your hurry?” DeeDee asked.

He whipped into another lane in order to go around a slow-moving parochial school bus. “No hurry. I just hate this damn traffic.”

Heedless of his complaining, DeeDee said, “Okay, so maybe she didn’t welcome Trotter like a guest; there’s still something wrong with that picture.”

“I’ll bite. What makes you think so?”

“Generally-”

“Don’t be general. Be specific.”

“Okay. Specifically, her reaction when you raised the question of her firing her pistol ahead of Trotter. She went whey-faced.”

He supposed that “whey-faced” was one way to accurately describe Elise’s expression. “I pushed pretty hard. She stuck to her story.”

“Most good liars do.”

“You think she’s lying?”

“Maybe not lying,” DeeDee said. “Just not telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“You’re getting general again. Give me an example.”

“I don’t know. I can’t be specific,” she said, matching his irritability. “She just doesn’t act like a woman who killed a hapless burglar last night.”

“She didn’t know he was hapless. Gary Ray Trotter didn’t look like a screwup when he was standing in her house, in the dark, firing a weapon at her. Do you think she should have waited to shoot him until after she’d seen his résumé?”

His sarcasm earned him a glare.

“And she was concerned enough to ask if Trotter had a family,” he pointed out. “It bothered her to think she might have orphaned some kids.”

“I’ll admit that was a nice touch.”

“Why do you think it was a ‘touch’?”

“Why are you defending her?”

“I’m not.”

“Sure sounds like it to me.”

“Well, it sounds to me like you’re doing just the opposite. You think everything she says and does is disingenuous.”

“Not everything. For instance, I believe that she was barefoot.”

This time, she was on the receiving end of a baleful look.