“All I’m saying,” she continued, “is that I believe the sweet remark about Trotter’s family was made for your benefit.”

“My benefit?”

“Oh, please, Duncan. Wake up. She answers my questions, but whenever she wants to stress a point, such as her truthfulness, she looks at you.”

“You’re imagining that.”

“Like hell, I am. The lady knows on which side to butter her bread.”

“Meaning?”

“You’re a man.”

“Which, in the context of this discussion, is beside the point.”

“Right.” She used the tone she did whenever he denied knowing how to play the piano. For the next several moments, she was deep in thought, poking at the ice cubes in her drink with her straw. “You know what else? I think suspicion has reared its ugly head to the judge.”

“Now I know you’re seeing things that aren’t there,” he said. “He’s never more than half a foot away from her, treats her like she’s made of porcelain.”

“True. He’s very protective. Almost as though he’s afraid she might need his protection.”

“He’s her husband.”

“He’s also a judge who’s listened to hours of sworn testimony in his courtroom, as he reminded us today. He commended her comprehensive recall. But you can bet he also knows a lie when he hears one. And he got awfully defensive when we advanced Dothan’s theory about Trotter having been shot and reflexively pulling the trigger on his way down. Judge Laird pooh-poohed it without further explanation or discussion. His wife didn’t fire first. Period. The end.” She paused for breath. “Which leads me to believe that His Honor may be questioning his wife’s story.”

They arrived at the Barracks. Duncan pulled his car into a slot in the parking lot, but neither of them made a move to get out. He leaned forward, crossed his arms over the steering wheel, and stared through the windshield at the civilians and police personnel going in and out of the Habersham Street entrance.

He felt DeeDee’s eyes on him, but he let her be the first to break the weighty silence. “Look, Duncan, I know it’s hard to get past that face. That body. Although I know there’s been speculation about my sexual orientation from yahoos like Worley, I’m straight. But being straight doesn’t make me blind to Elise Laird’s appeal. I can appreciate-okay, appreciate and envy-the way she looks and the effect she has on the opposite sex. There, I’ve been honest. Now you, in turn, must be honest with me.”

She paused, but when he said nothing, she continued. “Can you honestly, cross-your-heart-and-

hope-to-die honestly, be objective when you look at her?”

“I’m a cop.”

“With a penis. And that particular organ is notorious for having lapses in judgment.”

He turned and looked at her then. “Have you ever, ever known me to compromise an investigation?”

“No. With you it’s either wrong or right, black or white, no gray areas. That’s why as soon as I made detective I petitioned hard to become your partner.”

“So where’s this coming from?”

“We’ve never investigated a case involving a woman that you’re attracted to. And you were attracted to Elise Laird the instant you saw her at the awards dinner. You can’t deny that.”

“She was a pretty face in the crowd.”

“Who you compared to a lightning strike.”

“That was before I knew her name. It was for sure as hell before she shot and killed a man.”

“So your attraction to her died along with Trotter? No lingering groin tugs in that direction?”

He used his thumb to whisk beads of sweat off his forehead. “The lady is poison, DeeDee. Don’t you think I know that?”

Her frown told him that wasn’t exactly a direct answer to her question and that she still needed convincing.

“First of all,” he said, “she’s married.”

“To a man you despise.”

“Irrelevant.”

“I wonder.”

“Irrelevant,” he repeated with emphasis. DeeDee didn’t come back with further argument, but she still looked doubtful. He said, “I’ve had my share of girlfriends and short-term bed partners.”

“An understatement.”

“Name one who was married.”

She stayed silent.

“Exactly,” he said. “I’ve massaged the issue of sexual morality to fit my lifestyle and to satisfy the urge of the moment, but I draw the line at adultery, DeeDee.”

She nodded. “Okay, I believe you. But if she wasn’t married-”

“She’s still a principal in an active investigation.”

DeeDee’s face brightened. “Active. Does that mean we’re not closing the book on it just yet?”

“No,” he said heavily. “Not yet. Like you, I sense there’s something out of joint.”

“It’s her. She’s…what was your fifty-cent word? Disingenuous?”

“The background check you ran on her didn’t produce much, did it?”

She ticked off on her fingers the facts she’d learned about Elise Laird. “She has no arrest record, no outstanding debts, and there was nothing printed about her in the local newspaper before she married Laird. She came out of nowhere.”

“Nobody comes out of nowhere.”

DeeDee thought about it for a moment. “I’ve got a friend with ties to the society set. Often the best source of information is good old-fashioned gossip.”

“Keep the inquiry discreet.”

“I won’t even have to ask for info. Once I mention Elise Laird’s name, I bet I get an earful. This friend thrives on gossip.”

They got out, but as they approached the steps of the entrance, Duncan continued down the sidewalk. DeeDee asked where he was going.

“I’m days overdue calling my folks. I can talk to them easier out here than in the office with all the commotion.”

She went inside. Duncan followed the sidewalk around to the front of the building that faced Oglethorpe Avenue, walked past the black-and-white 1953 squad car that was parked out front like a mascot, and continued on until he reached the middle of the block, where there was a gated entrance to the Colonial Park Cemetery.

A few stalwart tourists braving the afternoon heat were taking pictures, reading the historical plaques, and trying to decipher the inscriptions carved into the grave markers. He made his way to one of the shaded wood benches and sat down, but he didn’t reach for his cell phone to call his parents. Instead he sat there and stared at the leaning headstones and crumbling brick vaults.

He could imagine the ghosts of fallen Revolutionary War heroes staring back at him expectantly, waiting to see what he would do. Would he do what he knew to be right? Or, for the first time in his career, would he violate the dictates of his conscience?

Above the nearby rooftops were the twin spires of St. John the Baptist cathedral, serving as another reminder that to transgress was a matter of choice.

Despite these silent warnings, he reached into his trousers pocket and withdrew the note he’d put there after having it surreptitiously slipped to him by Elise Laird when they shook hands.

He’d felt it immediately, sandwiched between their palms. She’d clasped his hand tightly so the note couldn’t fall to the floor and give her away. Her eyes had begged him not to.

Despite her pleading gaze, he should have acknowledged the note right then. If not immediately, then surely as soon as he and DeeDee were alone. He should have told his partner about it, opened it, read it for the first time along with her.

But he hadn’t.

Now, it seemed as hot as a cinder lying in his palm. He turned it over several times, examining it. The single white sheet had been folded over twice to form a small square. It weighed practically nothing. It looked innocuous enough, but he knew better. No matter what it said, it meant trouble for him.

If it contained information on last night’s shooting, it amounted to evidence, which he was already guilty of withholding.

If it was personal, well, that would be even more compromising.

The first instance would be a legal matter. The second, a moral one.