“You took it upon yourself to go to Atlanta and see Tony Esteban?”

“Yes.”

No sooner had Duncan cleared the door of the Barracks than he’d been summoned into Bill Gerard’s office. Captain Gerard was a good cop with nearly forty years with the department. He was a fair supervisor who kept himself up to speed on all the cases the VCU was investigating, and he dispensed advice when asked for it. But he trusted the detectives under his supervision to do their jobs without having to be micromanaged.

However, when necessary, he could chew ass effectively. Duncan braced himself for a good one.

“The Braves management office called,” Gerard said, stacking his freckled hands on his thinning ginger-colored hair. “They were steamed you didn’t go through them to interview Esteban.”

“I wanted to catch him unaware.”

“Apparently you did, because after you left, he had second thoughts. He went whining to the team’s PR people about a cop from Savannah asking him about a woman he barely knows who’s involved in a fatal shooting. He was scared the media would get wind of it, blow it out of proportion, he’d wind up the cover story of The National Enquirer.

“The nervous PR people called Chief Taylor, who called me and wanted to know what the hell was going on.” He spat into his dip cup and peered at Duncan over the top of his reading glasses. “I’d sorta like to know that myself, Dunk. What the hell’s going on?”

“I’m not convinced the fatal shooting of Gary Ray Trotter was self-defense.”

“Aw, shit.”

Gerard liked to hunt and fish, read books about the Civil War, and make love to the wife he’d been married to since the night after his high school graduation. He was looking forward to enjoying those pastimes in retirement, which was only two years away. Until then, he wanted to do his job well, meeting its demands, but avoiding the snares of bureaucratic politics so that he could exit the police department gracefully and enemy-free.

“You think the judge’s wife wasn’t just protecting her life?”

“I think she may have been protecting her life style.”

“Shit,” he repeated. “This isn’t going to sit well with Cato Laird.”

“I realize that, Bill. Believe me, I deliberated on it all the way back from Atlanta. He’s chief judge of superior court. He presides over felony cases. The last thing a police department wants is a judge with a grudge against cops who bring those felons to court. This places the department in an awkward position. I understand and appreciate that. But it’s my duty-”

Gerard held up his hand. “None of my detectives has to explain himself to me, Dunk. I trust you. Trust your instincts even more.”

He wouldn’t trust him so well if he knew the secrets Duncan had been keeping recently, the ethics he’d violated. Elise’s note. His private encounter with her at his house. He wouldn’t trust him so well if he knew how hard Duncan had struggled with his decision to pursue the case against her.

“What did Esteban say that implicated her?” Gerard asked.

“Is Kong here?”

Gerard looked at him with puzzlement. “I don’t know, why?”

“I’d like for him and DeeDee to be in on this. That way I only have to tell it once.”

“I’ll go take a leak. You get them in here.”

They reconvened five minutes later. DeeDee came in with a can of Diet Coke and an attitude. She was miffed at Duncan for going to Atlanta without her, or even telling her about the trip beforehand. He didn’t let her pouting bother him. She’d get over it. Soon, unless he missed his bet. She’d suspected Elise of an ulterior motive all along, and he was about to provide one.

Kong was his hairy, sweaty, but affable self. “What up?” he asked Gerard.

The captain pointed to Duncan. “This is his meeting.”

Duncan began by saying, “First of all, I’m giving notice here and now. When I grow up, I want to be a professional baseball player.” His description of Tony Esteban’s penthouse was designed to have them smiling, relaxed, and listening by the time he got down to the nitty-gritty.

“There was this red metal sculpture standing in the center of the room. It looked like an instrument of torture, or maybe a swan. And just like in the movies, he pushes a button, these smoky mirrored doors slide open, and there’s a bar stocked with every conceivable potable.”

They were raptly attentive by the time he got to Jenny. “Hugh Hefner never had it so good. Legs that went on forever. Tits out to here.” He gestured with both hands, holding them away from his chest. “Right there on display beneath this tight tank top, and I’m talking-”

“We get it, Duncan,” DeeDee said. “She had big tits. What did Esteban have to say?”

He gave the men a look that said there would be a more detailed description of Jenny’s chest later, then recounted for them his conversation with Esteban.

When he finished, Gerard asked for clarification on a few points. “It was Mrs. Laird who told you Coleman Greer was gay?”

“Last night at their home,” Duncan replied. “DeeDee and I were summoned there. Mrs. Laird was reluctant to destroy the myth-”

“It’s no myth,” DeeDee said.

“-of Coleman Greer’s machismo, but she told us that after their high school romance, which was platonic-”

“Like hell,” mumbled DeeDee.

“-he confessed to her what he’d never told another living soul. He was attracted to men.”

“ ‘As God is my witness.’ ” DeeDee dramatically placed her hand over her heart. “Á la Scarlett O ’Hara, she swore it.”

“Jeez, I can’t believe it,” Kong said. “My boys would be crushed. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with it. Live and let live, I say. But…well, you’d rather your baseball heroes be straight.” He looked around as though polling them. “Wouldn’t you?”

“According to Esteban, Coleman Greer was straight.”

“Correction, Bill,” Duncan said. “According to Esteban, he’s straight. He couldn’t speak for Coleman Greer, and doesn’t know with absolute certainty, but Esteban seriously doubts he was gay. How could he have been gay and nobody know? How could he have kept that hidden when he lived and traveled in the company of men half the year? He doesn’t believe Coleman Greer was gay. But he knows that he ‘ain’t no fucking fag.’ ”

“Which blows a big hole in Elise Laird’s story,” DeeDee said. “I’m positive she invented that lie because it was the one her husband would grab on to with both hands. During all those trysts, she wasn’t screwing her baseball player. No, she was consoling him over his gay love affair gone awry.” She snuffled with scorn. “Priceless. Your affair is exposed by a PI your husband has hired to follow you. You need a lie, and quick. Voilà! Your lover isn’t your lover. He doesn’t even like girls.”

“PI?” Kong said. “Here’s where my missing person comes in, right? The PI was Napoli?”

Duncan said, “Anything?”

“Nothing. Not a hair off his greasy head.”

“The judge hired Napoli?” Gerard said, his dismay showing.

“He said he was desperate to know if his wife was having an affair or if it was his imagination,” Duncan explained. “He admitted to us that Napoli came through with something, but at the last minute he changed his mind, didn’t want to learn what that something was.”

“And Kong found Gary Ray Trotter’s name among papers on Meyer Napoli’s desk.”

“That’s right, Bill,” Duncan said.

“Now I see where you’re going with this,” the captain said.

“ Napoli had proof of Mrs. Laird’s affair. The judge got cold feet, didn’t want to know the truth after all, turned it down. But Napoli got greedy and took the proof to Mrs. Laird. He blackmailed her with it. Whether to protect herself, or Coleman Greer, or both of them, she agreed to a big payoff. Gary Ray Trotter was the drop man.” He paused, then added, “This is all speculative, but it fits.”

They sat in silence for a moment, pondering Duncan ’s summary. Kong was the first to speak. “But how’d she know Trotter would break in that particular night?”