She remembered the time making love when she’d conceived. She knew it had been that Saturday morning when she had come back to the bedroom after her shower, to Eddie sleeping in. There was no faking his response to her. And afterward, lying there, touching her everywhere, nibbling. “I love your eyelids,” he said. “I love your elbow.” And laughing. “I love this little spot, what you call this?” right at the top of her leg in the back.

She had to believe he loved her. He did love her. And if he loved her, he didn’t kill himself.

That’s why the anger surprised her. Before, up until today, since Eddie had died, all she’d felt was this numb, horrible loss. Almost sleepwalking, trading consolation with Erin, not letting herself think too much.

But now, at ten to five, cleaning off the desk for another day tomorrow, she had to put her head down, the wave of anger came so strongly. “Oh, Eddie!” She almost said it out loud.

Because now the next reality hit. Before, while she was thinking he had committed suicide, it hadn’t mattered. But now, if somebody had killed him, she had a pretty good idea of why they had done it.

All of his pushing, all of his idealism, his visits to Cruz and Polk, trying to convince them to be something they weren’t, to be little perfect Eddies, play fair, do the right thing.

Oh, Eddie, she thought, shaking now, why couldn’t you just leave them alone and be like everybody else? I told you a hundred times it wouldn’t do any good. If you’d have listened to me you’d be alive now.

The shaking passed. Somebody walked by and asked if she was all right. Again.

She thought about the insurance money on the bus going home. It was the first time it had occurred to her, and like her anger earlier, it made her feel guilty.

Maybe this was the process, she thought. Little things moving in to take the place of the pain. She told herself this was probably natural, the beginning of the healing, but it didn’t help with the guilt.

She didn’t really care about the money. Then, for a sickening moment, she did. Well, not really, it was just if she did decide to have the baby, then she’d be able to stay at home with it for a while instead of having to keep working.

Something else was happening, and she tried to keep it out of the forefront of her thoughts. Like so many other things lately, though, it seemed out of her control.

It might be romantic nonsense, but that first day she’d found out she was pregnant, all she could think was that it was her and Eddie’s love, the mixture, that had made the baby. It was as though their love had become a separate thing outside of themselves, proving it, existing alone.

But then the last week, becoming more and more sure that Eddie hadn’t wanted the baby, hadn’t loved her like she’d thought, she’d come to doubt whether she wanted it at all.

She sat by the window in the bus, not caring, not even aware, that her face was streaked with tears.

She did want the baby. It was Eddie’s, all she had left of Eddie. She crossed her hands over her stomach.

Hardy had his elbows on Frannie’s kitchen table. He hadn’t been home yet. Frannie had called Lynne at the Shamrock while Hardy had been having one. She wanted to know about the other investigation, and Hardy didn’t want to get into it on the phone at the bar.

Frannie’s hair was shining again, and pulled back into a severe bun, it made her face look older, more in control. She wore a plain white blouse, a black wraparound skirt. The face was still pallid, without makeup, but a string of green malachite pearls set off her eyes.

Hardy was explaining. “I really didn’t want to say anything, get anybody’s hopes up, until we had something a little more definite.”

“But don’t you have something definite?”

“Well, yeah, but still maybe not definite enough. Did Eddie ever mention a guy named Alphonse Page?”

“Sure. He was one of the last ones they were keeping on at Army.”

“Why him?”

“I don’t know. It kind of bothered Eddie. Some kind of relationship with Mr. Polk, I think. You have to understand, Dismas, this situation at his work got funny about six months ago. I guess the company was just going under and Polk didn’t care anymore.”

“So why did it mean so much to Eddie?”

She sighed. “It was just a project, I think, at least at first. He hated to see the other men laid off when it might have been avoided. He didn’t like it that one customer kept the whole company alive, that kind of thing. So he tried to keep things happening, but Polk just didn’t want to put in the time anymore, and wouldn’t give Eddie any real authority.”

“Why didn’t he just quit?”

“I don’t know, really. Half was the challenge, I guess, but also he was starting school in the fall and figured he only had a few months so why start with somebody else?”

“So he thought he might as well do something worthwhile until he left?”

“Something like that, I think.” She paused. “We didn’t exactly agree on everything, you know. But then he realized something else was going on-with Polk I mean-and that’s when he got this idea to save everybody.”

Frannie got up and walked back into the kitchen. “Dammit,” she said, just loud enough for Hardy to hear. She opened the refrigerator, then closed it.

Hardy followed her in. “Do you know? Did he actually go and see Cruz?”

“Uh-huh. Then he was planning on meeting him again…” She stopped and turned, her eyes wide now. “God, I think it was that night. How could I not have remembered that?”

“Monday, the night he was killed?”

She leaned back against the counter. “Well, no. I mean, it couldn’t be. He didn’t…” She was shaking, the white fabric of her blouse shimmering over her shoulders and breasts.

“He didn’t what?”

“He didn’t leave here to do that. I’m sure of that. He said he wanted to think about… about the baby, that he’d be right back.”

“Maybe he remembered his meeting with Cruz while he was out.”

She didn’t answer.

“But he’d seen him before? You know that for a fact?”

She nodded absently.

“Frannie, it’s important.”

She walked back to the table and sat again. “At least once, the week before, I think it was. He went to his house.”

There had been no point in trying to talk to Frannie about Eddie maybe blackmailing Cruz. But driving home, it began to make more and more sense. If he was starting school in the fall, what was he planning to live on? And with a baby on the way, there’d be that much more pressure. Frannie wouldn’t be able to work, at least for a few months. Extra money might come in very handy.

Maybe he only got the idea that night. He had the meeting planned anyway, and it just came to him. Then it backfired.

It was possible, if only Eddie had been the kind of guy to try that, and all indications still were that he hadn’t been.

But turning onto his street from Geary, he remembered Abe’s advice and repeated the name Alphonse Page to himself several times out loud.

He let himself into his dark house. Frannie’s earlier message was on his machine. So was a call from Jane… “Just to hear your voice.”

He went to his desk and took the 911 tape from his pocket. It was an educated male voice, made nasal either by some effort at concealment or from the recording. It said, “There is a body in the parking lot of the Cruz Publishing Company. Thank you.”

Very formal, and little else. The “Thank you” jarred slightly. Hardy listened to the clip five times, hoping to recognize something about the voice. It was not female. It was not accented.

It was early-not yet nine-thirty of a long and nonproductive day. Tomorrow he would get to see Cruz if he had to kidnap him, just to get to the bottom of his lies. He also wanted to check up on Steven, see how he was getting along. Maybe Glitsky would even collar Alphonse.