“Relax, Baxter,” Mike said, pushing between them. “Counselor Kincaid here is a friend. What’s your interest in this case, Ben?”

“Do you have to ask? Ray Goldman’s appeal is still pending.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding me. Are you still beating that dead horse? How long has he been on death row?”

“Seven years. Which is seven years too long.”

Mike tilted his head toward Baxter. “Mr. Kincaid is referring to the sadistic bastard who tortured and killed Erin Faulkner’s entire family.”

“Ray Goldman is no sadist,” Ben rejoined. “He’s an educated, cultured, sensitive man. He’s a gourmet cook.”

“Oh, well, that proves he’s innocent. Give it up, Ben. Your man did the crime.”

“No,” Ben said firmly, “he was just convicted of it.”

“We had him dead to rights.”

“The only thing you had was the testimony of the late Erin Faulkner. And yesterday, she showed up in my office and told me everything she said on the witness stand was a lie.”

“What?”

“You heard me. She said DA Bullock pressured her, and she was young and malleable, and she made an identification she wasn’t sure about. And as a result, Ray Goldman has lost seven years of his life.”

“Wait a minute,” Baxter said, forcing her way into the conversation. “Now that the woman has turned up dead, you’re claiming she recanted her testimony?”

“You got it.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Another lawyer in my office.”

Baxter turned away, shaking her head. “I’ve heard of some sleazy defense-lawyer tricks in my time-”

“It’s not a trick.”

“Bull. You’re trying to take advantage of the woman’s death to get your creep off the hook. That’s despicable.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Right. And the day after she cleanses her soul-to a defense lawyer of all people-she turns up dead. Now isn’t that convenient?”

“No,” Ben said, turning his eyes toward the bloodstained bed. “I don’t find it convenient at all.”

“Look,” Mike said, holding up his hands, “I don’t know what’s going on here. But I’ve known Ben since college and I know damn well he wouldn’t make up a story like this just to get his client off.” He’d come up with something more credible, Mike thought silently.

Baxter stared at Mike, outraged. “So you’re siding with the defense lawyer?”

“I’m not siding with anyone. I’m just telling you the facts. Ben’s no liar. Of course, even if Erin Faulkner said it, that doesn’t mean it’s true.” He dug his hands into his coat pockets, came up with nothing. Times like this, he really wished he hadn’t quit smoking. “C’mon, Baxter. Let’s finish working our suicide.”

“How can you be sure it was suicide?” Ben asked.

Mike stopped. “What, you, too? She was found with the gun still in her hand.”

“Hers?”

“No record of Erin Faulkner owning a gun. But it’s hardly surprising she would have one. Given her past, she must have suffered from… mental disturbances. Survivor guilt. Hell, maybe she really did think her testimony was false, and she felt bad about it. Any of those could lead to suicide.”

“I’m still not convinced,” Baxter said.

“Look around you. Do you see any sign of a struggle? Any indication whatsoever that anyone else was here? No. And there’s a reason for that. It’s because no one else was here.”

“Or maybe the assailant tidied up afterward. He had plenty of time.”

“I’m with your partner,” Ben said. “How can you be so sure?”

“Listen to me, kemo sabe. I’ve seen you when you get that I’m-on-a-mission-from-God look in your eyes, and I know it never turns out well. I also know you’ve been working on this Goldman case for years and that you’d do anything to get him off death row. But there’s nothing here for you.”

Ben stared at the bed. “I have to explore every possible avenue.”

“Fine. You do what you have to do. But at the very least, you should let Christina work on a case that has a paying client. Otherwise, you’re going to end up practicing out of the back of your van.”

“Thanks for the financial advice.”

“I’m just trying to help. I’m your friend, remember? I’m family. Sorta kinda.”

“Yeah. But the fact that you’re still carrying a torch for my sister doesn’t mean you’re right.”

Baxter’s head turned at that.

“I can tell you this for certain,” Mike replied. “As soon as I get back to the office, the Erin Faulkner death is going to be a closed file.”

“Is that so?” Baxter said, one fist on her hip.

“Yeah. That’s so.”

“In that case,” Ben said, “since there’s not going to be any official police investigation, can we at least agree to share information?”

“You’re not listening to me, Ben. There’s not going to be any information to share.”

“You never know. Something might turn up. Let’s keep each other informed of what we’re doing.”

“If it will make you happy, Ben, fine.”

“It will.” He smiled slightly. “I’ll put a good word in for you at the family reunion.”

“Please don’t. The only person on earth your sister is less fond of than me is you.”

“Good point.” He crossed the room and extended his hand. “Pleasure meeting you, Sergeant Baxter.”

“Was it?” She didn’t shake.

Ben drew in his breath, then gave Mike a smile. “And good luck with the new partner, Mike. I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Did they know what he had done? Gabriel Aravena wondered. Did they know it was him?

Everyone who entered the FastTrak today seemed to be staring at him. Perhaps he was just imagining it. The delusion of a guilty conscience, that’s what Dr. Bennett would say. But no matter how hard he tried to tell himself that-there were still those eyes! Those damned eyes, staring at him, constant, unrelenting. He’d like to rip them out and-

He clutched the cash drawer, trying to steady himself. Get a grip, Gabriel. You are too close. Too close to spoil it by doing something stupid now. So what if they are staring? If they’re staring at anything, it’s probably your great big womanlike breasts. It’s probably the-

“Like… do you carry bras?”

Aravena’s eyes narrowed as he peered down at the two blonde teenage girls leaning across the counter. “Why do you ask?”

“How about… because I need a bra?” the one on the left said. “Duh.”

Aravena lowered his gaze, making no attempt to hide where his eyes were going. As far as he could tell, she actually had very little need for a bra.

Of course, he liked them like that.

“I’m sorry, miss. We don’t carry clothing. This is a convenience store.”

“I know what it is, Professor. I just thought, maybe, you might have a private stash of bras around.” She began to giggle, then she and her friend skittered out the door, laughing all the way.

“Obnoxious little tramps.” His assistant manager, April, had returned from the storage room. “What do they think this is, Sears?”

“I believe they were making a little joke. Or so they thought.”

“I’m sorry, Gabe. Girls can be such bitches sometimes.”

She would know, he supposed. April was only seventeen herself. She was five feet three and trim and athletic; he could tell from her arms that she worked out regularly. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“How was the doctor appointment yesterday?”

“Oh fine, fine.” April had never asked, but she must suspect that the doctor he took off work to see once a week was a psychiatrist, just as she must have guessed that medication was enlarging his breasts and causing his hair to fall out. How much did she know about his past? he had often wondered. The owner knew, of course, and the flunky who had hired him. He had no way of being certain, but he suspected they had also informed April. A corporate variation of Megan’s Law-inform the young female employee that the man she’s working with is a former sex offender. Convicted of a crime involving an eleven-year-old girl.