“Did Erin express any reservations about him?”

“Not to me. If anything, I wondered if she might not have a little crush on him. You know, the young girl falls for the handsome doctor. Soap-opera stuff. I thought that might be the real reason she was hanging around.”

“Was she getting any help? With her problems?”

“As in shrink? Yeah, a woman. Dr. Hayley Bennett. Don’t know how Erin met her. Never seemed to help. She was seeing another doctor-”

“Yes?”

“Kinda strange, actually. But I guess that’s what happens. When people can’t get the answers they want from conventional medicine, they turn to the weird stuff.”

Mike frowned. He didn’t like the sound of this at all. “I’d like that doctor’s name, too, please. If you don’t mind.”

“Sure.”

“When was the last time you saw Erin?”

“The day before she died. She went out to McAlester for the Goldman execution. I went with her.”

“What was her reaction when the execution was halted?”

“Actually, she had already left. Before the call came in. She couldn’t stand it there. Something about it was really eating her up. She was silent all the way home. Even more distressed than she had been before we left.”

“Are you aware that Ray Goldman’s lawyers are claiming Erin recanted her testimony? Said she couldn’t ID Goldman as the killer after all?”

Sheila seemed startled. “No. I wasn’t. I mean-” She paused, obviously deep in thought. “That might explain something she said. In McAlester…” Her voice drifted off.

The sun was beating down on them. It was high noon, and dressed in heavy black cotton, Sheila must be about ready to melt. “So what do you think, Ms. Knight? You must have an opinion.”

“I-don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you think Erin lied on the witness stand? Do you think she killed herself?”

Sheila looked hesitant, almost embarrassed. “Well… it certainly looks like suicide. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes. But some people have doubts. She had tried to kill herself before, hadn’t she?”

Sheila paused, gripping her purse strap much more tightly than was necessary. “She did. With pills. I was the one who saved her, actually.”

“So she owed you her life.”

“Yeah. She mentioned that a lot. It brought us closer.”

“Any attempts since then?”

“No. Well, not that I know about. And that was long ago. Granted, I knew she was still having trouble. I knew she had a lot of issues. Guilt. Anxiety. Loneliness. But I didn’t think she was suicidal.” She raised the Kleenex to her eyes. “I didn’t think so.”

“But you can’t rule it out.”

“No,” she said quietly. “I can’t rule it out.”

“Can you think of any reason why anyone would want to kill Erin?”

Sheila looked at him incredulously. “God, no. I can’t-I mean-God! Hasn’t enough been done to her already?”

Mike couldn’t argue with that. “Just one more question, ma’am. If you don’t mind. Why did you ask to be interviewed here? At the cemetery.”

“I just-I knew-” She struggled to explain. “I knew it would be hard, coming here. Finally saying good-bye to Erin. After all this time. But it has to be good-bye, you know? I have to move on. I’ve devoted so much time to her. I loved her so much. But now I’ve got to get on with it. When I go home tonight, I don’t want to be rehashing the last seven years. I want to start fresh. I have-I have to forget.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

“I can understand that,” Mike said quietly. “Thank you for talking to me.”

The gravediggers carried away the last of the chairs and the barrier cords, then raked the ground smooth. A moment later, Erin Faulkner was fully and formally interred, and there was no sign that the funeral party had ever been there.

“Sure,” Sheila said, her voice broken. “ Erin really was a wonderful girl. She had a beautiful spirit. But after she lost her family, in such a horrible way, everything changed. She was… I know this sounds trite, but-she was like a beautiful flower. Like a rose, you know? Lovely to look at, a joy to behold. But once someone breaks it-”

“It never grows back,” Mike completed.

“That’s right,” Sheila said, and all at once, her tears streamed. “It just grows weaker and weaker. Until finally, it dies.”

Christina stared at Ben. “You consider that a win?”

“From Derek, yes.”

“He all but said he didn’t think there was any chance we’d come up with anything that would change his mind.”

“But he gave us another week to try. From Derek, that’s a major victory. It means we still have a chance.”

“Ben, I admire your optimism, but I think you’re possibly being unrealistic.”

“What else is new?”

“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. Unrealistically. You or Ray.”

Ben removed his feet from the desk and swiveled his chair around to face her. “Look, that was Judge Richard A. Derek in there. A for Asshole. The worst judge Ray could conceivably have drawn. As far as I was concerned, the case was over as soon as Derek saw who was sitting at counsel table. I’m surprised Derek didn’t volunteer to drive down to McAlester and inject the needle himself.”

“I think you’re overstating the case.”

“Getting anything out of Derek-even the little we did-was a triumph.”

Christina shook her head. “If you say so. Man, he sure hasn’t mellowed any over the years, has he?”

“He’s past mellow. He’s ripened and rotted.”

“Just last week I read that he’s filed for divorce against his wife.”

“Again? They were blowing hot and cold back when we were at the firm. Had some kind of sick codependent thing going. The man is seriously unstable and you know it. And snide. And self-centered. And he wears a toupee.”

Christina smiled. “What I was getting at was-most people get a bit out of sorts during a divorce. And I thought he seemed a little spacey in the courtroom. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’s on antidepressants.”

“So what you’re saying is, we’ve drawn the worst possible judge-at the worst possible time.”

“Pretty much, yeah.” She grabbed her coat. “Come on. We’ve got an appointment to keep.”

“Thank you for seeing us, Dr. Bennett. I really appreciate it.”

Ben watched as the auburn-haired doctor with the black-rimmed glasses peered down at a tray covered with dead butterflies. She seemed absolutely absorbed by her work. He almost felt guilty, interrupting her with anything so trivial as a murder investigation.

“Not at all, Mr. Kincaid. Thank you for agreeing to see me at home. It’s my day off.”

“Least I could do. And call me Ben.”

Christina inched forward. “How long have you been collecting butterflies?”

The doctor did not look up. “Well, I don’t exactly collect them. I admire them. Lepidoptery is a science, not a hobby.” She smiled slightly. “Of course, I’m just an amateur practitioner. But still.”

Ben gazed at the walls of her study, which were covered with framed and mounted butterflies. Dozens of them. The myriad sizes, shapes, and colors were truly beautiful, Ben thought, even if he was basically looking at dead insects. The mounting also seemed very professional, at least to his untrained eye. The good doctor knew what she was doing.

“It must be an enormous amount of work,” Christina commented.

“True. But I enjoy it.”

“How long did it take you to pick it up?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Years, I suppose. A little bit at a time.” She set down the stiletto she was using to position a butterfly on a cork-based board. “Of course, I’ve spent my whole life learning to identify the butterflies themselves. Several years learning to use the tools of the trade. How to catch them. How to use the stiletto and scalpel to mount them. It’s delicate work. Requires some real skill.”