“Look,” Sheila said, finally, “I know the police have to follow all their leads. But I’m telling you-this is nonsense. I knew Erin, all through school. I was over at her house constantly. I knew her father-for that matter, I knew every member of the family. If there had been something going on, something… horrible, I would’ve known about it. There’s no way I could have not known about it.”

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, if you’re certain.” Mike paused. “Did you know the gun that killed Erin was coated with hyperthermal luminous paraffin?”

Baxter gave him a long look, but remained quiet.

“No,” Sheila said. “I don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s like invisible paint. Rubs off on anyone who fires the gun.”

“So?”

“So all we have to do is find the perp and put his hand under the luminal scanner. Unmistakable ID.”

“Wouldn’t it wear off after a few days?”

Mike shook his head. “Absent a special chemical bath, it wouldn’t wear off for a year.”

“So,” Sheila said, knotting her fingers together, “that stuff must’ve gotten all over Erin’s hand.”

“It was,” Mike said. “But my partner here thinks maybe… it got on someone else’s hand as well.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah. I think so, too.” He slapped his knees. “But if there is someone else, we’ll catch him. No one can stay clear of the police for long. Did you know we can listen in on phone calls now?”

Baxter’s eyebrows moved closer together, but she maintained her silence.

“We can get lists from the phone company. Tells us who called who and when.”

Sheila’s lips twitched. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. Times are changing.” He pushed himself out of his chair. Baxter followed. “Thank you for talking to us.”

“Sure.” She hesitated a moment. Mike got the distinct impression there was something else she wanted to say. “I know you’re just doing your jobs. But I do hope that eventually… soon… you’ll put this to rest. Put Erin to rest. She endured so much more than I could ever have handled. I don’t know how she did it. And I understand that, finally, she just couldn’t take it any longer. Thought she couldn’t go on.” Her eyes began to water. “I have to let her go now. I told you that before. I have to move on. But I can’t do that when you people keep coming around, asking questions, stirring it all up again.” She looked at Mike, tears beading in her eyes. “Please let it go. Please. Let her go.”

Miss Jackson’s was one of the oldest and most elite shopping emporiums in Tulsa. Technically a department store, it preferred to be thought of as a boutique (a three-story one), presumably to prevent comparisons to Sears and such. Nestled in the upscale Utica Square Mall, Miss Jackson’s was a bastion of well-heeled Tulsa society, the one place you could find Bruce Webber jewelry, Herendon china, Rolex watches, and a myriad of other lovely nonessential products linked by only one factor: they were all ungodly expensive.

Which explained why Ben never shopped at Miss Jackson’s. In fact, most of Utica Square was so far out of his reach he didn’t even like to visit. Well, maybe for dinner at the award-winning Polo Grill, ever since Christina got his name put on a plaque behind one of the booths as a birthday present. But shopping? Not hardly. Nonetheless, here he was on the first floor of Miss Jackson’s, watching the resident cosmetologist make over a matronly woman who clearly had nothing better to do with her day than, well, be made over.

“Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful!” the woman said, when the work was at last complete. “I can’t wait to show George. He’s waiting in the car.”

The cosmetologist blinked. “Your husband is waiting in the car?”

“My husband?” the woman said as she gathered her purchases. “George is my poodle.”

As soon as she was gone, Ben sidled up to the cosmetics counter. “Got anything in my color?”

It only took her a moment to place his face. “Ben.” The initial smile faded. “What brings you here?”

Ben extended his hands. “I was thinking maybe you could do my nails.”

“Oh, no.” She picked up a mascara pencil. “Let me do your eyes. That’s my specialty. And you have such long luscious eyelashes. Most women would kill for those.”

Ben grinned. “How have you been, Carrie?”

“I’ve been well, actually.” She paused. “And you know why?”

“Because you haven’t had to talk to me?”

“Very close.” She glanced over her shoulder, checking to see if anyone was watching them. “I suppose this is about Ray.”

“Of course.”

She pushed away from the counter. “I can’t talk to you, then.”

“Carrie, please.”

“Not about Ray, no.”

“Carrie, it’s important.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sure it is. It always is.”

“Do you know where Ray is right now?”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea, yeah.”

“He’s on death row.”

“He’s been on death row for seven years.”

“Well, he won’t be in less than two weeks.”

“Because-” The light dawned. She looked downward. “Oh.”

“That’s why I need to talk with you. We’ve only got one chance. And frankly, it’s not much of a chance. But we’ve got to take it.”

She turned away. “I still can’t talk to you.”

“If it’s because you’re working, I can come back-”

“No. It’s not that. I just… can’t talk to you.”

“Carrie, Ray’s life is literally on the line here. If we-”

“Are you listening to me, Ben?” The sudden increase in volume took them both by surprise. “I’m not saying I won’t talk to you.” Her eyes rose until they found his. “I’m saying you don’t want me to talk to you.”

“So what do you think?”

They had traveled in silence for the first ten minutes of the drive downtown, and Baxter thought that was long enough. “Do you believe Sheila?”

Mike didn’t mince words. “No.”

“You’re kidding.”

“She’s holding something back. Or flat out lying.”

“Really. Well, tell me this, super-sleuth. What possible motive could Sheila Knight have for lying about whether her deceased best friend was sexually molested?”

Mike thought a long time before answering. “When they were young, Erin and Sheila were nearly inseparable. They spent lots of time together. As Sheila said herself, she was a frequent guest at Erin’s house. She came over for play dates, study nights, birthday parties.” He paused. “And sleepovers.”

“So you did break up with Ray,” Ben said. “And you did it for a reason. A reason other than the fact that he’d been convicted of murder.”

After Carrie made some excuse to her supervisor, they’d left the store and begun strolling down the sidewalks of the outdoor mall. It was a gorgeous Tulsa day, and the bustling human and vehicular traffic gave them a feeling of anonymity. “It’s been so long.”

“But there was something else.”

“Yes. Even before he was arrested. After our engagement.”

Ben felt an aching in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like the direction this was taking. But he had to press on. “What happened?”

“It’s not good.”

Which might explain why Ray hadn’t wanted Ben to talk to her. “Still-”

“It won’t help your case.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“I’m telling you-”

“I know you’re trying to help me, Carrie. And trying to help Ray. Or not hurt him, at any rate. But if I don’t make a breakthrough soon, we’re going to go down in flames at the habeas hearing. And if I have to swallow some bad information to get to that breakthrough-so be it.”

Carrie looked away. Her eyes were fixed somewhere above them, in the clouds. “He hit me.”

Ben closed his eyes. “Ray?”

“Yeah. We were at a club. I don’t remember what the row was about. I think maybe I didn’t like the way he ogled the chick at the next table. Something real important like that. Anyway, we’d probably both had too much to drink. Tempers flared. We took it outside.” She shook her head. “That was my mistake. If we’d stayed inside the club, it never would’ve happened. But once we were alone in the parking lot…”