“Perfectly ordinary, I can assure you,” Ben murmured.

“Hey, I saw that motion you filed to transfer the case to another judge. What’s the deal?” He jabbed Ben in the ribs. “Don’t you have confidence in dear old Judge Derek?”

“I have confidence in his ability to railroad anyone he thinks is remotely connected to me.”

“Tsk, tsk. Such shocking lack of faith in the judicial system.” Weintraub tilted his head toward Christina. “So does that mean it’s you and me in there?”

“I guess so. Is that a problem?”

“Not for me. I’d rather have you on the other side anyway.”

Christina’s eyes narrowed. “Because you enjoy the challenge of going up against a superior legal mind?”

He smiled. “Because I love the way your cheeks flush when you get all worked up.”

Mike and Baxter sat on a sofa on the side of the cabin’s bedroom while the crime-lab technicians went about their appointed tasks. There was a window just behind them that afforded a breathtaking view of Grand Lake, still and tranquil. But neither of them looked. Mike didn’t want to see anything beautiful, anything that would stand in such stark contrast to the grisly scene before him. Which he also couldn’t look at.

And he wasn’t entirely comfortable looking at Sergeant Baxter, either.

One of the crime-lab tekkies, an emaciated man named Crowley, came over to Mike to report. “We’re just about through, sir. Still got to take some photos and video. But the surfaces have been pretty well scoured.”

“Find anything?”

“Not really, sir.”

“Fingerprints?”

“Just hers.”

“Including the weapon?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Blood?”

“Only hers. Lots of it.”

“What about the gun?”

“Already checked. It’s registered to her.”

Mike stretched. For some reason, his trench coat felt very uncomfortable all of the sudden. “What about the rest of the cabin?”

“We’ve found the usual stuff. Hair and fiber. Most of them match her or clothes in her suitcase. A few still unmatched, but nothing suspicious.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Crowley.”

“Of course, sir.” Crowley skittered away.

Leaving Mike and Baxter alone again.

“I guess you know,” he said, after a long while, “what this is going to do to our records. Our careers.”

“What?” Baxter said, not turning her head. “The fact that we let a suspect we were surveilling die right under our noses?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Doesn’t seem like the stuff commendations are made of.”

“The only thing that’s going to piss off Blackwell more than this screwup is the fact that we’ve already wasted so much time on this case.”

“Morelli, don’t start. There’s no way in hell this was a suicide.”

“It sure looks like one.”

“There’s no note.”

“That’s not even unusual.”

“The gun was in her hand. Again.”

“True. But she was dressed this time, so don’t go down that road.”

“Sheila Knight had no reason to kill herself.”

“She may have had the same reason Erin Faulkner did. And dealt with it in exactly the same way.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No. I don’t.” He pushed himself to his feet. Their eyes met briefly, then both hurriedly looked away. “I don’t know anything, right at the moment.”

“You must admit, it’s a hell of a coincidence.”

“That’s true,” Mike acknowledged. “And I don’t believe in coincidences. But what reason would anyone have to rub out Erin Faulkner-and her best friend?”

“That’s what we have to find out, Morelli. Because if we could answer that question-we could blow this whole case wide open.”

“Your honor,” Christina began, “if you’ll examine the attachments to our most recent brief, you’ll find a series of affidavits relating to this case.”

“If it please the court,” Weintraub said, rising to his feet, “the state objects to the use of affidavits. I can’t cross-examine an affidavit.”

Christina had seen this coming. “Your honor, I’m aware of the evidentiary problem. But given the exigencies of time, I thought it best-”

“Time pressures don’t allow her to trample the state’s rights,” Weintraub cut in.

“If the court would like to extend the execution date,” Christina answered, “we can have a full-blown hearing and call witnesses and do the whole dog and pony show. But with the execution date not even a week away, there was only so much we could do. I would implore the court in the name of decency-”

Derek waved his hand. “Relax, counsel. No lecture necessary. I’ll allow it. For the limited purposes of this hearing.”

“Thank you, your honor.”

She watched as Judge Derek fumbled with his stylish bifocals, ran a hand through his all-too-handsome graying temples, then rifled the pages of the brief. “Attachment A?”

“That’s the one, your honor.”

Derek grunted. “This better be good.”

She couldn’t resist. “It will be.”

Derek peered at her through his half lenses, gave her a few moments of visual sternness, then returned his attention to the brief.

A narrow escape, Christina realized. Her legs were tingling. Did that mean her cheeks were flushing, too? Damn Weintraub-was that remark some strategic mind game, or was she really blotching up like a ink blotter?

“Exhibit One,” she began, “is an affidavit from Michael Palmetto, the head of the organ clinic where Erin Faulkner worked before her death. He reports numerous instances of strange and inconsistent behavior on her part. Exhibit Two is from Dr. Hayley Bennett, a psychiatrist.”

“I’m familiar with Dr. Bennett,” Derek murmured. “She’s appeared in this court in criminal matters on several occasions.”

“She reports several instances of erratic behavior by Erin Faulkner-and her belief that Erin was hiding some secret.”

“That may be, but-”

“The third affidavit is from a man Erin dated, James Wesley. He, too, reports strange behavior on her part. The fourth is from a doctor-of sorts-Erin was seeing. Dr. Jamison Harris.”

“He’s the candle guy?”

“Uh… yes.” Christina paused. If Derek knew that, then Derek had actually read the brief before the hearing-quite out of character for him. Why was he so interested? Was it because this was a death-penalty case? Was it because Ben’s name was on the pleadings? Or was there something more? “We also have affidavits from several people connected to Erin’s father, Frank Faulkner. Two from his coworkers at the chemical plant. Dr. Conrad Reynolds and Chris Hubbard.”

Derek closed the brief and removed his glasses. “Counsel… what is the point of all this?”

Christina braced herself. Here we go. “The point, your honor, is to make it clear that there are a lot of unanswered questions regarding the Faulkner deaths.”

“That could probably be said in every murder case, Ms. McCall.”

“Your honor, we can’t in good conscience allow an execution to take place when we don’t know what really happened.”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “Counsel… in every criminal case, there will be uncertainties. Because ultimately, other people are unknowable. In any true sense. Are you familiar with Jean-Paul Sartre?”

He pronounced the name Gene Paul Sar-ter. Ben suppressed a grin. For all his vaunted Yale education, his facility with existentialists hadn’t improved over the years.

“Yes, your honor,” Christina replied. “I’m very fond of the French language.”

Yes, Ben thought, but is the French language fond of her?

Derek continued. “Sartre said, ‘Hell is other people.’ Do you know why he said that, counsel?”

Because he’d had dinner with you? “No, your honor.”

“Because ultimately, no matter how much time we spend with someone, no matter how hard we try to get to know them-we can never really know them. It’s sad, yes-but very true. Take it from the voice of experience.”

Take it from the voice, Ben thought, of a man who’s split up and reconciled with his wife about a dozen times.