She looked him in the eye. “Yes, I do.”

Louis went to the kitchen and came back with a fresh beer.

“So where were you planning to start?” she asked as he took a drink.

“I already have,” Louis said, sitting on the sofa across from her. “I went and saw Bernhardt this morning.”

“A real prince, isn’t he. You get anything useful?”

“Not from him. But Duvall’s secretary told me she thought Duvall was getting ready to divorce his wife.”

“The secretary? She didn’t mention anything like that when I talked to her.”

“I saw Duvall’s lawyer to make sure, some guy named Brenner.”

“Scott or Brian?”

“There’s two?”

She nodded. “Brothers. They come from good lawyer stock. Their father was an attorney here for centuries and went into politics as a state senator. He died a while back. The sons stayed local, kept the family practice going. They’ve made a fortune in civil work, suing doctors, insurance carriers and pharmaceutical companies.”

“Brian Brenner confirmed that Duvall was getting ready to draw up papers,” Louis said. “But get this-he claims Candace didn’t know about the divorce.”

“Oh, right,” Susan said. She was frowning slightly, like she was perturbed she had missed all this.

“I found out something else,” Louis said. “Candace Duvall has a lover.”

Susan’s eyes shot up. “Who is he?”

“She. It’s a she.”

It took Susan a second before his comment registered.

“Fuck a duck,” she whispered. “How do you know?”

“I went to her house.”

“She let you in? How in the hell did you find out she has a lover? Did you see them?”

“Not exactly.”

“She told you?”

“No.”

Susan sat forward. “Well, how, damn it? This could be important stuff.”

Louis shifted slightly, playing with the Heineken label. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try,” Susan said dryly.

“I smelled it.”

She burst out laughing and fell back in the chair. She looked back at him. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No. It’s true. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about here.”

She picked up the beer bottle, still chuckling.

“Look, I saw a woman at the house,” Louis said. “She was out at the pool, topless.”

Susan arched an eyebrow.

“Well, if Candace does have something going on the side and if she knew she was about to be dumped, wouldn’t you say that could give her motive?” Louis asked.

“Motive is not a requirement to prove your prima facie case,” Susan said.

“But money is important to Candace and Florida is not a community property state,” Louis said. “Spencer could have divorced her and not given her a dime, right?”

“Theoretically,” Susan said slowly.

“I thought all you needed was to dig up something to prove reasonable doubt. This doesn’t do it?”

“Only if we can prove Candace has a lover. And last time I looked, smells were not admissible evidence, Kincaid.”

She was smiling. She was enjoying this.

It took a moment, but he finally smiled. “Okay, so I’ll find the topless babe.”

Susan was still smiling. “Kind of gives new meaning to the term ‘the other woman’ doesn’t it.”

“No shit.” Louis took a swig of beer.

Susan pulled out a business card and set it on the table. “Call me in the morning at my office and we’ll work out a way to pay you.”

“I’ll go see Cade tomorrow and set him straight,” Louis said.

She nodded, like she still wasn’t quite comfortable accepting his help. The rain stopped. The sudden silence was deafening.

“I gotta get home,” she said, slipping on her shoes.

Louis followed her out to the porch. A strong breeze swept in from the water, catching him full in the face. He turned to look at her. Her hair was a mess, plastered to her head, but her face looked clean and smooth.

“You sure you can do this?” she asked.

“What?”

“Work the other side of the fence?”

Louis hesitated.

“If you take this job,” Susan said, “you’ve got to operate under the assumption that Jack Cade is innocent.”

“He killed once before. Hard for me to forget that.”

“He served his time,” Susan said.

“Twenty years isn’t near enough justice.”

“That’s your cop brain talking, Kincaid. Cops have their own warped idea of justice and how it should be served up.”

“That’s because they see firsthand the damage these assholes do.”

“Cops seem to forget they don’t work for the prosecutor.”

Louis leaned against the door jamb. “If you believe that, why are you hiring me?

She cocked her head. “I’m not sure. I get the feeling you operate with a different kind of compass. One that keeps you from crossing certain lines.”

“You don’t know me, counselor.”

“I know what happened to you. I know why you’re not the most popular guy in O’Sullivan’s.”

Her eyes were steady on his, and he felt his chest tighten. He took a quick drink of beer to stay cool.

“Who told you?”

“A deputy I know. Then I went and did some research, read some old newspaper articles. I know that you killed a cop to protect a kid, a punk kid no one cared about.”

Louis looked past her, out at the swaying dark palms, lost in a wave of images he had thought were long buried. A blue uniform in the snow. A gun, cold in his hand.

“It was a long time ago,” Louis said.

“It cost you a lot.”

When he didn’t say anything, she asked, “Do you ever think what would’ve happened to you if you hadn’t done what you did?”

He didn’t like talking about this. He hadn’t talked to anyone about it, except Sam Dodie. But something made him answer.

“I don’t think I could’ve put on a uniform again, for one thing.”

“You haven’t.”

He shrugged. “I will, when the time’s right.”

Susan was silent.

Louis sighed, then looked at her. “Look, I’ve got to be honest here. I don’t like dirtbags like Cade. I don’t like lawyers either. But I’m a good investigator and that’s what you’ll get.”

“What about Kitty Jagger?”

“What about her?”

“Can you forget that Cade was convicted of killing her?”

Louis hesitated. “Let’s put it this way-I won’t let it get to me.”

“Then I think we can do business.”

Susan extended her hand. Louis shook it without returning her smile.

“Christ, Kincaid, you look like you’re making a deal with the devil,” Susan said.

Louis finished off his beer in one gulp. “Maybe I am, counselor.”

Louis sat in the hard wooden chair, waiting for Jack Cade. His gaze wandered around the visitation room. Standing near the back was a deputy, his green uniform crisp but his eyes limp with boredom. The florescent light flickered as the rattle of a fan suddenly filled the room. Louis could feel a spray of cold air from the vent above him.

He watched the plain black and white clock on the wall over the deputy’s head. The thin red second hand made its way slowly around the stained face.

To Louis’s left was a heavyset black woman in a brightly patterned cotton dress. She was speaking in a soft foreign accent to a weary-looking man on the other side of the dirty plexiglass. The man’s eyes locked briefly on Louis’s.

He had been behind bars himself once. It was brief, but he had never forgotten the soul-numbing feel of it. How did men stand it for decades? He looked away from the man’s gaze.

The back door opened and a deputy escorted Jack Cade in, shoving him down into the chair across from Louis. Cade didn’t even shrug off the deputy’s hand. Just took it, like he was used to it or it no longer mattered.

Cade was cuffed and he settled into the chair uneasily. His hair was hanging in eyes, and he tossed his head slightly to throw it back. He peered at Louis through the scarred plexiglass.

“I see Miz Outlaw took my advice,” Cade said.

“Let me tell you something, Cade. You have nothing to gain by pissing off Susan Outlaw or me.”