“Darcy Coleman?” I made a mental note of the name. “She was-”

“Jeff’s secretary. Before Vera Blaine. Darcy’s husband was in one of the armed services, can’t remember which one. He was stationed overseas. That’s when Darcy worked at the prison. When he came back and got transferred to some base in California, she quit and went with him. Jeff needed a secretary. He hired Vera.”

“And this Darcy, do you know what happened to her?”

He looked at me as if I’d just asked him to recite the alphabet backward, but fortunately, there was still twenty minutes to go on the countdown timer on the treadmill, and Fitzpatrick was bored. Talking to me apparently beat sweating all by his lonesome. “I get a Christmas card from Darcy every year. Her husband died a few years ago. Some sort of accident. She moved back to Ohio to be with family. She got her degree out in California. Last I heard from her, she was teaching down at Kent State University.”

I told myself not to forget this. Darcy Coleman sounded like someone I needed to talk to, but before I asked her the all-important question, I wanted to run it by Fitzpatrick and get his take. “Darcy believed Lamar was innocent. Why?”

“Why? Because she was devoted to him. It’s that simple. Not that I thought there was ever anything between them-”

“But you did think there was something between Vera Blaine and Lamar?”

Again, he had to think about it before he shook his head. “Jeff had better taste than that, and I don’t mean that in some sort of sexist way. But Helen, she was a pretty woman. She was soft-spoken and educated. She worked as a teacher. Vera was one of those flashy girls. You know, all hair and attitude.” He realized what he’d said and flinched, but I didn’t give him time to apologize. For one thing, I was way more than just hair and attitude, and if he knew me better, he’d know that. For another, I didn’t have the patience to put up with that kind of crap.

“So you don’t think they were having an affair?”

“I didn’t say that. I said Jeff and Helen seemed to be happy. And I was going to say that I don’t think Jeff was the type.”

“Which type is that?”

“You know, loose morals. Jeff was a big believer in doing the right things. He believed in the law.”

“And the law let him down.”

This time, Fitzpatrick’s smile was touched with pity. “You just don’t get it, do you?” he asked. “The law didn’t let Jeff down, he let it down. He betrayed everything he said he stood for. He killed that girl, as sure as I’m standing here. How else can you explain why his gun was used?”

“Someone stole it?”

“That’s what Jeff said. But it’s like all the other evidence against him. Too glaring to ignore. He was in Cleveland that night, you know.”

This was an important piece of information neither of the Lamars had bothered to mention. “Doing what?”

“Obviously killing Vera.”

I made a face. “Not what I meant. What did Lamar say he was doing in Cleveland that night?”

“The story Jeff told was that his father called in a panic, and he raced to Cleveland to check things out. The old man had Alzheimer’s, you see. Whatever it was that had the old man all upset, there was nothing wrong when Jeff got there. According to him, he stopped by his parents’ house for a bit, then headed back home.”

“And his parents confirmed the story?”

Yeah, I was pushing a little. That might have been why Fitzpatrick gave me a long, careful look. “Because of his condition, the elder Mr. Lamar wasn’t sure if Jeff had been there or not. As for Jeff’s mom, she’d had a stroke a year or so before. She was weak and spent a lot of time in bed. At the time Jeff says he was there, she was sound asleep. So you see, nobody can say if that part of Jeff’s story was true or not.”

Somebody could, and I was going to ask him about it the next time he popped into my life.

“You’re wasting your time if you think all these questions are going to get you anywhere.” Fitzpatrick’s comment brought me out of my thoughts. “The evidence against Jeff was too solid. He was guilty, and if Helen believes otherwise, too bad for her. She’s living a fairy tale. So are you if you listen to her. There wasn’t anyone who would have framed Jeff. Not anyone with anything much to gain from it.”

“You got his job.”

The look Fitzpatrick tossed me was so fierce, I took a step back. He slammed one finger into the button that stopped the treadmill so that he could glare at me more effectively. “Are you implying-”

“Nothing. I’m implying nothing. What I’m doing is looking for the truth.”

“It was more than twenty years ago. What difference does it make?” He poked the button one more time. The treadmill started up again, and Fitzpatrick started with it, walking each cautious step while he kept an eagle eye on me. “Why would anyone care anymore?”

That same afternoon before we wrapped up work for the day, Greer made a long, impassioned (and needless to say, boring) speech about long shadows, sunsets, and creating a moody atmosphere. Consequently, she’d scheduled filming to start later the next day. I would have rejoiced and planned on sleeping in late if not for the fact that I realized that the topsy-turvy schedule meant more work for me. Because of the terms of their probations, my team still had to report to the cemetery at the regular time, and Sammi, in particular, had a curfew. There were papers in the file that I was required to sign saying that if she stayed past a certain time, I was responsible for getting her home.

Which didn’t mean I couldn’t fudge things. Just a little.

Instead of our usual starting hour, I told my team to be at Monroe Street at ten, and with time on my hands and in need of a computer, I stopped at Garden View first thing in the morning. It was a good thing I did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have found the vase of flowers on my desk.

It wasn’t a showy bouquet, and yellows and creams really aren’t my colors, but the summery daisies, a couple white roses, and the poof of baby’s breath was charming in its own grocery-store-bought flowers kind of way. You were the best thing about that TV show, the card said. I hated even thinking that Quinn had watched the stupid show. I liked the idea that he was nice enough to send flowers because of it, though. I called to tell him both.

“You watched.” I didn’t need to identify myself, so it was the first thing I said after he’d answered with a brusque, “Harrison, Homicide.”

“I watched…?” I heard the click of computer keys while he did whatever it was he was doing when his phone rang. “The TV show? Yeah, sure I watched. I told you I was going to. I wasn’t home. I had to TiVo it. You were-”

“The best thing about the show.” I grinned into my phone. “That’s sweet, really.” And it really was, because of all the things Quinn is, sweet isn’t one of them.

“You were the best thing about the show.” He must have finished with his computer because I heard his chair squeak when he leaned back in it. “The whole thing was pretty hokey.”

“But I still rate flowers.”

“Uh, yeah.”

It was one of those tactful statements. Noncommital in a way only Quinn can be. I guess that’s why I thought of the incident the spring before when I made the mistake of thinking a huge bouquet of flowers that had been delivered to the office was from him when they were really from an FBI agent I’d met when I was in Chicago. History couldn’t be repeating itself.

Could it?

I grabbed the hand-written card again. There was no indication who’d sent the flowers or where they’d come from.

“You didn’t send flowers.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a secret admirer.” Quinn is the only guy I know who can say this sort of thing and not sound the least little bit jealous.

It would have been kind of nice if he did.

And I was getting way off track. Still holding the gift card, I flipped it over, but there was nothing written on the other side. I tossed the card on my desk.