Hunt felt the blood drain out of his face. Because immediately the rumor rang true. How had it not occurred to him? Palmer, of course-the "other guy" Andrea had been seeing for two years before Fairchild, who didn't want a serious relationship, who had dumped her, who worked with the CCPOA. And now, who had been murdered.

Wes Farrell harrumphed. "It's hearsay, Dev."

"Well, yes, it is." Juhle wasn't here to fight anybody. "But we're not in trial, and this is the kind of hearsay that makes us feel like it would be a good idea to question the object of it if at all possible."

"Which, right now, it isn't," Hunt said.

"So it seems," Juhle said.

"Wait a minute," Amy said. "You're saying you want to ask Andrea about George Palmer's death?"

"Right."

"As a suspect? That's ridiculous."

Juhle shrugged.

Farrell was unconvinced. "It's just a rumor."

"Granted," Juhle said. "But we know about when Palmer started up with Staci Rosalier. The other victim. About six months ago. Right about when Donolan began. Which, according to Tombo, is when the judge broke it off with Andrea."

Shiu amplified. "Tombo's opinion was that she wasn't over him."

"Yeah, but Dev," Hunt said, "they broke up six months ago. And then she kills them both last Monday?"

"I'm sorry," Farrell said. "There's just no way."

"No? Were you with her, Wes, on Monday night?"

"No, but…"

Juhle looked from Wu to Hunt. "Either of you? Okay, then. Here's what we know. She did the broadcast with her TV people at four thirty and another one at five, after which her limo dropped her at her firm at five thirty or so. She worked for an hour and a half and signed out of the building at seven-oh-eight."

"And then what?" Farrell asked.

A shrug. "Then we don't know. It's why I wanted to talk to all of you. Tombo told me you guys all were out with her the next night, Wyatt's little anniversary soiree, which I now so wish I'd attended. Maybe she mentioned something about what she'd done the night before to one of you."

"This is insane," Wu said. "I know she saw the judge every week or two with the union stuff they did. In fact, she'd just…" Suddenly, Wu stopped.

Juhle didn't miss the slip. "I'm listening, Amy."

Wu looked for help from Hunt to Farrell, but neither could offer anything. "Well, she had seen him having lunch that Monday."

"And how," Shiu asked, "do you know she did that, ma'am?"

"She told me at Sam's. She couldn't believe it about him having been shot. She'd just seen him at MoMo's the day before."

Juhle's eyebrows went up. "MoMo's is where Staci Rosalier waited lunch tables."

"Wait up, Dev," Hunt put in. "So your theory is that six months after Andrea and Palmer broke up, she sees him and his new girlfriend at MoMo's and out of the blue succumbs to this mad fit of jealousy and decides she has to kill them both that night? At his house? Doesn't that seem a little out there?"

"Absolutely. I don't pretend to have the answers, just questions. The primary one being where is she? But add that to her apparent motive…" He shrugged. "I don't know how out there it is anymore."

Hunt was out on Sutter Street alone with Juhle, who'd hung back while Shiu went to get the car. "So you want to know what she was doing Monday night?"

"Yeah. First, though, same as you, I'd just like to find her." His face set hard, he went on. "And it's funny, we heard from Tombo that your very own self left your cigar place hot on her tail Tuesday night. You catch her?"

"She was drunk, Dev," Hunt said. "I took her back to my place to dry out. Then brought her back home around noon."

"That would be yesterday, the last anybody's seen her." Juhle paused. "You fuck her?"

The question, completely unexpected, left Hunt tongue-tied just long enough.

So that Juhle said, "Shit. You did."

"I never said that."

Juhle had no patience for it. "Yeah, you did. Give me a break. And now you're also the last one we know to have seen her."

"And now I'm a suspect, too?"

"It's not as funny as you seem to think. I'm not kidding. It's going to occur to Shiu, too, I guarantee you."

"And then what? He's going to arrest me?"

"Don't push it, Wyatt. Don't give him an excuse. He might." After a second, Juhle said, "So Parisi's the one who stood you up last night." It wasn't a question. He had figured it out, and now took a step forward into Hunt's personal space. He lowered his voice to a whisper laced with anger. "Maybe you remember last night when you told me she didn't do much work herself involving the prison guards' union? Except for meeting with my murder victim every week or so? Did you know she was sleeping with him, too?"

"I didn't know that. I never suspected that."

"Good for you. But the rest of it, you just didn't think it mattered?"

Hunt's guts roiled and he felt the flush rise in his face. He'd asked for this. "I know it matters, Dev. What can I say? I should have told you. I fucked up. I'm sorry."

"Damn straight you fucked up."

"Right. I know. She was hurting. She was a mess. I guess I was trying to protect her."

"From me?"

"From everything. But you, too. Right."

"You know what? That really pisses me off. If she's innocent, she doesn't need protection from me or anybody else. You get that?"

"Yeah, but if any of this gets out, it won't matter if she killed those two or not. If she's been having an affair with the judge on her biggest case, she's toast."

"Not my problem. Not yours, either. I need to find her."

"So do I."

"If you do, I need to see her."

"Dev, I won't hide her from you."

"No? Let's hope not. But while we're on this, what else haven't you told me?"

Hunt said nothing.

"No hurry, Wyatt. I've got all day."

"You'll find this out, anyway, when you get to looking in her house," Hunt said at last. "She's got a gun collection in her dining room."

"Swell. Terrific. Fucking peachy."

"She…" He stopped. There was no point in arguing with Juhle about this or trying to explain it away. It was what it was.

"Anything else," Juhle asked, "that you know about her that might matter?"

After another minute, Hunt said, "Nothing." Then: "No. Wait." He considered whether it was, in fact, something and at last he spoke. "I don't think she stood me up."

Juhle moved away a half step, squinted with still-angry eyes. "I'm so happy for you. What the hell does that mean?"

"She's the one who brought up the idea of us going to dinner. She said she'd call me one way or the other. She doesn't do that if she's planning to light out of town. She would have called. So whatever's up with her, it wasn't her choice. It happened to her."

"So she's a victim? Like every single convict in every jail in the world."

"I'm not saying she sees herself as a victim, Dev. I'm saying she might be one. That's my truest call."

The cop backed up another step. "Your truest one? Okay, I'll take it into consideration." Shiu pulled the car up to the curb and gave a polite little honk. Juhle turned, got to the door and opened it, then turned back. "But I'll tell you what, Wyatt. Your truest call meant a hell of a lot more to me yesterday than it does today."

The dressing-down left Hunt literally shaking. Or maybe it was the information-still just a rumor, he reminded himself, although he intuitively believed it-about Andrea and Palmer. He stood out on the sidewalk in front of the Freeman building staring after Shiu and Juhle's car until long after it had turned a corner and disappeared.

When he came back to himself, he returned to the main doors of Freeman, Farrell, Hardy & Roake, rang the after-hours bell, and waited for the click that unlocked the door. In a minute, he was up the stairs, knocking on Farrell's door, letting himself in. Wu was sitting on the couch, talking on the telephone. Farrell had undone his tie and taken off his dress shirt, leaving him in today's T-shirt, which read, SEEN ONE SHOPPING CENTER, SEEN A MALL. Farrell was standing behind the easy chairs and had just shot a Nerf ball toward the basket. Neither attorney was facing the television set, which was back on, albeit silent. On the screen was a picture of Andrea Parisi. Hunt ran over and hit the sound.