"Some people just take longer than others to learn those important lessons in life, Leary. Now, back to Billy."

"It wasn't Ellen."

"I didn't say it was. But just for the sake of hypothesis, why couldn't it be her?"

"Because poison is sneaky. It's calculated. It's cold. If there are three adjectives no one in his right mind would use about Ellen, those are the ones."

"Even if the guy who was offed was still practicing conjugal batting practice without a license?"

"Even then. He's connected with the other murders somehow. But it's not through Ellen. I won't let it be through Ellen."

"He was a loser with a petty record and a gambling habit who couldn't hold down a job long enough to get a W-2. Which pretty much makes him a worthless waste of protoplasm."

Timmie fought the instinctive urge to defend. She closed her eyes so she couldn't see the musty piles of history in the room and answered him. "Careful with those some-all fallacies, Murphy. Maybe he saved a baby when he was young. Maybe he had dreams nobody else saw. Maybe he coulda been a contendah."

"Yeah. Right. Wanna hear about Victor now?"

Timmie reached around behind her and pulled out whatever had been jabbing her. A tin whistle, old and battered and rusty. Of course. "Snap military man," she answered, twirling the instrument through her fingers like a coin. "By-the-book cop, friend to all, especially those big-eyed blonds with mall hair and Lycra wardrobes down at the Rebel Yell."

"Up to his eyeballs in debt. Seems he liked those trucks with the oversized tires."

"And women."

"And powerboats."

"And women."

"Adds up."

"Did you know he was the only one asking questions about the shooting the other day?"

That got her a very satisfying pause that awarded her the ace. "Really."

Timmie smiled, just for herself. "The impression I get from the regular constabulary is that they're content that the perpetrator will go and sin no more. One of those 'a small town is like a family' things, ya know?"

Murphy considered that for a moment. "You're the one originally from the small town. What do you think?"

"I think I surprised the hell out of them when I told them Victor was still looking. Their suspect of choice for Victor's premeditated barbecue is Barbara."

"And you don't agree."

"No more than I agree that Ellen killed Billy."

"Dr. Adkins has just as much reason. I read about the court order for support. I know what she's making and what it's taking to raise her kids. One of them has Down syndrome and a heart defect, did you know?"

"Yep. But Barb worked her way through med school as a bouncer. You tell me. Would any bouncer you know be timid enough to drink a guy stupid and then set a fire?"

Another pause. A consideration. "You think she'd just club him like a baby seal?"

"I think she'd beat him till his eyes bled. If Barb wanted Victor to pay, she'd make him pay. She wouldn't make sure he missed the main event. Besides, if you keep looking, you'll find that that baby with Down syndrome was covered under Victor's health insurance. Which I'll bet isn't going to transfer now."

"All right, then, what?"

Timmie sighed, knowing just where she was heading. "We need to look at the hospital."

"I have been. Nothing stands out except that it's well run, it's planning to get bigger, and it's probably going to move its center of operations out to your neck of the woods, which is why Mr. Landry is there now."

Timmie looked at her chart. At her mess that had delusions of being a chart.

"Landry, who would lose a lot if something went wrong."

"He's a suit," Murphy protested. "Suits don't get personally involved. Besides, can you imagine anybody in Victor's neighborhood passing up the chance to tell everybody they knew that a black man had been at the scene of the crime a short time before the flames were spotted?"

"He could have sent somebody else."

"A stranger. I'll bet Victor didn't have many strangers at his house, either. Would anybody rat on Dr. Perfect, though?"

Timmie huffed impatiently. "You really are hung up on Alex as a suspect, aren't you?"

"I told you. He's too good to be true."

"Fine. Be that way. You look up Alex, and I'll check the death info at the hospital."

"And you'll reach Loch Lomond before me?"

"Play it any way you like. Just keep me informed."

"Okay. I'm going to see your father Tuesday."

Timmie opened her mouth to say something, only to shut it again. Let Murphy find out for himself. "That's nice."

"What?" Murphy demanded. "No warning? No 'Don't hurt that defenseless old man?'"

This time Timmie did laugh. "My father is many things, Murphy. Defenseless is not one of them. Did you know he was a Golden Gloves finalist?"

"Figures."

"Just remember that he telegraphs his roundhouse and you'll do fine."

"No other advice?"

"Don't make fun of the Cardinals or Ireland or you'll be picking your teeth off the floor."

Murphy snorted. "Baseball. It has to be baseball."

"You got a problem with baseball, Murphy?"

"You're not going to give me this 'metaphor for America' crap, are you?" he demanded. "I mean, for Christ's sake. It's a ball. It's a bat. It's boring."

"What'd your father take you to?" she retorted. "Ballet?"

"Opera."

Timmie snorted just as hard. "Oh, yeah, there's something on a par with hibernation. I've seen one opera. Woman dying of tuberculosis singing loud enough to wake hogs in Hawaii. Please, give me some credit. If that woman were dying of kidney stones or childbirth, then maybe all that noise'd make sense."

"You're a heathen, Leary."

"And you're a snob, Murphy. Try and sell my father the concept of opera. I dare you."

"Right after I prove Alex Raymond is behind those two murders."

"Can I put money on this? I could use the cash."

"And you think it's..."

Timmie sneaked another look at her chart. "I'll let you know."

Right after she figured out who'd benefit the most.

* * *

The first thing she did was find out who benefited the least. The next day, when she should have been calling trash-hauling places, she walked over to the hospital on the pretense of checking schedules. Then, when Angie McFadden left at exactly 11:45 for lunch, like she did every day of her supervisorial life, Timmie sneaked into her office and booted up her computer.

It took Timmie a full five minutes to pull down the hospital Morbidity and Mortality records, and another minute to print them out, all the while keeping a weather eye out for interruptions.

She needn't have worried. She had no more than hit the Print button when she heard a code called in trauma room one. Since the day-shift nurses tended to be the most placable, least aggressive of the staff, it was a sure bet they'd all be bunched up trying to figure out Dopamine doses for the foreseeable future.

So Timmie scanned numbers, names, and dates as they appeared on the serrated paper that unfolded from the machine and blessed the technology gods for the ability to collate information as it was gathered. Only a year's worth of names. Any more than that she'd have to pull from the county registrar's office. But what she found in Angie's computer was probably enough.