"I don't have to answer that. And I resent the hell out of the implication. I loved Caryn."

"How much insurance?" Hunt repeated. "It's in the public record. If you make me look for it, I might get cranky. How much?"

"Two and a half million."

"Each?"

"Each."

"And when's the last time you saw Caryn?"

"Friday, here. No, Saturday morning. I ran into her at the hospital where we both had patients. We barely spoke."

"Because of the tension between both of you and Pinkert?" "No. Because we were busy looking at patients. I just told you that."

"Yes, you did. But it seems to me that if you're having all of these issues, you might have talked about them a little."

"We'd just done that the day before. She finished before me at the hospital on Saturday and left. Maybe to go see her lover. I don't know. But we didn't talk."

"All right. What about Sunday?"

"No, I didn't see her on Sunday."

"What did you do Sunday night?"

"I already told your partner…"

"That you were asleep. I'm talking earlier. Dinnertime. Where did you have dinner?"

"I don't know. I'd have to think." "Go ahead. Take your time."

Hunt pulled out his notebook again. Ostentatiously flipped pages, grabbed his pen. "Sunday," he said curtly, "three days ago."

McAfee rubbed his hands together. He forced a painful smile. "I'm just not remembering. I'm drawing a complete blank. Sunday, Sunday…"

"Sunday," Hunt said. "You were in bed by eleven. Maybe your wife would remember."

He shook his head. "We're divorced. I'm living by myself out on

Fillmore. I'm really drawing a blank here, though. Just a second. Do you mind if I make a phone call?"

"Not at all."

McAfee pulled his cell phone from his belt and said "Office" into it. A few seconds later, he started talking. "Marcia, hey, it's me. What's my calendar got me doing on Sunday, last Sunday? Sure, I'll wait a minute." That nervous come-and-go smile. Then, "Nothing? No, I'm sure I did something. I just can't… okay. Okay. Thanks then. Bye."

Clicking off, he shrugged dramatically. "I guess I'm going to have to think about it. Whatever it was, it wasn't too memorable."

"Doctor, didn't Inspector Juhle ask you about this?"

"Sure. I told him I had surgery scheduled Monday morning, so I'm sure I was in bed."

"He didn't ask about before you went to bed? What kind of car do you drive?"

"A Toyota Highlander."

"That's an SUV, right?"

"Yes."

"What color?"

"Black. Oh wait, Sunday, there it is! I had the kids." "You had the kids."

"My three kids. I'm remembering now. We went over to Til-den and swam in the lake, had a picnic. We bought a lunch at that deli in Montclair." McAfee wiped at the sheen that had developed on his forehead. "Yeah. Then we all went to Spenger's-you know, in Berkeley?-for dinner, and then I dropped them back with Jenny, their mom, it must have been about eight. Eight thirty. Just dark, anyway. God, how did I not remember that?"

"I don't know," Hunt said. "So you left the kids at eight thirty. And then what?"

"Then I went home. It had been a long day-you know, three young kids. And I watched a little TV, then went to bed. Probably around ten. Just what I told Inspector Juhle."

"Alone?"

"Yes, of course."

"Okay, Doctor, thanks a lot. You've been very helpful." And Hunt folded up his notepad, put it again in his back pocket and started up the long hallway on his way out.

Gina had started out typing on the computer in her office, thinking to take her client's writing advice and get in one page for the day and to have fun with it. It seemed as though she'd been writing for about fifteen minutes when the phone rang.

When she glanced down at the bottom of her screen and saw that she'd been lost in the work for almost two hours and had written five pages, she was so shocked that she didn't hear the next couple of telephone rings and finally had to grab hurriedly at the receiver, hoping she hadn't missed the call.

"This is Gina Roake."

"Ms. Roake. Inspector Juhle." Gina noted with a tingling sense of alarm that she'd ceased being Gina and Juhle was no longer Devin. Something about their relationship had shifted. "I wonder if you're with your client right now?"

"No. I'm at my office."

"Yes, ma'am. That's where I called you. And Mr. Gorman isn't with you?"

"No."

"Do you know where he is?"

"To my knowledge, he's still at his house. That's where I left him right after we were all there together this morning. What do you want to see him about?"

"I've got a warrant for his arrest."

Gina felt her head go light; something went out of her shoulders. "That's not possible. Since we saw him this morning?" "That's right."

"What's changed, Inspector? This doesn't make any sense."

"It makes sense to Gerry Abrams, and that's good enough for me." Juhle didn't have to explain anything to her at this point-they had their warrant. But he couldn't help gloating a little. "Did you know that your client and his wife's sister went up to the mountains together alone for a week?"

"Yes, but-"

"So now we've got the bad timing on the drive down from his cabin, the money, and another woman in the picture. I also just heard from Mrs. Robley, Bethany's mother. Did you know about your client threatening her if she didn't change her testimony?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Stuart didn't do that. He'd never do that."

"Well, Bethany says he did. His daughter delivered the message. It took Bethany a few sleepless nights to help her decide she had to tell her mother. Abrams says we've got enough. He wants him in custody, and I don't blame him."

"But… this is crazy, Inspector. I know Stuart didn't threaten anybody, much less a young girl. And he told me all about Debra. They weren't up there a week. It was five days. And they didn't… oh, never mind about that." Gina realized how ridiculous she sounded making excuses. "You're bringing him downtown?"

"As soon as I find him. You're sure you haven't heard from him?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"Because there's another thing you might want to consider."

"It won't change the fact that I haven't heard from him, but what's that?"

"When nobody answered the door at his house, I let myself in and found half a box of nine-millimeter ammunition out on his computer table. His dresser drawers were mostly cleaned out, and so was the bathroom cabinet. As soon as we're off the phone here, I'm going out with an APB that your client's on the run and should be considered armed and dangerous."

"Well, before you do that," Gina said, "have you tried his daughter? She's staying with Caryn's sister. Maybe he went over there to see them."

"Do you know where that is?" "No. I'm sorry." "No number?"

Gina had his home telephone number, and she'd reached him at the Travelodge yesterday, but-another failure-she hadn't bothered to get his cell number. She was badly out of practice, and her client was likely to suffer because of it. "The sister may be listed," she said. "The last name is Dryden."

"I'll look into that," Juhle said.

Another thought struck her, and Gina asked, "What about the reporters who were camped at his house? Didn't any of them see him leave?"

"There's a way out through the garage. A gate in the fence opens onto a walkway between a couple of houses out of the backyard."

"He was just avoiding the reporters," she said. "He'll be with his daughter, I'm sure."

"Well, I'll tell you what," Juhle said. His patience, thin to begin with, was clearly just about worn through. "Why don't we both keep looking? But if I don't hear from you or him by, say, five o'clock, I'm putting out the bulletin."