“Kind of a tight squeeze in here,” he said, smiling. “Not that I have a problem with it. But some folks complain.”

“I’m fine,” I replied.

“Sollie just went out for a soda. He’ll be back in a few. Can we get you anything? Coffee?”

I shook my head, wondering at the change in his attitude. Tom had obviously worked some magic here. I had no doubt that some higher-up had told Detective Keegan to be on his best behavior with me; I couldn’t have asked for a warmer reception.

Keegan grabbed a file from the piles on his desk and skimmed through it for a moment before looking at me.

“Okay,” he said, lowering his voice, “we got some of the lab results here, though not everything.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t know who you know, Ms. Webber, but I’ve been given explicit instructions to be as forthcoming as I can within the bounds of the law.”

“I know.”

“That’s why I’m gonna leave this file right here and go get myself something to drink. Understand?”

“I understand.”

Then he stood and walked out, leaving me to flip the file around and gather what information I could.

I skimmed the updated coroner’s report, noting that the lack of a struggle had been confirmed. The needle had gone straight in and come straight out; there were no other significant bruises or trauma. The injection site had been the back of his left arm. Wendell’s fingernails had been clean and revealed no skin scrapings. Under “Other Findings” there was a long list of abnormalities, including “fistula in upper right arm,” “severe ischemia of the toes and feet,” and “nephritis.” Though I felt certain these were diabetes-related conditions, I pulled a pen and notepad from my purse and wrote it all down.

Fibers collected in the office and bathroom were numerous, though mostly unidentified. There was one hair found on Wendell’s arm under his shirt, near the injection site, described as “Blond, chemically compromised.” I thought immediately of Alan Bennet, who seemed just vain enough to have his hair colored, just blond enough to hint at foil highlights.

There wasn’t much more information than that, so I glanced toward the door and began flipping back through the other things in the file. I stopped near the back at a long list of suspects. Many of the names had alibis penciled in next to them.

I looked for the names I was interested in, jotting them all down as quickly as possible:

Wife—shopping at Desmond’s dept. store. Confirmed by salesclerk and cook.

Son—working alone in office. Unconfirmed.

Daughter—working alone in office. Unconfirmed.

Secretary—working alone in office, on phone. Confirmed by telephone records—see list and confirm at other end.

Bennet—running errands, then back in office. Errands unconfirmed. Return to office at approx. 11:15 conf. by receptionist.

Cook—shopping with Mrs. Smythe.

Maid—shopping at grocery store, confirmed by checker.