“Are you suggesting that you’ve listened to the nine-one-one recording? Is that what you’re telling me?” I ask him next.

CHAPTER 7

THE WAITER HAS RETURNED with a bottle of still water, and we’re quiet as he fills our glasses.

We say nothing unless it’s related to appetizers and how lovely it is to have the dining room all to ourselves for as long as it lasts. Benton always gets the crab cakes with grilled scallions and pickled banana peppers, and I usually indulge in the lobster bisque with lemon brown butter.

But it’s too hot for either, we decide, and instead we pick the Mediterranean salad with heirloom tomatoes and crumbled feta. I ask if we can substitute purple onions for sweet ones and have extra dressing on the side with crushed red pepper to add a kick. I order another bottle of water, this one sparkling with lots of lime. The instant the waiter has moved on I return to what Benton was saying.

“What do you mean you wouldn’t bother?” I ask. “Your wife is the subject of a police complaint and you wouldn’t bother to pay attention? Even if it’s chickenshit?”

“This wouldn’t be the first time unstable people have spotted you in public and called the police and the media.” Benton turns another page in the wine list, and the light catches his gold signet ring engraved with his family coat of arms. “You’re recognizable, Kay, and people associate you with sensational crimes and disasters. I could tell you otherwise but it wouldn’t be the truth. So yes.” He glances up at me. “I might not have paid attention or as close attention as I should have.”

“You’ve listened to the recording.” I won’t let him evade the question. “I’m going to keep asking.”

He silently reads the wine list, and I can see his eyes moving up and down a page of white Burgundies. I’m not sure why. The most he can have is a glass. In a while he has to drive, and I think of Dorothy and get only more adamant with Benton. I can’t seem to help it.

“I want to hear the recording,” I tell him. “Do you have a copy? And I’m not interested in the transcript. I want to hear the bastard lie about me.”

“Marino should play it for you,” Benton says as he turns pages back and forth between different types of wines. “I assume he’s investigating your egregious disturbance of the peace just like any lead detective worth his salt would spend his time doing.”