“Of course, your relationship with me is equally intriguing. We seem to get along fine, then suddenly you claim that I am the worst boss in Christendom. It makes me wonder if Jason Story is the only person talking to reporters. It’s amazing, this persona I suddenly have. This image. The tyrant. The neurotic. The person who is somehow responsible for the violent death of my morgue supervision. Susan and I had a very cordial working relationship, and until recently, Ben, so did we. But it’s my word against yours, especially now, since any scrap of paper that might document what I’m saying has conveniently disappeared. And my prediction is that you have already leaked to someone that important personnel files and memoranda have vanished from the office, thus implying that I’m the one who took them.

When files and memos disappear, you can say anything you want about the contents of them, can’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ben Stevens said. He moved away from the doorway but did not come close to the desk or take a chair. His face was flushed, his eyes hard with hate. “I don’t know anything about any missing files or memos, but if it’s true, then I can’t hide that fact from the authorities, just as I can’t hide the fact that I happened to stop by the office tonight to get something I’d left and discovered you rummaging through my desk.”

“What did you leave, Ben?”

“I don’t have to answer your questions.”

“Actually, you do. You work for me, and if you come into the building late at night and I happen to know about it, I have the right to question you.”

“Go ahead and put me on leave. Try to fire me. That will certainly look good for you right now.”

“You are a squid, Ben.”

His eyes widened and he wet his lips.

“Your efforts to sabotage me are just a lot of ink you’re squirting into the water because you’re panicking and want to divert attention from yourself. Did you kill Susan?”

“You’re losing your goddam mind.” His voice shook.

“She left her house early afternoon on Christmas Day, allegedly to meet a girlfriend. In truth, the person she was meeting was you, wasn’t it? Did you know that when she was dead in her car, her coat collar and scarf smelled like men’s cologne, like the Red cologne you keep in your desk so you can freshen up before you hit the bars in the Slip after work?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Who was paying her?”

“Maybe you were.”