Then Traub's other hand emerged with a piece of paper.

Neither of them moved for a moment.

“I don't know about her but the suspense is killing me. Is she going to read it? Is she going to make a paper airplane?”

Rune took the sheet of paper and read:

Dear Mr. Traub:

With intense, heartfelt gratitude, we acknowledge receipt of your check in the amount of $400,000. Your generosity will go very far in supporting research to find a cure for this terrible affliction and in easing the burden of those whose lives have been affected by it...

The letter was signed by the director of the New York AIDS Coalition.

“Oh.”

Traub dropped the gun in the drawer. “ 'Oh,' she says. 'Oh...' Well, you know, there's still a hundred of the insurance proceeds unaccounted for. But since I personally take home a hundred fifty a year cash, off the books, you can probably deduce that I ain't gonna kill my biggest star to pick up fucking chicken feed. Oh, by the way, my personal property insurance has a hundred thousand deductible so with the repairs to the floor downstairs this whole thing was a wash for me.”

“I'm sorry.”

He tossed the tear gas to her. “I think it's time for our little detective to leave. Let's give her a big round of applause.”

Throughout the interview Arthur Tucker never quite got over the shock that two police officers were questioning him as a suspect in a murder case.

They were polite as they asked him questions about Shelly Lowe. They tried to make it seem casual but there was something they were trying to get at. Something they knew.

What? he thought desperately. He felt vulnerable — as if they could see into his mind but he had no clue as to what they were thinking.

One of the officers glanced up at Tucker's medals. “You in the service, sir?”

“I was in the Rangers.”

“You ever do demolition?”

He shrugged. “We all knew how to use bangalore torpedoes, grenades. But that was forty years ago... Are you suggesting that I had anything to do with those bombs?”

“Nosir. We're just looking into what happened to Ms. Lowe.”

Tucker looked perplexed, confused, and asked them about the Sword of Jesus.

They continued to be evasive.

But it was more than evasion. They were grasping at straws and even then they came away holding nothing at all. He wondered how on earth they had come to think he might be the killer. He supposed that Shelly had written his name in a Day-Timer or a wall calendar. Maybe she kept a diary — he told all of his students to keep one — and she'd written about one of their lessons. Maybe about one of their fights.

That could have brought them here.

But as he thought about Shelly, his mind wandered, and with his strong will and talents at concentration he brought his attention back to the policemen.