“I may have asked you this before, but why have you never married?” he asked.

“The job,” she said. “My firm frowns on marriages, unless they’re intramural. Marrying outside the profession almost guarantees divorce, often an ugly one, and the firm doesn’t like that sort of publicity.”

“None of the gentlemen of your trade ever appealed to you?”

“Oh, there was a time,” she said. “A couple of years ago one of my colleagues and I got very serious, but not as serious as I thought. When he was offered a posting abroad, he accepted with alacrity, much to my annoyance. I broke it off immediately. He made the wrong choice.”

“Maybe it wasn’t so wrong after all, if he could leave you so readily.”

“I entirely agree,” she said, “and I got over it. You’re my first, ah, liaison since then, which is why I was so eager to get you into bed last night. I hope I didn’t put you off with my assertiveness.”

“Did I seem put off?”

She laughed. “No, I don’t think you did. You were . . . very interesting.”

“And what, exactly, does that mean?”

“It means exactly that. Don’t worry, it’s a very considerable compliment.”

They finished their main course and had dessert. When they were served coffee, Stone had entirely forgotten about Herbie Fisher. Then his cell phone vibrated. He looked at his watch: just after eleven o’clock. “Do you mind?” he asked, holding up the phone.

“Go ahead,” she said.

Stone opened the phone. “Yes?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Herbie said, sounding very agitated.

“What?”

“The goddamned skylight must have been old or something.”

“What the hell happened?” Stone demanded, trying to keep his voice down.

“It collapsed,” Herbie said. “I fell right on top of both of them.”

“You fell into . . .” Stone stopped and looked around. “Where are you?”

“It’s not my fault the guy’s dead,” Herbie said.

“He’s what?”

“You’ve got to come down here,” Herbie said.

“Down where?”

“I’m being arraigned in night court.”

“Listen to me very carefully,” Stone said. “Don’t say a word to anybody—not to a cop, not to an ADA, not to anybody. Do you understand?”

“Sure, I understand. Do you think I’m stupid?”

“I’ll be there inside of an hour, and you keep your mouth shut,” Stone said. He snapped the phone shut.

“Somebody get a thumb in his eye looking through a keyhole?” Carpenter asked.

“Something like that,” Stone said, waving for the check.

“You don’t look so good,” Carpenter said.

“I’m not so good,” Stone said, feeling as if he might toss his dinner back onto the table. “This is very, very bad.”

He signed the check, grabbed Carpenter, and headed for the door.

“Where are we going?” Carpenter asked.

“I’m going to night court; you’re going home.”

“Oh, no I’m not. I want to see night court.”