It was Shaw’s choice now to either leap to his feet and bluster as before or take a breath and begin conversing.

He opted for the second, repositioning himself as if ready to spring, and saying between clenched teeth, “My wife just died, you assholes. The woman I loved and shared a life with. And you’re operating on her because why? You think I killed her or something?”

“Maybe,” Willy said agreeably.

Shaw’s mouth fell open.

“Where were you when she died?” Joe asked. “We heard you weren’t at home last night.”

“I was in Boston.”

“Why?”

“None of your goddamned business.”

“Really?” Willy asked, almost smiling.

“I was seeing my money guy,” Shaw conceded. “Fitch, Mayhew. Call and ask if you don’t believe me.” He pulled out his wallet, extracted a business card, and threw it down onto the small table in their midst. “Keep it.”

“Meeting them at night?” Willy asked, picking it up.

“No, you snarky bastard. But I had dinner with Fitch last night.” Shaw clenched his fist. “Fuck. What the hell. Now you’ll tell me I drove up afterward and killed her in her sleep.”

“Did you?”

He collapsed back into his chair, sighing deeply. “Christ almighty. Why bother?” He rallied and sat up again, asking, “Okay, then why? Tell me that? If you really think I killed Lucy, then why? You must have a reason. Money? Good luck. She just spent the damn stuff. That thing at the strip club the other two morons were asking about? Lucy couldn’t have cared less about my staring at girls. It wasn’t that kind of marriage.”

“What kind was it?” Joe asked.

Shaw scowled. “Private. That kind.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you’d been burgled?” Joe asked as if randomly.

“What’re you talking about?”

Willy chuckled.

“The silver ashtray,” Joe replied. “Your anniversary gift to Lucy? Number fifteen?”

Shaw pressed his lips together before blurting out, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We’ve got it in evidence.”

“So what? I haven’t seen that thing in years. That’s partly what landed her in this place.” He waved his hand. “She used to smoke.”

“So you bought her an ashtray instead of NicoDerm patches?” Willy asked. “Feelin’ and the love.”

Joe gave the man that much. He didn’t fly off his chair in a homicidal rage.

“We tracked Don Kalfus when he was driving your car,” he explained, “right up to your front door, after he’d stolen it at the strip club. He was clearly casing your place, having found out where you live from the registration.”

Shaw was dismissive. “Well, he didn’t do it, if that’s what he was planning. We didn’t have any break-in.”

“Then how come the ashtray and matching lighter?” Joe asked.

Shaw spread his hands. “How the hell am I supposed to know? Lucy probably pawned them. She did finally quit. She didn’t need them anymore. Maybe they gave her bad memories. Maybe she wanted the money and didn’t want to admit it. I have no idea. That’s your job. Instead of slicing her up, you should be finding that out.”