“Vaguely.”

“We were told at the door that Mrs. Shaw—Lucy—had died the same day, supposedly of natural causes.”

James listened, knowing no case with that name had been reported to Major Crime. “Okay,” he said.

“We suspect she was really killed because of what she knew about her husband.”

“Which is…?”

“That he may’ve recently killed a burglar named Don Kalfus, in Vermont, and also played a role in the disappearance of a boy in Brattleboro named Scooter Nelson, years ago, along with another, more recent one, in Boston. And therefore maybe others as well.”

“I remember Scooter Nelson. Cold from day one, no?”

“Like the Boston one, except that Scooter’s old cell phone was among the items found with Kalfus’s body. We think the phone might have originally come from Shaw.”

“Huh.”

“So,” Joe wrapped up, “this meeting, social or otherwise, is to let you know that, while we’ve got nothing in hand, we have high hopes for a break of some sort.”

James nodded formally. “In that case, I thank you for your courtesy. Where would the break come from, do you think?”

“Fingers crossed, from Shaw’s factotum or confederate, Seamus Kyle. We’re not sure what he is. Shaw’s got an alibi for the night his wife died, supposedly in her sleep at home, so I’m very curious about what Mr. Kyle might be able to tell us about that.”

“Playing devil’s advocate,” James countered, “how do you know Lucy didn’t die of a heart attack or whatever?”

Joe allowed for a small conspiratorial smile. “We used our own ME to do the autopsy at DHMC—Beverly Hillstrom. The big reveal was that she didn’t find an obvious cause of death. Our whole theory is hanging on a single tiny piece of plastic bag found under one of Lucy’s fingernails—along with a really high blood alcohol content. It opens the possibility that this death could’ve been caused by the administration of an inert gas, pumped into a bag covering Lucy’s head.”

“Could’ve, but not necessarily,” James restated, although with no challenging inflection. He was used to theoretical spitballing. It helped avoid tunnel vision, sometimes, no matter how weird.

“Right.”

“Did you confront Shaw with the cell phone?” James asked. “If he’s been doing this for decades, and Lucy was in the know, why did he knock her off now?”

“No to the first question, and you’re in good company with the second,” Joe replied. “If we’re right about this, somehow a trigger was squeezed—just before we could split them up and question them.”

Hendrix was visibly underwhelmed. “From being a little pissed off at first, I’m now really happy you didn’t ask for our help. Not to be disrespectful, but a little piece of plastic on an otherwise sick older woman? An ironclad alibi for a possible killer who’s never showed any violence toward his wife in the past? That is correct, isn’t it? Reading between the lines?”

“It is,” Joe admitted.

“And you’re hoping the lawn boy, or whatever he is, is going to hand it over like the ending of a one-hour cop show? Good luck.”