No, Gabriel hadn’t paid her to chat with him, though Anne had been companionship. He wondered now what Anne had thought of their relationship. It hadn’t seemed crass or dominating to him at the time, but maybe she had felt that way. Maybe she had despised him, only saw him as a means to an end. He would never know. “If he’d consumed enough alcohol and opium I doubt sex was first and foremost on his mind.”

The bigger question in Gabriel’s mind was why there was no evidence of intercourse when he himself had walked in on Anne with another man. He hadn’t been drunk yet, though he had been distracted by withdrawal symptoms. But he had seen a man overtop of Anne, thrusting in perfect parody of sex. He was absolutely 100 percent certain of that. So why hadn’t the coroner found evidence of that?

He also wanted to know who the man was, because aside from himself, the stranger was probably the most likely suspect. But in all witness statements, there was no mention of him. On the witness stand, Madame Conti had denied Anne had seen a client before him, even when Gabriel’s attorney had asked her point-blank. Which meant she had been lying. But why?

“It’s hard for me to believe that sex is ever far from a man’s mind.”

Gabriel gave a laugh. “Yeah, well, when you’re making love to the bottle, a woman isn’t always necessary.”

Her face fell. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make light of alcohol addiction.”

“It’s fine, Sara. You don’t need to walk on eggshells with me. I’m not overly sensitive.” Maybe that was true, maybe it wasn’t. Sometimes he did feel hypersensitive, but not with her. Maybe because she didn’t seem like the type to insult him intentionally, nor was she a know-it-all. She had too many of her own issues to pass judgment on his.

“Can I ask how long you’ve been sober? You seem like you’re handling it really well.”

He couldn’t tell her it had been seventy-five years without her doubting his sanity, so he said, “Seven and a half years.”

She looked impressed. “Wow. That’s fabulous.” She bit her lip and glanced down at the stack of papers in her lap. Then she met his eye. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.” Even as he said yes, he knew he shouldn’t encourage intimacy with Sara, but he wanted it. He knew he did, and he was encouraging it, fostering it. Which made him wonder if he had learned a damn thing in the last century.

“I was addicted to sleeping pills. After my mom died. I couldn’t sleep, and I started taking sedatives, then more and more, then suddenly I realized that I had a serious problem. I just got out of rehab six weeks ago.”