“No, it's not bad at all.” She quickly changed the subject. “You wanted to talk to me about my late husband, Detective. Do you want to tell me why you're here? I've been on pins and needles since you called. Why did you want to see me? What do you know about my husband's case?”

“Pins and needles?” Sampson asked. “Who says pins and needles anymore?”

She laughed. “I guess I do. It just came out. Dates and locates me, right? I grew up on a sharecropper's farm in Alabama, outside Montgomery. Not giving you the date. So why are you here, Detective?”

They had started down a sandy hill sloping toward the ocean which was all rich blues and greens and creamy foam. It was unbelievable hardly a soul either way he looked up or down the shoreline. All of these gorgeous houses, practically mansions, and nobody around but the seagulls.

As they walked north he told Mrs. Houston about his friend Ellis Cooper, and what had happened at Fort Bragg. He decided not to tell her about the other murders of military men.

“He must have been a very good friend, ”she said when Sampson had finished talking. “You're obviously not giving up easily.”

“I can't give up. He was one of the best friends I ever had. We spent three years in Vietnam together. He was the first older male in my life who wasn't just out for himself. You know, the father I never had.”

She nodded, but she didn't pry. Sampson liked that. He still couldn't get over how petite she was. He had the thought that he could have carried her around under his arm.

“The other thing is, Mrs. Houston, I am totally convinced that Ellis Cooper was innocent of those murders. Call it sixth sense, or whatever, but I'm sure of it. He told me so just before they executed him. I can't get past that. I just can't.”

She sighed, and he could see the pain in her face. He could tell she hadn't gotten over her husband's death and how it had happened, but she still hadn't intruded on his story. That was interesting. She was obviously very considerate.

He stopped walking, and so did she.

“What's the matter?” she finally asked.

“You don't talk about yourself easily, do you? ”he asked.

She laughed. “Oh, I do. When I get going, I do. Too much sometimes, believe me. But I was interested in what you had to say, how you would say it. Do you want me to tell you about my husband now? What happened to him? Why I'm sure he was innocent, too?”

“I want to hear everything about your husband,” Sampson said. “Please.”

“I believe Laurence was murdered,” she began. “He was killed by the state of New Jersey. But somebody else wanted him dead. I want to know who murdered my husband, as much as you want to know who killed your friend, Ellis Cooper.”