Without saying anything more, I backed away from the door and let Detective Bushing into my apartment. When we were in the living room, I gestured at the sofa near the front window. I took a chair opposite him. My eyes did a quick survey of the room to make sure I hadn’t missed any other incriminating evidence that had been left behind. I noticed Detective Bushing’s eyes doing the same thing.

Then he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a photograph of Scotty Ryan. “Do you know this man, Mr. Moran?”

“I thought you were doing the talking, Detective. Not me.”

“Sure. Right. Well, of course you know him. He’s the man who slept with your wife.”

He was baiting me. I tensed and pushed my lips together.

“That’s your wife in the picture there, huh?” the detective said, pointing at the mantel.

“Yes.”

“Very pretty.”

“Yes.”

“I heard about your wife, by the way,” he went on. “That’s just awful. Talk about a coincidence, huh? Your wife dies in a car accident while you’re driving, and then her lover gets killed a few days later, right after you get in a fight with him.”

“If you think I killed him, you’re wrong,” I said, even though the knife used to kill Scotty Ryan was lying a few feet away on my bedroom floor.

“But you were there, right? A witness put you in the house with Mr. Ryan. She identified you right away. She heard shouting, and then you came running out with blood on your hands.”

“If I’d stabbed him, I would have had blood on a lot more than just my hands,” I pointed out, even though I was talking when I should have stayed quiet.

“I don’t recall mentioning that he’d been stabbed.”

“I talked to my mother-in-law,” I said. “I know you did, too. She told me what happened.”

“Ah, sure. Of course. But you admit fighting with Mr. Ryan?”

“I’m not admitting anything.”

The detective nodded. “Sure. I understand. What about your wife? Did you fight with her about her cheating on you?”

I still said nothing, but I felt my heartbeat take off again.

“I mean, if my wife did that to me, I’d break a few windows and probably some other things,” Detective Bushing went on. “And you’ve got a temper, right, Mr. Moran? I know about your assault arrests. People who mess with you get their faces bashed in, don’t they?”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Yeah. They probably all had it coming. I get it. Say, you work at the LaSalle Plaza Hotel, don’t you?”

My brow wrinkled with puzzlement at the shift in the conversation. “Yes, that’s right.”

“You handle their events?”

“Yes.”

“Nice place.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I went to a wedding there a few years ago.”

“We do a lot of weddings,” I said.