“Excuse me,” she said, and stepped past Matthews into the main room. But it wasn’t Raymond’s voice she heard when she lifted the handset.

“Alicia? Jack. We’ve got to talk.”

Jack! She glanced guiltily at the detective cooling his heels in the foyer. She couldn’t exactly discuss arson now.

She lowered her voice. “Um, I can’t talk right now.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to discuss this on the phone anyway.”

“I’m not going back to that horrible Julio’s again.”

“I was thinking your place.”

Two visitors in one day? That might be a record. She found Jack a little frightening. Would it be reckless to be alone with him here?

“Gee, I don’t know.”

“You going to be around?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good. Your place, then.”

She gave in. “Okay, but how about… later?”

“Sure. After lunch. What’s your address?”

She gave it to him, hoping she hadn’t made a big mistake, then hung up and returned to the foyer.

“I’ve got some appointments to keep,” she said, thrusting out her hand. “But I do want to thank you again, Detective Matthews. This is all very kind of you.”

“Call me Will,” he said, taking her hand and holding it.

Alicia pulled away and opened the door. “Okay… Will.”

She felt terribly awkward, shooing him out like this, but she had a sudden, overwhelming urge to be alone.

“You’ll be hearing from me,” he said as he stepped outside.

“With good news, I hope.”

She made a stab at a smile as she closed the door. Then let it fade as she pressed her forehead against its rough surface. Suddenly she felt exhausted.

Criminal charges… a civil suit… complaint to the hospital board. What else could go wrong?

And this visit from a police detective—what was that all about? He could have called and told her all this. Why go to all the trouble to come over and tell her in person?, Alicia groaned. “I hope he’s not interested in me.”

But the more she thought about it, the more she was sure that was it. Detective Matthews’s personal interest in this case was just that… personal.

“Forget about it, Will,” she muttered. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

2.

2.

Jack bounded up the stairs and knocked on the sturdy oak door—or more precisely, on the countless coats of paint that blunted the details of the door’s carved surface. Four A was spelled out in brass at eye level, and he wondered why the “A?” This was the only apartment on the floor.

He’d pushed to meet her here because he wanted to get more of a handle on the enigmatic Dr. Alicia Clayton—treater of children with AIDS, buster of child-molester skulls, and would-be burner of ancestral homes.