"Good question. Stargill wasn't aware of any will, and he claims neither of them took out insurance on the other. I never came across any policies; Claire was thirty-nine, probably wasn't figuring on dying. I suppose a lawyer would know how to play the probate process-he might make a case for mortgage payment constituting partial ownership. But my guess her parents would come first. What do you think a place like that is worth?"

"Three hundred or so. How much is equity?"

"We'll find that out tomorrow if Mr. Cooperative stays cooperative. ... Maybe he got tired of paying her bills, huh?"

"It could chafe, especially now that he's remarried. Especially if he's got money problems. Be good to know what his finances are like."

"If you want to meet him, be there at ten. I left a message with Heidi Ott's machine, no callback yet. And the lab sent another report on the prints: definitely only Claire's. Looks like she really did go it alone."

The next morning I called Dr. Myron Theobold at County Hospital, left a voicemail message, and drove to Cape Horn Drive, arriving at 9:45. Milo's unmarked was already there, parked at the curb. A deep-gray late-model BMW sedan sat in front of the garage, ski clamps on the roof.

The house's front door was unlocked, and I entered. Milo had reassumed his position at the center of the empty living room. Near the kitchen counter stood a man in his forties wearing a blue suit, white shirt, yellow pin-dot tie. He was just shy of six feet, trim, with short, curly red hair and a matching beard streaked with gray. Skinny gold watch on his left wrist, wedding band studded with small diamonds, shiny oxblood wingtips.

Milo said, "This is Dr. Delaware, our psychological consultant. Doctor, Mr. Stargill."

"Joe Stargill." A hand extended. Dry palms but unsteady hazel eyes. His voice was slightly hoarse. He looked past me, into the empty room, and shook his head.

"Mr. Stargill was just saying the house looks pretty different."

Stargill said, "This wasn't the way we lived. We had wall-to-wall carpeting, furniture. Over there was a big leather sofa; that wall held a chrome cabinet-an etagere, I think it was called. Claire taught me that. I'd bought a few things when I was single but Claire filled it in. Pottery, figurines, macrame, all that good stuff." He shook his head again. "She must have gone through some major changes."

"When's the last time you spoke to her, sir?" said Milo.

"When I U-Hauled my things away. Maybe a half-year before the final decree."

"So you were separated before the divorce."

Stargill nodded, touched the tip of his beard.

Milo said, "So your last contact would be around two and a half years ago."

"That's right."

"You never talked about the divorce?"

"Well, sure. A phone call here and there to wrap up details. I thought you meant a real conversation."