“So what now?” said Corey. “I’m a serious suspect? No problem, do your thing, I have nothing to hide. But it’ll only take time out from your investigation.”

“I’m sure, sir—”

“Hey,” said Corey, holding up a finger. “I just thought of something.” Angry laugh. “Maybe I do have an alibi. Those shows, they say cell phones can be traced. From the towers. Is that true?”

“We are able to pinpoint—”

“Then pinpoint away. When I wasn’t on the computer—which you can also check—I was on the phone. The towers will tell you I was right here. Never moved my ass.”

Reaching around, he scratched said body part. Did the same for his beard. Dandruff floated onto his chest.

“That would be helpful,” said Milo. “If you give us permission to—”

Corey jumped up, strode to the cheap desk, touched the screen of his laptop. “C’mere.”

He logged onto his email, scrolled slowly, giving us a clear view of sixty or seventy messages over the three-hour time frame. Nearly every correspondence sounded like business: All Star Fashion Imports, Yamata Home Decorating, Paradise Gifts of Chinatown, two pages of correspondence from Bang-Buck Superior Goods and Lading of Bangkok, Ltd.

Only one exception that I could see: ashleycee@​westrnmail.​net had written twice.

“My younger daughter,” said Corey, opening the first message.

Hi daddy, had no classes went to give Sydney a workout. Still on for dinner next Th? Xoxo A.

“Sydney’s her horse.” Corey moaned and logged off.

Milo said, “Busy morning.”

“No different from any other, welcome to my life,” said Corey. “Ursula’s the artistic one, I do the boring stuff and there’s plenty of it. So can we put it to rest—my need for an alibi?”

Men in his tax bracket often delegated. Being home and occupied didn’t rule out a hired killer.

Milo said, “Sorry to offend you, sir, but like I said, we need to ask difficult questions.” He motioned toward the sofa. Corey seemed to balk at complying but ended up shrugging and sinking back into the depression he’d created in the cushions. Placing his hands on his bare knees, he sat rigidly, staring straight ahead.

Milo said, “I know this is a tough time, Mr. Corey—”

“No need to preface, ask what you want.”

“We’ve already spoken to Mr. Fellinger and Mr. Cohen and they’ve given us a basic history but couldn’t get into details. Apparently you and Ms. Corey returned to your lawyers to dispute financial issues—”

“Not to dispute, to tweak,” said Corey. Same word everyone used.

“Could you give us an idea what you and Ms. Corey tweaked?”

“Details, minutiae.”

“Such as?”