Politics has never interested Stuart. As a result, I know he couldn’t care less about Drake McKenney’s mayoral aspirations. The thought of uxoricide, however, visibly troubles him.

“He’s the statistical best bet,” I say, which isn’t actually a response to Stuart’s question.

“They seemed so happy together,” he says.

“I don’t know” is all I can think to say in response.

That’s not true. I do know, for a fact, that Lauren’s marriage to Richard was not as advertised. Another thing I know is that being the boss of the New York City construction world puts Richard in close proximity to many men who freelance in the criminal world.

“I’m reviewing about a million old case files on the alternative theory that it’s some creep she prosecuted,” I add. “Gabriel told me about this guy—”

“Who’s Gabriel?”

His interruption is a reminder of just how little I’ve shared with Stuart. “Oh, sorry. He’s the cop I’m partnered with on the investigation. Gabriel Velasquez. And get this: he’s dating Ella Broden.”

“That Ella Broden?”

“I know, right? They met when Ella’s sister went missing. It’s all much too incestuous for my liking. On the plus side, he does seem like a decent guy, and the police brass love him. Anyway, he told me that Ella worked with Lauren on some case like a million years ago and the guy just got out after a long stretch. Apparently he had made some threats against Lauren. Long story short, in addition to Richard, our suspect list includes the current crop of psychopaths we’re prosecuting—and everyone else Lauren had a hand in sending to jail over the last twenty years. So about a thousand people, give or take.”

“Is that your way of telling me that you’re going to be working late for a while?” he says with a smile.

I smile back. “It’s my way of telling you that I’m not happy about it.”

He smiles, pleased with my answer. I don’t think he minds my burning the midnight oil at the office so long as he thinks that I don’t like being away from him.

“Enough murder talk. How’s Jacob today?” I say.

“Good. He’s been asleep for about two hours.”

Even though he’s asleep, simply being in his company will be a godsend for me.

“I’m going to check in on him,” I say.

When I enter his bedroom, Jacob is snuggled under his blankets. Sometimes he likes to put the top sheet over his head to completely insulate himself from his surroundings. Tonight he’s hiked it up to only a few inches above his shoulders. His long, soft curls flow down his cheeks. His breathing is shallow, his eyes shut. I try to imagine what he might be dreaming.