Richard greets us at his door. He looks better than he did during our last one-on-one encounter, but that was a particularly low bar. The sharpness that I associate with him—the look in his eyes that he’s one step ahead—is once again front and center.

Richard leads us into the living room. The furniture befits grownups who don’t fear children’s messes—lots of white and beige surfaces. Under the picture window is a long sofa, and that’s where he decides to sit. He motions with his hand that Gabriel and I should take the chairs opposite him.

“We’re starting to develop some more information,” Gabriel says once we’re settled. “Most important, we found the murder weapon.”

Gabriel had told me not to share with Richard that it had been tossed a stone’s throw from his residence. We want to avoid Richard lawyering up. Indeed, given that Richard has a dozen lawyers on retainer, it’s somewhat surprising he hasn’t played that card yet. Although, as Gabriel pointed out, it’s one thing to stand behind lawyers in a business dispute and quite another when it’s about your wife’s murder.

“It was registered to a man named Gregory Papamichael.”

Richard seems confused, which is not a look he wears comfortably. “Why would he kill Lauren?”

“Have you ever heard that name before?” I ask.

“No. I don’t think so. Should I have?”

“He’s a former police detective,” Gabriel says. “He’s been dead for two years.”

“We think that he supplied the gun,” I explain. “Which is why we’re trying to track down anyone who has any type of connection to your wife and who knew Detective Papamichael well enough for him to give them a gun.”

Richard sighs in a way that makes clear he knows we were trying to trick him into an admission. “Well, I didn’t.”

“Did Lauren?” Gabriel asks.

“I said I never heard the name before,” he says sharply, visibly upset by the path we’re pursuing. He has correctly deduced that it leads to him as his wife’s murderer. “That means I have no idea whether Lauren knew the man.”

“We also heard that your wife was considering running against Drake McKenney for DA,” I say, moving the suspicion away from Richard and on to McKenney for the moment. “Is that true?”

He blinks, and for a moment it seems as if he doesn’t understand the relevance of his wife’s future political plans. But then he shows a subtle twitch that indicates he’s fully caught up.

“Yeah,” he says. “She was a few weeks away from making it official.”

“How widespread do you think the news was about your wife’s potential challenge?” Gabriel asks.