“Yeah? Well, like Santa said to the greedy little boy, fuck you.”

He looked disconcerted. “Why is it such a big deal?”

“It’s not a big deal. I just don’t like being recorded.”

“I think it would be better for both of us.”

“I disagree.”

Gurney shrugged. “Okay. Fine.”

“What were you going to do with it?”

“Like I said, in case there was some dispute later …”

His phone rang for the third time. Madeleine on the ID. He pressed TALK.

“Jesus, what now?” he said into the phone, sounding thoroughly ticked off. Over the next ten seconds he imitated a man about to lose it completely. “I know … Right … Right … Jesus, can we talk about this LATER?… Right … Yes … I said YES.” He took the phone from his ear, glared at it as though it were the source of nothing but problems, poked at a spot close to the END CALL button without breaking the connection, and put the still-transmitting phone back in his shirt pocket. He shook his head and shot Alyssa an embarrassed glance. “Jesus.”

She yawned, as though there were nothing more boring on earth than a man thinking about something other than her. Then she arched her back. The movement raised what little there was of her shirt, exposing the bottom of her breasts. “Maybe we ought to start over,” she said, nestling back into her corner of the sofa.

“Okay. But I’d like my recorder back.”

“I’ll hold on to it while you’re here. You can have it when you leave.”

“Fine. Okay.” He gave a sigh of resignation. “Back to the beginning. You were saying that you wanted me to understand the reality of the situation. What reality?”

“The reality is that you’re wasting your time, trying to turn everything upside down.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“You’re trying to turn the bitch loose, right?”

“I’m trying to find out who killed your father.”

“Who killed him? His whore cunt bitch wife killed him. End of story.”

“Kay Spalter, the supersniper?”

“She took lessons. It’s true. It’s documented.” She articulated the word reverently, as though it had magical powers of persuasion.

Gurney shrugged. “A lot of people take shooting lessons without killing anyone.”

Alyssa shook her head—a quick, bitter movement. “You don’t know what she’s like.”

“Tell me.”

“She’s a lying, greedy piece of shit.”

“Anything else?”

“She married my father for his money. Period. Kay is a money-fucker. And a general slut. When this finally dawned on my father, he told her he wanted a divorce. Bitch figured that’d be the end of the good life for her, so she ended his life instead. BANG! Simple.”

“So you think it was all about money?”