“She likes women who kill their husbands?”

“Loves ’em.”

“How’s she going to feel when we get your conviction thrown out?”

“Fine—so long as she doesn’t think I’m innocent.”

“Yeah, well … that shouldn’t be a problem. Innocence is not the issue in the appeal. The issue is due process, and we aim to prove, in your case, that the process was in no way due. Speaking of which, I’d like to introduce you to the man who’s going to help us show the judge just how un-due it was. Kay Spalter, meet Dave Gurney.”

“Mr. Supercop.” She said it with a touch of sarcasm, then paused as if to see how he’d react. When he showed no reaction at all, she went on. “I’ve read all about you and your decorations. Very impressive.” She didn’t look impressed.

Gurney wondered if those coolly assessing green eyes ever looked impressed. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Spalter.”

“Kay.” There was nothing cordial in her tone. It sounded more like a pointed correction, a way of conveying distaste for her married name. She continued to look him over, as though he were a piece of merchandise she was considering purchasing. “You married?”

“Yes.”

“Happily?”

“Yes.”

She seemed to be turning this information over in her mind before asking her next question. “Do you believe I’m innocent?”

“I believe that the sun rose this morning.”

Her mouth twitched into something resembling a split-second smile. Or maybe it was just a tremor created by all the energy contained in that compact body. “What’s that supposed to mean? That you only believe what you see? That you’re a no-bullshit guy who bases everything on facts?”

“It means that I just met you, and I don’t know enough to have an opinion, much less a belief.”

Hardwick cleared his throat nervously. “Maybe we ought to sit down?”

As they took their places at the small table, Kay Spalter kept her eyes on Gurney.

“So what do you need to know to have an opinion about whether I’m innocent?”

Hardwick broke in, leaning forward. “Or about whether you got a fair trial, which is the real issue.”

She ignored this, stayed focused on Gurney.

He sat back and studied those remarkable unblinking green eyes. Something told him that the best preamble would be no preamble. “Did you shoot Carl Spalter, or cause him to be shot?”

“No.” The word came out hard and fast.

“Is it true you were having an extramarital affair?”

“Yes.”

“And your husband found out about it?”

“Yes.”

“And he was considering divorcing you?”

“Yes.”

“And a divorce under those circumstances would have had a major negative effect on your economic status?”

“Absolutely.”

“But at the time he was fatally wounded, your husband hadn’t yet made a final decision on the divorce, and hadn’t changed his will—so you were still his chief beneficiary. Is that right?”

“Yes.”