She said to Morales, “Seven o’clock is what she said, is that right?”

“That’s what Pester Lester said.”

“Since you seem to be so chummy with her, maybe you could check and make sure she really is going to start the case at seven, so Kay doesn’t take a taxi down there after being up all night, and then sit.”

“You know what?” Morales said to Scarpetta. “I’ll go pick her up. How ‘bout that? And I’ll call you when we’re en route. I’ll even swing by and get you.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had in a while,” Berger said to him.

Scarpetta said to both of them, “Thanks, but I’ll get myself there. But yes, please call me.”

When Berger returned from seeing Scarpetta and Benton to the door, Marino wanted more coffee. Lucy followed Berger into her spacious kitchen of stainless steel, wormy chestnut, and granite, deciding she had to say something now. How Berger responded would determine if there was a later.

“You heading out?” Berger’s tone turned familiar as she met Lucy’s eyes and opened a bag of coffee.

“The whiskeys in your bar,” Lucy said, rinsing the coffeepot and refilling it.

“What whiskeys?”

“You know what whiskeys,” Lucy said.

Berger took the pot from her and filled the coffeemaker.

“I don’t,” she said. “Are you telling me you want an eye opener? I wouldn’t have thought you’re the type.”

“There’s nothing funny about this, Jaime.”

Berger flipped up the on switch and leaned against the counter. She really didn’t seem to know what Lucy was talking about, and Lucy didn’t believe her.

Lucy mentioned the Irish whiskey and the Scotch that were in her bar.

“They’re on the top shelf behind glass, in your own damn bar,” Lucy said. “You can’t miss them.”

“Greg,” Berger said. “He collects. And I did miss them.”

“He collects? I didn’t know he was still around,” Lucy said, feeling worse, maybe the worst she’d ever felt.

“What I mean is those are his,” Berger said with her usual calm. “If you start opening cabinets in there, you’ll see a fortune in small-batch this and single-malt that. I did miss them. They never entered my mind, because I don’t drink his precious whiskeys. Never did.”

“Really?” Lucy said. “Then why does Morales seem to know you have them?”

“This is ridiculous, and it’s neither the time nor the place,” Berger said very quietly. “Please don’t.”

“He looked right at them as if he knew something. Has he ever been here before this morning?” Lucy said. “Maybe the Tavern on the Green gossip is more than that.”