‘I never thought it compromised a strong man to cry,’ she told him. ‘I’ve had years to deal with this. It’s new to you.’

Cab wanted to ask what he needed to ask and then escape. He cleared his throat. ‘There are things I need to know.’

‘I’m sure. It changes everything, doesn’t it, knowing what a sick son of a bitch my husband was? Why do you think I’ve worked so hard to keep the truth hidden? I’d like to tell you that Birch was sorry for what he’d done. Maybe for a day or two, he was, but then he went back to being the man I knew. Utterly self-absorbed. Utterly heartless.’

‘And yet …’

‘And yet I covered for him. That’s right. Was I weak? Back then, yes, I probably was. I thought it was my fault. That’s the way victims are programmed to think. Besides, I was the one who invited you into my bed. I had to accept the consequences.’

‘Not those consequences,’ Cab said.

‘No. Looking back, I was a fool about a lot of things. Some lessons are hard to learn.’

‘Diane, I need to ask you about the murders,’ he told her.

‘It was not Drew,’ she snapped. ‘There’s simply no way he was involved. Yes, I told my son what happened to me. Yes, he hated Birch. Did he want to kill him? I’m sure he did, but Drew didn’t have the inner strength to do something like that. You’re wrong, Cab.’

‘I believe you. Drew wasn’t the shooter. Whoever pulled the trigger had a calculating mind. He knew exactly what he was doing.’

‘Then what else can I tell you?’ Diane asked.

‘Drew doesn’t fit the profile of the murderer,’ Cab went on, ‘but Frank Macy does.’

Diane cocked her head in surprise. He tried to read her eyes to see whether the surprise was genuine or an act, but whatever she felt was quickly subsumed by her bitterness toward the man. Her knuckles tightened around the crystal glass in her hand.

‘Why on earth would Macy kill Birch?’

‘Maybe because someone paid him,’ Cab said.

Diane slowly put down the glass. She closed her eyes for a long second. He could see her chest swell with a deep breath. She pushed back her chair and got up, and she wandered into the dead center of the room, directly below the chandelier. She crossed her arms and stared at the floor. Her feet were bare on the brown carpet.

‘Tarla saw us,’ she said. ‘She saw me with Macy, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, she did.’

‘I thought I caught a glimpse of her on the trail. That poor dear. All these years, she wondered if I arranged to have Birch killed, and she never said a word to me about it. She never asked me for the truth.’

‘She knew what Birch did to you.’