“Was he friends with her too?” Mendez asked, wondering why Sara hadn’t mentioned the connection earlier. He probably shouldn’t have been surprised. She had already had the unflattering light of police scrutiny illuminate the flaws in her marriage. Why invite that again?

Quinn frowned. “He wasn’t sleeping with her, if that’s what you mean.”

“Like he wasn’t sleeping with Lisa Warwick?” Mendez challenged.

“You never had any proof he had an affair with Lisa.”

“It’s not against the law to cheat on your wife,” Mendez said, feeling himself get a little hot under the collar. “We’re not going to spend tax-payer dollars trying to prove the guy is an adulterer. But it doesn’t speak well for his character, does it?”

“Steve is a fine person,” Quinn said firmly as he sat back in his expensive leather chair—withdrawing from the interview. “He works hard. He gives back to the community. He’s a good father.”

“He’s just not a good husband,” Mendez said. “I guess everybody has their flaws.”

“I don’t see why we’re talking about this, Detective,” Quinn said. He propped his elbows on the armrests of the chair and made a tent with his hands—subconsciously putting a physical barrier between them. “Someone murdered Marissa Fordham. It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Steve. You should look elsewhere.”

“Is he in today?” Mendez asked.

“I believe he’s in a meeting with a client.”

And if he wasn’t, Don Quinn was going to make damn sure he pretended he was. Mendez figured he’d be on the phone to his partner’s office the instant he and Hicks stepped out the door.

He glanced at his watch. 4:42. The office would close soon. Steve Morgan would leave and head home—or elsewhere.

Mendez rose from his chair. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Quinn.”

“If you think of anything that might be helpful to the investigation, please give us a call,” Hicks said, setting a business card on the desk.

“What’s with the hard-on for Steve Morgan?” Hicks asked as they walked back to the car parked down the street at a meter.

“The guy rubs me the wrong way,” Mendez said. “He’s got a beautiful wife, a beautiful daughter, a beautiful home, and he’s a fucking dog. There was no doubt in my mind he was sleeping with Lisa Warwick—who ended up murdered. Now he’s got a connection to Marissa Fordham—also murdered.”

“Peter Crane killed Lisa Warwick,” Hicks pointed out.

“I know. I just don’t like coincidence.”

“You just don’t like Steve Morgan.”

“No, I don’t. Do you?”

“He doesn’t mean anything to me one way or the other. He’s just another name on the list of people to talk to regarding our victim.”

“Then let’s,” Mendez said as they got in the car.