“I guess,” I said. “Listen, should I have a lawyer?”

“I don’t know,” Flint said, scratching his prominent nose. “You think you should have a lawyer?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.” I paused. “Stupid, maybe, but not wrong. That’s why I called the police.”

Flint grunted. “When did you get here?”

“I guess, around one-thirty. I got here before Trixie.”

“She wasn’t already home?”

“No, she’d been away somewhere, I don’t know where, and we arranged to meet here at that time.”

“So both of you went into the house at the same time.”

“That’s right.” I remembered something. “As we were going into the house, Trixie thought maybe the door was already unlocked, but she wasn’t sure. You know how, sometimes, you turn the deadbolt, but it’ll still turn even if it’s not in the lock position?”

Flint shrugged. I went through the rest of it with him, how I’d gone into the basement for some coffee and found Benson. That Trixie came downstairs wondering what had happened to me, screamed, found a note, started to panic. That she handcuffed me to the railing and took off in my car. That she called Sarah at work to rescue me.

“Hmm,” Flint said. “So what were you meeting her here for…?” He leaned in a little closer, as if there were someone else in the car he didn’t want to overhear. “You can tell me. Nice-looking lady, I gather. Your wife might not understand, but I would.”

I swallowed. “It wasn’t like that. Trixie and I were friends, from when we used to live on the street. She helped me out when I was in trouble, with that other mess.”

Flint nodded, remembering.

“She’d been having trouble lately with the local paper, and wanted my help with it, and I told her there really wasn’t anything I could do, and then she set up this meeting between me and Benson—I thought she was going to be there but she bailed—thinking I’d try to talk him out of taking her picture, but I explained to her I couldn’t do that. But there was a huge misunderstanding, with Benson, and it got me in a lot of trouble at work. I was pretty pissed with her. But she called, said she was going to come clean, tell me what kind of trouble she was in, and I agreed to come out and see her, one last time, to hear her side of the story.” I shook my head. “Good call.”

“So you weren’t having a sexual relationship with Ms. Snelling?” Flint asked.

“No.”