“He has quite the temper, has been through rehab, and in recent months started drinking again.” Burke isn’t looking at anything except me as she stands near the door, her arms folded across her chest.

“This should be checked for prints, for DNA. If you don’t want to collect it, I will.” I retrieve a paper bag from my case and collect the evidence myself.

“He started drinking again about the time he started tweeting Peggy Stanton.”

“She was dead by Labor Day.” Next I collect the empty bag lining the trash can. “She was dead long before then.”

“When did you become aware that Marino had started drinking again?”

“I don’t know for a fact if and when Marino started drinking again.”

“She was dead long before Labor Day? You’re absolutely sure of that?”

I tell her I am.

“And how you arrived at what you seem to believe is gospel I simply find confusing.” She’s typing on her phone again. “In fact, it’s about as subjective as three blind people describing an elephant.”

“Time of death is dependent on many factors, and it’s complicated.” I won’t give her the satisfaction of making me defensive.

“Tell me why you’re so sure this lady’s been dead since the spring. Tell me why, based on information other than dates on magazines and how wilted the flowers are or how many burned-out lights there are or how overgrown the yard is.”

I check the gas burners on the stovetop, and they flame up.

“The lack of insect damage, the mold on her face and neck, and decomposition of organs, and her core body temperature are indications that she was stored in a closed structure where the air was dry and very cold,” I tell her again. “Possibly she was frozen.”

“According to articles I’ve looked at, complete mummification can occur in as little as two weeks. So it really is rather up for grabs how long this lady’s been dead.”

“It really isn’t.”

“You say months. Someone else says weeks.”

I open the pantry and find nothing that wouldn’t keep. The usual canned goods, all of them sodium-free, and whole-grain cereals, rice, and pasta.

“It requires more than surfing the Internet to have an informed opinion.” I let her know someone is doing just that, probably whoever is sending the e-mails.

“I’m sure I could find experts with your level of training who might have opinions very different from yours.” I’ve made her angry.

“I’m sure you could.” I feel her eyes on my back. “That doesn’t mean those opinions would be correct.”

It appears Peggy Stanton ate a lot of salads. A shelf is filled with bottles of fat-free Italian dressing, what must be two dozen bottles that were on special at Whole Foods. I shut the pantry door.