“Yes. Please come in.”

“Are you her husband?”

“No. I’m a family friend.” He stepped aside to admit them to the foyer. “Lucy’s husband is just in here.” He waved them into the living room and made the introductions. “Elliott, these are Detectives Riley and Cruz. Detectives, Elliott Gutman, Lucy’s husband. Widower,” he amended.

Gutman made a noise and buried his face in his hands.

Cruz looked at Barrett. “I take it he’s already been notified?”

Barrett nodded.

“By—?”

“Building security. Is that right, Elliott?”

Gutman cleared his throat. “Right.”

“Please. Have a seat,” Barrett said.

They each sat gingerly in a chair facing Gutman. Barrett stayed on his feet, poised to swoop in if he had to. But he didn’t.

It was an ordinary quiet weekend, Gutman told them. Their boys had a swim meet at the club that afternoon, and they all went out for pizza afterward at Vinnie’s in Greenwich. After dinner Lucy went to the office to take an overseas conference call. No, she didn’t own a gun. Neither of them did. She’d never even fired one. No, she didn’t suffer from panic attacks, and she wasn’t claustrophobic. No, she had no history of depression or substance abuse or any other mental illness. They had a happy marriage and two young children; there was no way she’d take her own life.

He broke down at that last part, the timing so perfect Barrett could have scripted it for him.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” Cruz said. “How long were you married, if I might ask?”

Gutman swallowed hard. “Twelve years.”

“She was British, is that right?”

He nodded. “Yes. Though she was born in Malaysia. Her family used to own property there. But she was educated in England and started her career there.”

“How’d you two happen to meet?”

“I was speaking at a conference at LSE—”

“Louisiana State?” This interjection came from the older detective, Riley.

“The London School of Economics,” Gutman said, pained. “Lucy came up afterward with some follow-up questions, and we continued the conversation over dinner, and we kept in touch as best we could after that. I was teaching at Princeton at the time, and she was in the London office of CDMI. After she was promoted to the headquarters office here in New York, we started seeing each other.”

“What’d you talk about?” Riley said.

Gutman swung a bewildered look his way. “The usual things you talk about when you’re dating.”

“I mean at the conference. What was your speech about?”

“Oh. Monetizing human capital in the global economy.”

“What’s that mean? How to put a price tag on your workers?”

“No, no, no,” Gutman sputtered, indignant. “Human capital refers to the skill sets of the workforce and their value or cost. I developed some metrics for use in making a comparative valuation in different parts of the world. But what’s this got to do with Lucy’s murder?”

The two detectives exchanged a look, and they stood up and pocketed their notepads and offered their condolences.