“Now I understand what you meant before,” Mrs. MacIver said. She brushed her hair away from her forehead. “Are there going to be any more calls like that?”

“Just one, to my father in Port Smith.” Leland motioned to Florence. “You can see that I’m trying to gather as much as I can. If we draw nothing from these calls it doesn’t mean that we’ve learned nothing. On the contrary, we’ve cleared the air. The same will be true for the insurance file. When your husband made applications for his policies, he was investigated and reported on. His personal habits and so forth. I started to tell you that. At least we’ll have the reports, no matter how trivial the information on them.”

She moved forward on the chair. Her hand jerked aimlessly near her skirt hem. “The whole thing makes me so unhappy suddenly. I don’t want to look that closely. I’m reacting, I know, but now I don’t want to think that I’m betraying him.”

“Look at you,” Leland said. The call was going through. “Truthfully, Mrs. MacIver, you were the one who was betrayed. Perhaps by your husband, perhaps by the man or men who killed him, certainly by the officials of Clausen County. At several points along the line there were attempts to strip you—and your child—of your hope. You knew that when you came in here, didn’t you?” She nodded, like a child. “Well, it’s obvious what you’re suffering. It simply isn’t fair.”

She nodded again and stood up. “I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Leland took the handset from Florence. “Go with her. See if she needs anything.”

Mrs. MacIver stopped by the door. “Mr. Leland, if you’re going to ask your father about police records, you’d better ask him about me. My maiden name is Colucci. C, o, l, u, c, c, i.”

She closed the door behind her. Florence looked back at Leland, as if to say, “See, didn’t I tell you?” Leland waved her out, angry. He felt like a moron.