“I apologize for calling, Mr. Graylin,” I said in my best professional voice. “I have only one question. Did your wife happen to talk to a Mr. Trent Kalamack anytime before her death?”

“The councilman?” he said, his voice thick with astonishment. “Is he a suspect?”

“Perish the thought,” I lied. “I’m following up one of the faint leads that we have concerning a stalker working his way up to him.”

“Oh.” There was a moment of silence, then, “Yes. As a matter of fact, we did.”

The zing of adrenaline pulled me upright.

“We met him at a play this spring,” the man was saying. “I remember because it was the Pirates of Penzance, and I thought the lead pirate looked like Mr. Kalamack. We had dinner afterwards at Carew Tower and laughed about it. He’s not in any danger, is he?”

“No,” I said, my heart pounding. “I’d ask you to keep our line of investigation quiet until we’ve proven it false. I’m very sorry about your wife, Mr. Graylin. She was a lovely woman.”

“Thank you. I miss her.” He hung up the phone in the uncomfortable silence.

I set the phone down, waiting three heartbeats before whispering an exuberant, “Yes!” Spinning my swivel chair around, I found Glenn standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” he asked, dropping another stack of papers before me.

I grinned, continuing to shift back and forth in my chair. “Nothing.”

He went to his desk and punched a button on the phone’s cradle, frowning as the last number called appeared on the tiny screen. “I never said you could call these people.” His face went angry and his posture became stiff. “That man is trying to put this behind him. He doesn’t need you dredging it up for him again.”

“I only asked one question.” Legs crossed, I swiveled, smiling.

Glenn glanced behind him into the open offices. “You are a guest here,” he said roughly. “If you can’t play by my rules—” He stopped. “Why are you still smiling?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Graylin had dinner with Trent a month before she was attacked.”

The man straightened to his full height and drew back a step. His eyes narrowed.

“Mind if I call the next?” I asked.

He looked at the phone beside my hand, then back to the open floor. With a forced casualness, he shut his door halfway. “Keep it down.”

Pleased with myself, I pulled the stack of papers closer. Glenn went back behind his computer, typing with an annoying slowness.

My mood quickly sobered as I scanned the coroner’s report, skipping the picture portion this time. Apparently the man had been eaten alive from the extremities inward. They knew he had been alive at the time by the tearing pattern of the wounds. And they were fairly confident he had been eaten by the lack of body parts.