There was no officer at the door. Odessa entered the lobby. A plainclothes detective talking on his cell phone eyeballed her, distracted by his conversation. Credentials in hand, she walked past the clerk’s window and into the interior of the town building. Cleaners in white bodysuits and rubber gloves were sponging a bloodstain off the wall, the spatter having been dissolved into a wet pink bloom. Farther down the hallway, state police crime laboratory specialists were photographing another bloodstain, this one on the wall and floor where a body must have fallen.

There wasn’t much here, and little she could learn. She approached the crime scene techs and was pointed to an office around the corner. There, a local police officer eyed her with suspicion until she showed him her badge.

“Special Agent Hardwicke?” he said, reading her credentials, suddenly energized. “What can I do for you, Agent?”

The suspect’s home was a midsize Colonial with an attached garage at the bottom of a sloping street. A New York State Police cruiser was parked in the driveway, Troop L, Suffolk County. Probably a captain or a major sitting with the widow. Odessa parked down the street a bit—the CR-V did not profile as FBI—and walked back to the house, determined to see this through.

She introduced herself to a pair of troopers on the lawn, offering her creds, feeling their eyes on her as she walked to the door. Dogs barked plaintively somewhere inside the house, probably locked away in a bathroom or basement. The widow sat alone on a large sofa near an old grand piano topped with photographs of her grown children. Her name was Louise Colina and she was probably sixty, older than Odessa expected, though it was likely the photograph of her husband, Edwardo, known as Eddie, on the town website was many years out of date.

The Troop L captain stood when Odessa entered, his wide-brimmed hat in hand. He was a good foot taller than she. But Odessa did not flinch, allowing her badge to lead the way. She shook his large hand firmly.

“Have we met?” he said. “You look a little familiar. What office are you out of?”

“Newark,” said Odessa quickly. “But I’m on special assignment to Kew Gardens.” She pivoted to Mrs. Colina before the captain could ask another question. “Mrs. Colina, I just want to offer my condolences. This must be an incredibly trying time for you.”

The woman looked lost in her own body, the way some nursing home residents appear. She would not recover from this shock for many weeks. “Thank you,” she said.

“I cannot imagine what it would be like to watch someone walk out the door one day and…then this happens.”

Mrs. Colina nodded. “There was no indication,” she said. “I keep thinking it’s all a great mistake.”

“No indication whatsoever?” said Odessa.