“I’m thinking somebody did.”

Tom rose and went to the fireplace, took the poker and shoved a sparking log back on the pile. “Daisy murdered? That’s preposterous.”

“No more than suicide. That picture of Daisy is all wrong, given what I’ve heard about her. She was like you, Tom; she was a problem-solver.”

Tom reseated himself, picked up his glass and said, “That was a problem I certainly didn’t solve.” He paused. “I do wonder sometimes if she … if there was somebody else.”

“You mean, another man?”

“I have nothing at all to rest that suspicion on, except—”

“What?”

Tom sat back. “There was one night, years ago, I got a call from her telling me she had to go to London right then. I mean, that night. I told her it was impossible from Bryher, but she begged me to help. I did. I found a plane, a pilot. She told me no more but I figured it was someone she needed to help. It must have been, well, crucial, an emergency. Daisy was like that, though. She’d go to any lengths to help someone. So problem-solver, yes, she was.”

Jury smiled. “A fixer. If there’s a good spin you can put on that word.” He recalled Josephine Bewley’s remark “not until the man sat down” at Flora Flood’s table. Jury had wondered at the time who the man had been who had not come to see Flora Flood.

He thought for a moment and then asked, “What is it you miss most about the job, Tom?” For there was no doubt in Jury’s mind that he did miss it.

“The applause.” Tom smiled and drank off his drink.

Jury thought he must have misheard. But apparently not, for Tom continued.

“The acclaim, the acknowledgment, the interviews, picture in the papers, articles about my cases, the way the rank-and-file cops looked at me, at times almost reverently—the praise, the fame, the standing ovation after a talk I gave. As I said, the applause.”

Jury was literally thunderstruck. “You, Tom? Come on!”

“You believe all of that stuff you used to read in the papers or that book about me and my modesty, my self-denigration, my humility, my dislike of publicity? Sorry to disillusion you. I loved it. I think Daisy was the only one who got it. When I balked at doing the book tour, when I said I wanted to avoid all of the admiration. ‘Oh, come on, Dad, drop the pretense. This is me you’re talking to. I know you love it.’”

Jury took a long drink and slid down in his chair. “And I bet you didn’t.”

Tom looked astonished. “I beg your pardon?”