It hit me with the force he had intended: Rayfield had Henry Cantwell one witness from a death sentence, with me in between. Find Mooring, I thought, and he had Lydia’s lover, Jason’s father, and the final proof that would convict Henry Cantwell: Joanne Mooring to say Henry had come home that night. “I’m curious, Lieutenant. Why did Henry shoot at me? I forget.”

“Because you know the boyfriend or some other detail that convicts him. It’s good you’re starting to think about it.”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t compute. I was coming from his place the night I was shot at. I’d just seen him.”

Rayfield leaned still closer. “Cantwell was alone, Shaw. Nothing to keep him from following. He’s a crack shot, you know, and what with you blacked out in the garage he’d have time to see the lights weren’t on and set up in the bushes next door. It’s a perfect blind.”

“It’s perfect bullshit.”

“You know it isn’t. He killed Mrs. Cantwell, played you off against Cade, and then threatened your wife when you got too close. Who did you see the night before you found her picture? Who did you see again the night before you were shot at? What did you tell him that can’t come out?”

I said nothing. “You want your wife killed?” he kept on. “By the time we cull all of Mrs. Cantwell’s friends for gray-haired men it may be too late. But you can stop it. Just tell me who Lee saw visit Mrs. Cantwell. Lee’s not lying, is he?” His voice rose. “Tell me, Shaw. Tell me before that fairy kills you, too.”

His face was rapt and excited. I felt cornered. In a low voice I answered, “You might be better off looking to your own fears.”

A sick, trapped look drained the keenness from his face. “You’re obstructing justice,” he said tightly. “Withholding evidence, lying. I can have you disbarred.”

“Maybe.”

“It’s your last chance. Make me leave the room without her boyfriend’s name and I start working on you.”

I shrugged.

In the instant before leaving he looked almost lonely. Then he straightened and walked out, closing the door with fearful gentleness.

Kris Ann smiled behind me in the bathroom mirror. “Like what you see?”

“Not particularly.” For a moment my image had blurred. I squinted, shaking my head, and my features reappeared. The stitches were gone, leaving a thin scar the doctor said would turn white. But the bruise near my temple was blue and yellow and still swollen enough that my left eye was half-closed. I didn’t mention the blurring. “I take it Henry hasn’t called.”

“No. Should he have?”

“I guess not.”

“How do you feel?”

“My head’s kind of light.”