She was plainly galled. “We’re talking about strangeness, not reticence. People at his bank will tell you the past couple of months he’d be listless, then become totally irrational. Two months ago he threatened to resign if they didn’t approve a loan for some shaky project in New Orleans that made no sense, got the bank in a mess, and then he retreated to his office and was hardly seen for days.”

“I’ve heard all about that. Look, Henry’s big problem is being born with money and a bank when he should have been an English professor. I agree with anyone who says he’s out of place negotiating loans with some slab-handed wheeler-dealer whose life’s dream is to finance trips to Las Vegas and season tickets on the fifty through some real-estate scam. But that’s no crime, just a sad incongruity.”

She sloshed the tea in her glass, as if examining it for something important. “What about affairs?”

I was getting annoyed. “Henry’s never shown the slightest interest in any woman but Lydia, except perhaps the ones in books. You’re not dealing with Richard Burton, just a slightly dreamy middle-aged gentleman who likes to read. Nothing strange about him. If you want strangeness, try Rayfield.”

“Why him?”

“Because he’s got the look of a classic obsessive-compulsive personality. He began acting like Henry was one of his obsessions before he’d even met him.”

She shrugged. “Maybe he’s afraid Cantwell will do it again.”

“That’s droll.”

“I’m serious. There are a lot of scared people out there.”

“And Rayfield’s helping to scare them.”

The waitress came with key-lime pie. Culhane took a bite before saying, “Rayfield is sort of a Jesuit: no other interests, no family or friends outside the police and not many of those, no women anyone’s heard of. All he wants is to track down sin—you know, ‘man the hunter.’ He even told one of our people once that the relationship between him and a suspect is a personal thing, like he almost breathes with the guy. It’s a little obsessive, sure. But I don’t think he’s off about Cantwell. Put together what bits I know: in the last two months Henry begins acting irrational, Lydia shows an interest in divorce and is killed, and then Henry forgets to tell Rayfield about what obviously was a twelve-minute quarrel. You don’t have to be brilliant to guess that one of them was having an affair.”

“Just irresponsible. Do yourself and Channel Seven a favor. Watch what you say.”

She looked at me seriously. “We’ve got lawyers, too. I’m just telling you not to invest too much in this.” She took another bite. “Incidentally, what does your client say about his little lapse on the telephone call? I’ll be happy to report it.”

“I haven’t asked him.”