“I think we all know they were killed with a cord, don’t you? You’re not going to be stupid now, are you? I like it so much better when you’re smart.”

Mahler listened. He could see Eden’s command of the encounter and felt no need to intervene. Something about Partridge’s voice held him. What was he up to?

Eden raised the gun and, bracing the handle with two hands, pointed it at Partridge. “Are you here to confess to the killings?”

Partridge took another step closer. “Oh, Chiclet. That’s not what you really want, is it? No, I think it’s going to end another way.”

“Stay where you are.”

“I came here tonight with a—let’s call it a suggestion. I hear you visited my friend, Lorin. She’s a pretty little thing, but sometimes she gets confused. I hold you responsible. So I’m here to tell you politely to stay the fuck away from my girl and my apartment.”

At these words, Mahler felt a flash of recognition. The sensation came over him without his understanding. He remembered Woodhouse once saying sometimes with a hopeless case, he’d get a feeling of an opening even before the facts arrived. It’s as real as the world, Woodhouse said.

Two days earlier in the interview room, Partridge had momentarily lost himself, peering at Eden like a prey animal. Now it was Eden again. But it was different. What was it? Without knowing why, Mahler lowered his gunsight from Partridge’s head.

“Lorin Albright’s part of our investigation,” Eden said. “We can talk to her any time we want.”

“Well, you can, but you shouldn’t.” Partridge stepped within ten feet of Eden. “Not if you don’t want to get hurt. You’re young and smart. Nobody wants you to get hurt.” With his hands still raised, Partridge wiggled his fingers and smiled.

In an instant Mahler understood. The guy’s scared. The son of a bitch has never been scared. But now he’s scared. Mahler let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Table’s turning, he thought.

Mahler stared at Eden, standing now with her gun raised. How had this young woman done what he had failed to do for two years?

Mahler walked forward, gun in hand. “It’s time for you to leave, Irwin.”

Partridge’s focus moved from Eden to Mahler. “Lieutenant Mahler. What do you want?”

“You remember where your car’s parked, Irwin?”

Partridge looked back to Eden and winked. “We’re not done, Chiclet. You want to watch your step.”

Eden waited for Partridge to disappear down the stairwell. Then she turned and crossed the garage floor to Mahler, shoving her gun in its holster. Suddenly unsteady, she leaned against the car. “Not sure I could have shot him.”

“You did the right thing.” Mahler rested one hand on her shoulder.