“How does it ever end?” Thackrey smiled at Eden. He sat with his legs crossed. His right foot held a clog by the toes and rocked quickly up and down. “We grew apart. Elise was very attractive, obviously. But she was less mature than the women I usually see. And she had a…drug dependency.”

“A drug dependency?” Mahler asked.

“Downers mostly—OxyContin. But really anything she could get her hands on. It’s sad to witness an addiction taking over someone’s life. I don’t mean to be critical, given what’s happened, but she needed more of my time than I was able to spare.”

“Was the decision to end the relationship mutual?” Mahler asked. “Did you and Ms. Durand argue?”

“Nothing of consequence. We just stopped getting together.”

“When did you last see Ms. Durand?”

“A while ago. Two, three weeks.”

Behind Thackrey, a large abstract oil painting hung on the wall. A bright red slash stabbed across a white canvas. Eden pictured Elise coming toward her from the kitchen, sitting beside Thackrey. Had she been killed in this room? Had her body lain on the floor?

“We have a witness who saw you with Ms. Durand last Saturday night,” Eden said.

Thackrey sipped his coffee. “Really? Well, that’s awkward, isn’t it? And what does this witness say Elise and I were doing?”

“Buying five ounces of meth.”

“You’re kidding, right? Methamphetamine? Do I look like the sort of person who would buy meth?”

“Please answer the question.”

“I was not with Elise on Saturday night, and of course, I was not buying meth.”

Mahler, who had spent years in rooms with liars, found himself admiring the smoothness of Thackrey’s lies. “Where were you?”

“I don’t remember. In the city, I think. I had dinner.”

“Where?”

“Perbacco’s on California Street.”

Eden wrote in her notebook. “Can someone corroborate that?”

“I was alone. I had the stracci.”

“So you’d have a receipt, or an online record of the transaction?”

“I’m not comfortable giving you access to my accounts without a subpoena.”

“What about Monday evening, say, after five thirty?” Mahler asked. “Where were you?”

“Here, by myself.”

“Did you make any phone calls that would back up your statement?”

“I don’t remember. Why would I have to back it up?”

“Do you own dogs?”

“Dogs? That’s an odd question. But, no, I’m not really a fan of animals. I have a number of fragile antiquities I’m rather protective of.” Thackrey pointed at a cabinet across the room. “That marble sculpture of Artemis the Hunter is from the second century. Worth two million.”

Mahler watched Thackrey’s shaking leg again and then looked at the man’s eyes. What kind of shit was this guy on? “Nervous, Mr. Thackrey?”

“Of course I’m nervous. I’m being interrogated by police officers about a murder. What about you? You keep blinking. What’s that about?”