He pulled on it and found, wrapped in tape, a black pocketknife made of molded polymer. Coyle had seen one like it a few years before. He’d arrested a returning Iraq War vet on assault charges and found it in the guy’s boot. The knife was a Microtech automatic. Coyle pressed a button near one end, and a three-inch, scalpel-sharp steel blade sprang out. The blade was covered in a dried, red substance.

Leaning over his shoulder, Bailey squinted at the knife. “What do you think the stuff on the blade is?”

“Probably exactly what you think it is.”

“Il y a une couille dans le potage,” Bailey said.

(ii)

(WEDNESDAY, 11:32 A.M.)

“I wish you’d called ahead, before you came in.” Craig Lerner sat behind a sleek, glass-topped desk. The sleeves of his pressed shirt were rolled to the middle of his forearms. He pointed Rivas to a black leather chair. “I could’ve saved you a trip. My attorney assures me the only way you can compel me to answer questions is by issuing a subpoena, and that requires a judge’s order.”

“He on retainer?” Frames stood across the room with his back to Lerner, peering at a row of wall-mounted documents.

“Who?” Lerner asked.

“Your attorney.”

Lerner stared at Frames. “I understand your need to collect as much information as you can.” He turned again to Rivas. “But I’ve already told you everything I know about Elise that bears on this case.”

Frames snorted. “Everything that bears on this case.”

“We have more questions,” Rivas said, looking at his watch. He could tell Lerner was going to waste another five minutes jerking them around. He hated seeing this shabby side of people when they were backed into a corner. Sometimes he wondered if being around so much lying made him a liar. He found himself telling Eddie small lies about cases to avoid extra work. He even kept things from his wife, Teresa—not telling her how he dreamed of death.

“As business owners,” Lerner said, “my partner and I need to follow certain professional standards as regards our employees…and former employees, so that our clients can trust their reputations to us.”

“Trust? In advertising? You’re kidding, right?” Frames leaned close to a shelf to examine the inscription on a star-shaped trophy.

Lerner ignored the comment. “I don’t have to tell you what a small community this is, and how reputations can be—”

“Mr. Lerner, we’re conducting a homicide investigation, and we’re in a hurry,” Rivas said quickly. “We need to ask you some questions. The sooner you answer them, the sooner we get out of your life and move on to someone else’s life. When you take this attitude, it makes you seem—”

“Guilty,” Frames said.

“Uncooperative,” Rivas said.