She wanted to cheer when she saw his ego win out. He said calmly, with only a civilized hint of annoyance, “I don’t recall that name, Detective.”

“Serena Winters,” Hoolihan said, stolid as a judge. “She was a twenty-year-old student at Godwyn University seven years ago. Godwyn University is in Pennsylvania, thirty or so miles west of Philadelphia.”

Alex merely looked at him, ignored the sarcasm. “Thank you for the location. As I said, I don’t recall her name. Is that all you wanted to ask me?”

Hoolihan said, a bit of steel in his voice, “No, Mr. Harrington, we’re far from through. We can either speak about this here or we can go down to the station. Your choice. But make it snappy, the wind out here is frigid.”

Alex stepped back, waved them in, and closed the door. “Very well. Ms. Barrett and I are quite busy. It isn’t easy to close down a campaign. I hope we can clear up any misunderstanding quickly.”

He took Pamela’s hand and they turned together to lead them down a wide hallway, its white walls covered with incredible Dutch pastoral paintings, not, thank heavens, with Pamela’s signature minimalist style. An elegant antique table was centered beneath them, a tall clear vase on top filled with red roses so abundant they overflowed the surface.

They walked into a living room with twelve-foot ceilings and ornate plaster moldings that took you back in time. What looked to be the original wooden shutters covered the oversized windows that faced a line of brownstones across the street, dark gold draperies pulled tight against the frigid night. Ah, but this room had enjoyed Pamela’s stark hand, all black-and-white pictures, stark and flat. No soul, Mia thought. She felt Pamela’s barely banked rage from six feet away, violent and hot. Mia gave her a fat smile, watched her blink in surprise.

Tommy was staring steadily at Harrington with a look as violent as Pamela’s. Keep it together, Tommy, we’re at the finish line.

The room felt warm and cozy, with the fire burning sluggishly in the Carrera marble fireplace. Alex walked to the fireplace, turned to face them, his arms crossed, calm, poised. Pam walked to stand behind a stark black chair, her eyes once again on Mia.

No one sat down.

Alex’s clipped Boston accent slipped out. “Detective, let me say I am perfectly willing to cooperate with you, whatever it is you wish to know about this student at Godwyn University. I would ask you to understand, though, that my fiancée and I are not only busy, we’re grieving. My best friend, Kent Harper, is fighting for his life. This is hardly the time to discuss another investigation.”

Mia said, “Isn’t it lucky for us we found both of you at home, and not at Bellevue at your best friend’s bedside?”