‘Someone must have known her.’

‘No one who’ll come forward.’ Sykes leaned back in his chair. ‘We’re stuck. If it’s murder, then someone’s committed the perfect crime.’

‘And chosen the perfect victim,’ said Kat. She looked at Ratchet, who was hunched at his desk, making a ham sandwich disappear. ‘Vince? You talk to Greenwood Mortuary?’

‘They’ve had no calls, and the burial’s tomorrow. But someone did pay the expenses.’

‘Who?’

‘Anonymous. Envelope stuffed with cash.’

Kat shook her head in disbelief. ‘And you guys aren’t chasing that?’

‘Why? Not a crime to pay for a woman’s burial.’

‘It shows that someone knew her. And cared about her. Don’t you guys have anything?’

‘We know she lived out in Bellemeade,’ said Sykes. ‘Had an apartment on Flashner and Grove. We asked around the building, and you know what? No one even knew her name. They’d seen her come and go, but that was it. So much for witnesses.’

‘How did she get the drug?’

Sykes shrugged. ‘Maybe she bought it off Esterhaus. Or got a free sample in exchange for, uh, services.’

‘Prostitution?’

‘She’d been busted for it before. It’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks, pardon the double entendre.’

‘So we’re back to blaming Herb Esterhaus?’

‘I don’t know who else to blame. It’s a dead end for us.’

For Mandy Barnett as well, thought Kat. She remembered the woman’s flame-colored hair, her porcelain beauty, shrouded in the cold mist of the morgue drawer. Not the sort of looks that went unnoticed in this world. Surely there’d been friends, lovers? Men who’d known the pleasures of her company, if only for a night. Where were they now?

A woman dies, and no one seems to notice. She thought about this as she walked through the police station. She thought about herself, wondered how many would notice her death, would come to her funeral. Clark, of course. Wheelock, out of duty. But there’d be no husband, no family, no giant mounds of flowers on the grave. We’re alike, Mandy and I. Whether by choice or by circumstance, we’ve made our way alone through life.

She stopped at the elevators and punched the Down button. Just as the floor bell rang, she heard a voice say behind her, ‘Well, speak of the devil.’

Turning, she saw her ex-husband emerge from the chief’s office. You wouldn’t come to my funeral, either, she thought with a sudden dart of hostility.

‘My, what a nice scowl you’re wearing today,’ said Ed.

They both stepped into the elevator and the doors slapped shut. He was looking dapper as usual, not a scuff on his shiny Italian shoes. What had she ever seen in him? she wondered. Then she thought morosely, what had he ever seen in her?

‘I got what you asked for,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘The name of the cop who arrested Esterhaus last year. You still want it, don’t you?’

‘Who was it?’

‘The name was Ben Fuller, Narcotics detail. A sergeant with eighteen years on the force. He filed the arrest report. Possession of three live marijuana plants.’

‘Did Fuller also arrange the release?’

‘Nope. Feds did. They stepped in and pulled their ex-witness out of the fire. So you can drop the conspiracy angle. Fuller had nothing to do with it.’

‘Can I see his Internal Affairs file?’

‘Won’t do you any good.’

‘Why not?’

The elevator doors slid open. ‘Because Ben Fuller’s dead,’ he said, and walked out.

Kat dashed after him into the first floor lobby. ‘Dead? How?’

‘Shot to death in the line of duty. He was a good cop, Kat. I’ve talked to his buddies. He had a wife, three kids, and a whole drawer full of commendations. So lay off the guy, okay? He was a hero. He doesn’t deserve anyone mucking up his memory.’ With that, Ed went out the front door.

Kat watched her ex-husband stride away down the sidewalk. Then she stalked off to her car.

Traffic was heavy on Dillingham, and she didn’t have the patience to deal with it. Every red light, every idiot making a left turn, seemed to jog her irritation up another notch. By the time she got back to the morgue, she felt like a menace to the public.

In her office two dozen long-stemmed roses sat in a vase on her desk. ‘What the hell’s this?’

Clark stuck his head out of his office and called out sweetly: ‘So who’s the new lover boy, Novak?’

She slammed the door on his laughter. Then she sank into her chair and sat staring at the roses. They were gorgeous. They were blood red, the symbol of love, of passion.

Once, Ed had sent her roses, that very same color. Just before he’d asked for a divorce.

She dropped her head in her hands and wondered morbidly what sort of flowers Adam Quantrell would send to her funeral.

What she found instead was Isabel’s Mercedes parked in the driveway.

Kat got out of her car and stood for a moment by the Mercedes, gazing in at the leather upholstery, the kidskin gloves lying on the front seat. Then, in an even blacker mood, she went to the front door and rang the bell.

Thomas opened the door and regarded her with surprise. ‘Oh dear! Did Mr. Q. neglect to give you a key, Dr. Novak?’

Kat cleared her throat. It had never occurred to her to simply walk in the door. After all, she was a guest and would always feel like one. ‘Well, yeah,’ she said. ‘I guess he did give me a key.’

Thomas stepped aside to usher her in.

‘I thought I should ring first,’ she added as he took her jacket.

‘Of course,’ he said. He reached into the closet for a hanger. ‘Mr. Q. hasn’t arrived yet. But Miss Calderwood dropped by for a visit. She’s in the parlor, if you’d care to join her for tea.’

Joining Isabel was the last thing she felt like doing, but she couldn’t think of a graceful way to avoid it. So, hoisting a socially acceptable smile onto her lips, she entered the parlor.

Isabel was seated on the striped couch. Her sweater, a fluffy cashmere, hung fetchingly off the shoulder. She seemed unsurprised to see Kat; in fact, she appeared to have expected her.

‘Hope you haven’t been waiting long,’ said Kat. ‘I don’t know when Adam’s expected home.’

‘He gets home at six o’clock,’ said Isabel.

‘Did he call?’

‘No. That’s when he always gets home.’

‘Oh.’ Kat sat down in the Queen Anne chair and wondered what else Isabel knew about Adam’s habits. Probably more than I ever will. She glanced at the end table and saw the empty teacup, the plate of biscuits. The book Isabel had been reading lay beside her on the couch – the title was in French. The very air held the scent of her perfume – something cool, something elegant; no drugstore florals for her.

‘Six o’clock is his usual time,’ Isabel went on, pouring more tea into her cup. ‘Unless it’s Wednesday, when he kicks off early and gets home around five. He occasionally has a drink before supper – Scotch, heavy on the soda – and perhaps a glass of wine with his meal, but only one glass. After supper, he reads. Scientific journals, the latest pharmaceuticals, that sort of thing. He takes his work seriously, you see.’ She set the teapot back down. ‘And then he makes time for fun. Which normally includes me.’ She looked at Kat and smiled.

‘Look, if you’re telling me all this because you feel threatened, Isabel, don’t bother. With me, what you see is what you get. No blue blood, no pedigree.’ She laughed. ‘Definitely no class.’

‘I didn’t mean to put you down,’ said Isabel hastily. ‘I simply thought I could clear up a few things about Adam.’

‘Such as?’

‘Oh, I don’t know . . .’ Isabel shrugged. ‘Aspects of his life you may not be familiar with. It must seem quite disorienting. Being thrust into this huge old house. All these portraits of strangers hanging on the walls. And then there’s a whole circle of his friends you’ve never met.’

‘I guess you know them all.’

‘We grew up in that same circle, Adam and I. I knew Georgina. I watched the whole sad affair. And I was there when he needed a friend.’ She paused, and added significantly, ‘I’m still here.’ And I’ll be here long after you’re gone, was the unspoken message. Isabel took a sip of tea and set the cup and saucer back down on the end table. ‘I just wanted you to think about this. So you know what to expect.’

And she thought about her heart, recently healed, and how long it takes to put the pieces back together once it’s broken.

She went upstairs, collected her toothbrush and underwear, and came back down again.

Thomas, carrying a tray of fresh tea and biscuits, met her in the hall. ‘Dr. Novak,’ he said. ‘I was just bringing this in to you.’

‘Thanks. But I’m on my way out.’

He frowned when he saw the car keys she’d already removed from her purse. ‘When shall I tell Mr. Q. you’ll be returning?’

‘Tell him . . . tell him I’ll be in touch,’ she said, and walked out of the house.

‘But, Dr. Novak—’

She got into her car and started the engine. ‘You’ve been great, Thomas!’ she called through the car window. ‘Don’t let Miss Calderwood push you around.’ As she drove off, she could see him in her rearview mirror, still staring after her.

The stone pillars lay ahead. She was in such a hurry to get away, she almost crashed into Adam’s Volvo, driving in through the gate. He skidded to a stop at the side of the road.

‘Kat?’ he yelled. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’ll call you!’ she yelled back, and kept on driving.

A half mile later, she glanced in her mirror and saw, through a film of tears, that the road behind her was empty. He hadn’t followed her. She blinked the tears away and, gripping the steering wheel more tightly, drove on, toward the city.

Away from Adam.

Adam watched Kat’s taillights disappear into the dusk and wondered when she’d be back. Had there been a call from the morgue? Some urgent reason for her to rush to work? An emergency autopsy?

He pulled in front of the house and parked. Even before he’d climbed the front steps, Thomas had appeared in the doorway.

‘Evening, Thomas. What’s up?’

‘I was about to ask you. Dr. Novak just left.’

‘Yes, I passed her at the gate.’

‘No, I mean she’s left. Taken her things with her.’

‘What?’ Adam turned and stared up the driveway. By now, she would be a good mile or more away, perhaps already turning onto the freeway. He’d never be able to catch up with her in time.

He looked back at Thomas. ‘Did she say why she was leaving?’

Thomas shrugged. ‘Not a word.’

‘Did she say anything?’

‘I never had the opportunity to speak with her. She and Miss Calderwood were taking tea, and—’

‘Isabel was here?’

‘Why, yes. She left a short time before Dr. Novak did.’

At once, Adam turned and headed to his car.

She appeared, smiling, at the top of the stairs. ‘Why, Adam. How unexpected—’

‘What did you say to her?’

Isabel shook her head innocently. ‘To whom?’

‘Kat.’

‘Ah.’ With new comprehension in her gaze, Isabel glided down the stairs. ‘We spoke,’ she admitted. ‘But nothing of earth-shattering significance.’

‘What did you say?’

She came to a stop on the bottom step. The crystal chandelier above spilled its pool of sparkling light onto her hair. ‘I only told her that I understood the difficulties she must be having. The transition to a large house. A new circle of friends. She’s not having an easy time of it, Adam.’

‘Not with friends like you.’

Her chin jutted up. ‘I was only offering her my advice. And sympathy.’

‘Isabel.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve known you a long time. We’ve shared some . . . reasonably enjoyable moments together. But I’ve never known you to be, in any way, shape, or form, sympathetic to anyone. Except maybe yourself.’

‘But Adam! Look at who she is, where she comes from! I’m telling you this as a friend. I don’t want to see you make a mistake.’

‘The only mistake I ever made,’ he said, walking out of the house, ‘was calling you a friend.’ He slammed the door shut behind him, got back in his car, and drove home.

He spent all evening trying to locate Kat. He called her cell phone. It was switched off. He called the city morgue. He called Lou Sykes. He even called Ed Novak. No one knew where she’d gone, where she was spending the night. Or, if they knew, they weren’t telling him.

At well past midnight, he went up to bed in frustration. There, lying in the darkness, Isabel’s words came back to assail him. Look at who she is, where she comes from. He asked himself over and over if it made a difference to him.

And the honest answer was: no.

He’d already had a ‘proper’ marriage, to a proper woman. Georgina was everything the social register required: blue-blooded, wealthy, well-glossed by finishing school. Together they were, by the standards of their social set, the perfect couple.

They had been miserable.

So much for proper partners.

Kat Novak’s origins, her hardscrabble youth, were, if anything, an asset. She was a survivor, a woman who’d wrestled the challenges life had thrown at her and come out the stronger for it. Could any of his friends, with their money and their platinum exteriors, have done the same? he wondered.

And then, even more troubling, was the next thought: Could he have?

She found her desk littered with pink message slips, taped in a haphazard collage. Calls from her overwhelmed insurance agent, from the DA’s, from defense attorneys, from a mortuary. And from Adam, of course – five calls, judging by the number of slips. On the last slip, the night tech had scrawled in frustration: ‘Call this guy!’ Kat crumpled up all the message slips from Adam and tossed them in the trash can.

The phone rang. She frowned at it, watched it ring once, twice, three times. Wearily she picked it up. ‘Kat Novak.’

‘Kat! I’ve been trying to reach you—’

‘Morning, Adam. How’re things?’

There was a long pause. ‘Obviously,’ he said, ‘we have to talk.’

‘About what?’

‘About why you left.’

‘Simple.’ She leaned back and propped her feet up on a chair. ‘It was time to leave. You’ve been great to me, Adam. You really have. But I didn’t want to wear out the welcome. And I had to find my own place eventually, so I—’

‘So you ran.’

‘No. I walked.’

‘You ran.’

Her spine stiffened. ‘And what, exactly, am I supposed to be running from?’

‘From me. From the chance it might not work.’

‘Look, I have things to do right now—’

‘Is it so hard for you, Kat, to stick your neck out? It’s not easy for me, either. I take a step toward you, you take a step back. I say the wrong thing, look at you the wrong way, and you’re off like a shot. I don’t know how to deal with it.’

‘Then don’t.’

‘Is that what you really want?’

She sighed. ‘I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know what I want.’

‘I think you do. But you’re too scared to follow your heart.’

‘How the hell do you know what’s in my heart?’

‘Wild guess?’

‘It’s not like Cinderella, okay?’ she snapped. ‘Girls from the Projects don’t have fairy godmothers to spiff them up. And they don’t find happily-ever-afters in Surry Heights. Isabel gave me the straight scoop and I appreciate that. I’d be out to sea with your country club set. Too many damn forks on the table. Too many cute French words. Face it, I can’t ski, I can’t ride a horse, and I can’t tell the difference between Burgundy and Beaujolais. It’s all red wine to me. I don’t see any way of getting past that. No matter how much you may lust after my body, you’ll find after a while that it isn’t enough. You’ll want a fancier package. And I’ll just want to be me.’

‘I never took you for a coward before.’

She laughed. ‘Go ahead, insult me if it makes you feel better.’

‘You’ll risk your neck for an old car. You’ll march into a damn combat zone without blinking. But you’re too scared to take a chance on me.’

She looked down at one of the message slips taped to her desk, and noticed it was from the Greenwood Mortuary, in response to a call she’d made to them yesterday.

‘Kat?’ Adam asked. ‘Are you listening?’

‘I can’t talk now,’ she said, and folded the slip in half. ‘I have to go to a burial.’

Kat stood in the shelter of a nearby maple tree and sadly watched the proceedings. It was the starkest of ceremonies, words uttered tonelessly under gray skies, rain splattering the coffin. The official kept glancing around, as though to confirm that he was playing to an audience – any audience. At least I’m here, thought Kat. Even if I am just another stranger at her graveside. A short distance away, Vince Ratchet also stood watching the scene. Cemeteries were routine stops for the boys from Homicide. They knew that two types of people attended victims’ funerals: those who came to mourn, and those who came to gloat.

In Mandy Barnett’s case, no one at all appeared. Those who passed through the cemetery this afternoon seemed intent on their own business: a couple bearing flowers to a loved one; an elderly woman, picking dead leaves off a grave; a groundskeeper, rattling by in a golf cart filled with tools. They all glanced at the coffin, but their looks were only mildly curious.

The rain let up to a fine drizzle. In a still mist, the burial crew set to work, shoveling earth into the trench. Ratchet came over to Kat and muttered, ‘This was a bust. Not a goddamn soul.’ He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. ‘And I’ll probably catch pneumonia for my trouble.’

‘You’d think there’d be someone,’ said Kat.

‘Weather might have something to do with it.’ Ratchet glanced up at the sky and pulled his raincoat closer. ‘Or maybe she didn’t have any friends.’

‘Everyone has a connection. To someone.’

‘Well, I think we got us a dead end.’ Ratchet looked back at the grave. ‘Real dead.’

‘So there’s nothing new?’

‘Nada. Lou’s ready to call it quits. Told me not to bother coming out here today.’

‘But you came.’

‘Hate to walk away from a case. Even if Lou thinks it’s a waste of time.’

They watched as the last shovelful of dirt was tossed onto the grave. The crew patted it down, gave their handiwork one final inspection, and walked away.

After awhile, so did Ratchet.

Kat was left standing alone under the tree. Slowly she crossed the wet grass to the grave and stared down at the mound. There was no headstone yet, no marker. Nothing to identify the woman who lay beneath this bare pile of dirt. Who were you, Mandy Barnett? Were you so alone in this world that no one even noticed when you left it?

‘It’s not as if you can do anything about it,’ said a voice behind her.

She turned and saw Adam. He was standing a few feet away, mist sheening his hair.

She looked back down at the grave. ‘I know.’

‘So why did you come?’

‘I guess I feel sorry for her. For anyone who doesn’t have a mourner to her name.’

Adam came to stand beside her. ‘You don’t know a thing about her, Kat. Maybe she didn’t want any friends. Or deserve any friends. Maybe she was a monster.’

‘Or just a victim.’

He took her arm. ‘We’ll never know. So let’s just go inside somewhere. Get warm and dry.’

‘I have to go back to work.’ She paused as a flicker of movement drifted through her peripheral vision. She focused on two figures, a woman and a child, both dressed in black, standing beneath a distant tree. It was an eerie apparition, almost ghostly through the mist. They seemed to be gazing in her direction, their faces very still and solemn. Or was it Mandy Barnett’s grave they were looking at?

Suddenly the woman noticed that Kat had spotted them. At once the woman grabbed the child’s hand and began to lead her away, across the grass.

‘Wait!’ called Kat.

The woman was moving quickly now, almost dragging the child after her.

Kat started after them. ‘I have to talk to you!’

The woman and child were already scurrying towards a parked car. Kat dashed across the last patch of lawn, reaching the blacktop just as the woman slammed her car door shut.

‘Wait!’ said Kat, rapping on the window. ‘Did you know Mandy Barnett?’

She caught a glimpse of the woman’s frightened face, staring at her through the glass, and then the car jerked away. Kat was flung backwards. The car made a sharp U-turn, spun around in the parking lot, and took off toward the cemetery gates.

Footsteps thudded toward her across the pavement. ‘What’s going on?’ said Adam.

Without a word, Kat turned and made a dash for her car.

‘Kat?’ he yelled. ‘What the hell—’

‘Get in!’ she snapped, sliding into the driver’s seat.

‘Why?’

‘Okay, don’t get in!’

He got in. At once, Kat turned the ignition and hit the gas pedal. They screeched across the slick blacktop and through the cemetery gates.

‘We’ve got a choice,’ said Kat as they approached the first intersection. ‘East or west. Which way?’

‘Uh . . . east is back to town. She’d probably go that way.’

‘Then we go west.’

‘What?’

‘Just a hunch. Trust me.’ Kat turned west.

The road took them past a shopping mall, past a Pizza Hut, an Exxon gas station, a Burger King – the institutional underpinnings of Anytown, U.S.A. At the first red light, Kat pulled to a stop behind a line of cars. The windshield filmed over with mist. She turned on the wipers.

A block ahead, a dark green Chevy pulled out of a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot.

‘There they are,’ said Kat.

Adam shook his head in amazement. ‘You were right.’

‘First rule of escape: Never move in a straight line. See? She’s heading north. I bet she’ll circle back towards town. The long way around.’

The light turned green. Kat turned north, in pursuit of the Chevy. She kept her distance, with two cars between them. A half mile along, the Chevy turned east. As she’d predicted, her quarry was moving in a wide circle, taking secondary roads back to town.

‘Is this why you went to the burial?’ asked Adam.

‘The same reason the cops went. To see who’d turn up to pay their last respects. I figured someone would. The same anonymous person who slipped Greenwood Mortuary the cash for that coffin. It was just bottom-of-the-line plywood and veneer, but it was paid for. Our mystery lady in that Chevy must’ve been the one.’

‘Did you get a look at her?’

‘Just a glimpse. Late twenties, maybe. And a kid about six years old.’

They followed the Chevy to the Stanhope district, a bluecollar suburb of single family homes lined up on postage-stamp lots. From a block away, they saw the Chevy pull into a driveway. The woman got out and helped the child from the car, and together they climbed the porch steps into a house. It was a pink stucco box, irredeemably ugly, with cast-iron bars on the windows and a TV antenna the size of an oil rig on the roof.

Kat parked. For a moment they sat studying the house. ‘What do you think?’ she said.

‘It’s like approaching a trapped animal. She could be dangerous. Why don’t we just call the police?’

‘No, I think she’s afraid of the police. Otherwise she’d have called them.’

After a pause, he nodded. ‘All right, we can try talking to her. But the first sign of trouble and we’re out of there. Is that clear?’

They got out of the car and she smiled across the roof at him. ‘Absolutely.’

They could hear the sound of the TV as they approached the front door. Some kids’ show – cartoon voices, twinkly music. Kat stood off to the side of the porch, and Adam knocked.

A little girl appeared at the screen door.

Adam flashed his million-dollar smile. ‘Can I talk to your mommy?’ he said.

‘She’s not here.’

‘Can you call her, then?’

‘She’s not here.’

‘Well, is she in another room or something?’

‘No.’ The voice wavered, dropped to a whisper. ‘She went away to heaven.’

Adam stared at her pityingly. ‘I’m sorry.’

There was a silence, then the girl said, ‘You wanna talk to my Auntie Lila?’

‘Missy? Who’s out there?’ called a voice.

‘Just a man,’ said the girl.

Bare feet slapped across the floor and a woman came to the screen door. She peered out blankly at Adam. Then her gaze shifted and she caught sight of Kat, standing off to the side. The woman froze in recognition.

‘It’s all right,’ said Kat. ‘My name’s Dr. Novak. I’m with the medical examiner—’

‘It was you. At the cemetery . . .’

‘I’ve been trying to find someone who knew Mandy Barnett.’

‘My mommy?’ said the child.

The woman looked down at the girl. ‘Go on, honey. Go watch TV.’

‘But she’s talking about my mommy.’

‘Just grownup stuff. Listen! I think Spongebob is on! Go on, you watch it.’

The girl, faced with the choice of adult conversation or her favorite cartoon, chose the latter. She scampered off into the next room.

The woman looked back at Kat. ‘Why’re you asking about Mandy? You with the police?’

‘I told you, I’m with the medical examiner’s office.’ She paused. ‘I think Mandy Barnett was murdered.’

The woman was silent as she considered her next move. ‘It’s not like I know anything,’ she said.

‘Then why are you afraid?’

‘Because people might think I know more than I do.’

‘Tell us what you know,’ said Adam. ‘Then we’ll all know it. And you won’t have to be afraid.’

The woman glanced toward the sound of the TV, now blaring out a cereal commercial. She looked back at Kat. Then, slowly, she unlatched the screen door and motioned them to come in.