"He designed Glen's house, didn't he?"

"Not really. His father was the original architect when the house was built back in the twenties. Dwight did the restoration," she said. "I think I need a drink. Do you want one?"

"Sure, that's fine," I said.

She reached for the brandy decanter, removing the heavy glass stopper. She laid the neck of the decanter against the edge of one of the snifters, but her hands were shaking so badly I thought she'd crack the glass. I reached over and took the bottle from her, pouring her a stiff shot. I poured myself one too, though at ten in the morning, it was the last thing I wanted. She gave hers a perfunctory swirl and we both drank. I swallowed and my mouth came open automatically as if I'd just risen to the surface of a swimming pool. This was clearly fine stuff, but I didn't think I'd need my teeth cleaned for a year. I watched her calm herself, taking a deep breath or two.

1 was trying desperately to recall the accounts I'd read of the incident in which Costigan was killed. It must have been five or six years ago. As nearly as I could remember, someone had broken into their Montebello house one night and had shot Dwight to death after a struggle in the bedroom. I'd been off in Houston for a client so I hadn't followed the events very closely, but as far as I knew, it was still sitting on the books as an unsolved homicide.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Don't ask and don't interfere. I pleaded with Bobby to let it go, but he wouldn't listen and it cost him his life. The past is the past. It's over and done with and I'm the only one paying for it now. Forget it. I don't care, and if you're smart, you won't either."

"You know I can't do that. Tell me what went on."

"What for? It won t change anything."

"Nola, I'm going to find out whether you tell me or not. If you lay it out for me maybe it won't have to go any further than this. Maybe I'll understand and agree to drop the whole thing. I'm not unreasonable, but you've gotta play fair."

I could see the indecision written in her face. She said, "Oh God," and put her head down for a moment. She looked at me with anxiety. "We're talking about a lunatic. Someone so crazy. You'd have to swear… you'd have to promise to back off."

"I can't make a promise like that and you know it. Tell me the story and then we'll figure out what has to be done."

"I've never told anyone except Bobby and look what happened to him."

"What about Sufi? She knows, doesn't she?"

She blinked at me, momentarily startled at the mention of Sufi's name. She looked away from me. "No, not at all. I'm sure she doesn't know what's going on. Why would she?" The answer seemed too hesitant to be convincing, but I let it pass for the time being. Could Sufi be blackmailing her?

"Well, somebody else knows," I said. "From what I gather, you're being blackmailed and that's what Bobby was trying to stop. What's the deal? What does this person have on you? What kind of leverage?"

I let the silence stretch, watching as she struggled with her need to unload.

Finally, she started talking, her voice so low I was forced to lean forward so I could hear her. "We'd been married nearly fifteen years. Dwight was on medication for high blood pressure and it made him impotent. We'd never had a highly charged sex life anyway. I got restless and found.… someone else."

"A lover."

She nodded, eyes closed as if the recollection hurt her. "Dwight walked in on us one night in bed. He was crazed. He got a gun from the study and came back and there was a struggle."

I caught the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. I glanced toward the door and she did too, her voice becoming urgent.

"Don't breathe a word of this. Please."

"Trust me, I won't. What's the rest?"

She hesitated. "I shot Dwight. It was an accident, but somebody has the gun with my fingerprints on it."

"And that's what Bobby was searching for?"

She nodded almost imperceptibly.

"But who has it? Your ex-lover?"

Nola raised a finger to her lips. There was a tap at the door and Dr. Fraker stuck his head in, apparently surprised to see me sitting there. "Oh, hi, Kinsey. Is that your car in the drive? I was just about to take off, and I couldn't figure out who was here."

"I stopped by to talk to Nola about Glen," I said. "I don't think she's doing too well and I was wondering if we shouldn't work out some arrangement to take turns spending time with her now that Derek's gone."