"No, he was there, in the house. He was with Belinda, upstairs in their suite. They were out on the balcony above me."

"What were they doing?"

For an instant she looked incredibly angry, then her face smoothed out and her voice was smooth, unworried. "They were making love."

He hadn't expected that. "You understood what was happening, right? It didn't freak you out?"

"No. It was just embarrassing. Douglas was saying lots of really dirty things."

"Then what happened?"

"I heard Belinda cry out."

"Was she having a climax?"

"I don't think so. I heard her roll off the chaise onto the brick balcony. I heard her crying, then she stopped."

"Why?"

"I heard Douglas tell her that if she cried anymore someone might hear her and he wouldn't like that at all. In fact, if she kept whining, he just might throw her off the balcony." "Then what happened?"

"Nothing. Belinda was quiet then. After a few minutes, I heard them making love again. I heard Douglas tell her that she'd better moan because if she didn't moan, he wouldn't believe she really loved him. She moaned really loudly then and he said more really dirty things to her. He kept telling her that she owed him, owed him but good." "Do you know what he meant by that?" She shook her head. "What happened then?"

"I waited until Douglas went out, then I went to their bedroom and called out her name. She told me to go away but I didn't. I just walked in. She was standing in the middle of the room, naked. She grabbed for her jeans and put them in front of her. I asked her if Douglas had hit her and she said no, that was ridiculous. Douglas wouldn't hit anybody. But I didn't believe her. I think I saw a bruise below her ribs when she raised her hand to wave me away. But I didn't leave her. I couldn't."

"Had this happened before, to your knowledge?" She was shaking her head. "Oh no. I'm certain. I thought they loved each other. Douglas was always so light and caressing with her, so tender. They were always laughing and hugging, kissing when they didn't think anyone was looking. But not now. She couldn't stand up straight. I wanted to kill him. But she said no, if anyone killed him it would be her. She told me to go away, that she didn't want to see me, I was a pain in the butt. She had a miscarriage that night."

"You never told anyone about this? Not even the police after she was murdered?"

She didn't say anything. She was frowning again. "She must have had a miscarriage because Douglas hit her. I'd forgotten all about that." Suddenly, her eyes opened and she stared blankly ahead of her. She looked bewildered, then frightened. He began to massage her hand, closing his fingers over hers. "It's all right, Sherlock. I'm here. Nothing bad is going to happen."

She started to cry. She just stared at him, made no sound, but tears streaked down her pale cheeks. Her lips were chapped.

Dr. Bowers wiped the tears away with a Kleenex. "Now, Lacey, that's enough. I want you to wake up now. I'm going to count to three. On three, you'll be awake, smile at Savich here, and remember everything we talked about."

On three, Lacey, her eyes still open, came back into herself. "Why am I crying?"

She rubbed her fingers over her eyes. "Oh, I remember now. It was-"

"It's okay," Savich said, pulled her against him, and began stroking his big hands up and down her back. "You don't have to talk about it right this minute."

She grew very still in his arms. Her heart was against his. He could feel the slow, steady beat. He kissed her hair. "You okay?"

She nodded against his shoulder. "I miss Belinda so much. She was more my mother than our real mother was. Our real mother just stayed in her room all the time. She loved to eat Godiva chocolates. And she was so beautiful-both Belinda and my mother. I was the plain one, but neither of them held it against me, well, maybe Belinda didn't like me so much when I was older. I don't know why.

"I know Douglas had never hit her before, she told me he hadn't. I asked her why he'd hit her this time, why he'd humiliated her."

"What'd she say?"

"She wouldn't tell me. She just stood there, shaking her head. She told me I wouldn't understand. That it had nothing to do with me, that I was to forget it.

"I was confused, then angry. I told her I was nineteen, that I wasn't a kid anymore, that I could play the piano and she couldn't. She laughed at that, but it hurt her rib to laugh, so she stopped really fast. She told me to forget this, that it wasn't important in the scheme of things. She told me to go away. I went to Napa Valley with some friends. I never saw Belinda again."