"I don't remember."

"You don't remember the last time you spoke with your ex-wife?" Stacy repeated, disbelieving. "I find

that odd."

"I find your questioning me about this odd. What has the woman gotten herself into now?"

The man's att.i.tude rankled and Stacy ignored his question. "If you'd prefer, we can continue downtown.

At police headquarters."

"Call my lawyer in the morning. I'm tired, I'm going home."

He started to move past them; Mac stopped him. "Your ex-wife is dead, Mr. Hastings. Murdered. Last

night."

Something flickered over his expression, then was gone. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"You tell us."

"I've been on a cruise for ten days. I can't remember the last time I actually laid eyes on the woman. So,

obviously, it has nothing to do with me."

Stacy narrowed her eyes. He possessed an arrogance only money could buy. A lot of money. It got her back up. "I see you're all broken up over this." The man released an irritated breath. "The biggest mistake I ever made was marrying that woman. Not insisting on a prenup was a lapse in sanity."

"And why did you, Mr. Hastings?" Stacy pressed. "Marry her?"

He skimmed his gaze a.s.sessingly over her. She suspected he found her lacking. "Elle could...do things n.o.body else could."

"Things?"

"Yeah, things. With her body. To mine. I thought 'I do' meant she would be content doing those things only with me."

"But that wasn't the case?"

"Elle is a s.e.x addict and a serial cheater." He glanced longingly in the direction his companion had gone,

then back at them. "Look, Detectives, Elle was a self-centered, shallow b.i.t.c.h. If she's dead, it's no great loss to me. Or mankind." "Why don't you say what you really think, Mr. Hastings?" The man looked coldly at Stacy. "I don't appreciate your sarcasm, Detective."

Mac stepped in. "You have any idea who she was seeing?"

"No."

"Did she have any enemies?"

"I haven't had any real contact with her since the divorce, but knowing Elle, she's p.i.s.sed some folks off.

Ask around."

"We'll do that," Mac murmured. "Thanks for your time." He handed the man a business card. "If you think of anything, give us a call."

Hastings glanced at the card, then shoved it in his shirt pocket. "You want to know about my ex? Why

not talk to her plastic surgeon? During our marriage, she spent more time with him than me. In and out of bed."

Stacy felt as if he had struck her. She glanced at Mac; he had subtly come to attention beside her.

"Can I go now?"

They said he could. As he walked away, Stacy acknowledged that Jane's life had just taken a turn for the worse.

ELEVEN.

Tuesday, October 21, 2003.

1:15 a.m.

The insistent ring of the phone dragged Stacy from a deep sleep. She fumbled for the receiver, then brought it to her ear. "Killian here."

"Rise and shine, Detective."

She struggled into a sitting position. "Pete?"

"The one and only. I promised you a midnight call and here it is. You want to wait till morning?"

"h.e.l.l, no." She shook the last of the sleep from her brain. "What do you have?"

"Cause of death, asphyxiation. No big surprise there. This perp used a lot more pressure then necessary

to kill her, evidenced by the deep bruising and the fractured hyoid bone at the base of her tongue. I put

the time of death around 11:00 p.m., give or take."

"What about s.e.x?"

"No thanks, I'm exhausted."

"Don't be a jerk."

"You earned it. And no, no evidence of s.e.xual activity."

s.h.i.t. Goodbye, easy DNA. "Anything else?"

"No drugs or alcohol. No sign of illness. If she wasn't dead, she'd be in perfect health."

Lucky her. "You think the perp's a guy?"

"From the extent of the bruising, my guess is yes. Or one h.e.l.l of a strong woman. One more thing, kind of interesting. I think our guy was a lefty. The bruising on the right side of her throat was more profound, indicating that the left was his stronger hand."

Stacy shifted the phone from her left hand to her right. "You're certain of that?"

"Nope, just my educated guess. Like the rest of it. Can I go home and go to bed now?"

"If I can pick up the report tomorrow?"

"After ten."

"I'll see you at eight-thirty."

"Killia-"

"Get some sleep, Pete, or you'll feel like c.r.a.p in the morning." She hung up, then punched in her partner's

number.

He answered on the third ring, voice thick with sleep. '"Lo."

"Mac, it's Stacy. Pete's got the autopsy results."

She heard a rustling sound, then what she thought was a woman. "What time is it?"

"One-twenty."

"For G.o.d's sake, Stacy, it's the middle of the freaking night."

"I interrupt something good?"

"Yeah, I was dreaming about retiring this bulls.h.i.t job while I'm still young."

"Well, do it after we crack this one."