"Divorce seldom makes anyone happy."

"You're newcomers to the area, right?" Doyle asked. "When did you move north?"

"A little over two years ago."

"Why was that? The move, I mean?"

"Why?" Lauren blinked. But didn't answer.

That was a hit, Zina thought. Though she had no idea what it meant.

"I knew your husband in pa.s.sing," Doyle offered, easing the silence. "I played racquetball against him a few times."

"And?" Lauren said, with an odd smile.

"And what? Why the smile?"

"Jared was the most compet.i.tive man I've ever known. Did he beat you, Sergeant?"

"As a matter of fact, he did. Twice."

"And did he cheat?"

"He didn't have to. He was quicker than I am. Why do you ask that?"

"Jared could be a very sore loser. I beat him at tennis once and he smashed his racquet to splinters in front of a hundred spectators. I filed for divorce a week later."

"Over a tennis match?" Zina asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It was such a childish display that I realized that Jared was never going to grow up. And I was tired of waiting. I wanted out."

"And now you are," Zina said. "Will the accident affect your financial settlement?"

"I have no idea. Money always mattered more to Jared than to me."

"Money doesn't matter?" Zina echoed.

"I was buying my freedom, Detective. How much is that worth? Can we wrap this up? I have a cla.s.s in five minutes."

"You might want to make other arrangements, Doctor," Doyle suggested. "Give yourself a break."

"Working with handicapped kids is a two-way street, Sergeant. It keeps your problems in perspective. The last thing I need is to sit around brooding."

"You're not exactly brooding, ma'am," Zina noted. "If you don't mind my saying, you're taking this pretty calmly."

"I deal with problems every day, Detective. Kids who will never hear music or their mother's voices, kids with abusive parents. Last week I had to tell an eight-year-old her chemotherapy regimen had failed and she probably won't see Christmas. So this is very hard news, but ..." Lauren gave a barely perceptible shrug.

"A thing like that would be a lot harder," Zina conceded, impressed in spite of herself.

"And yet the sun also rises," Lauren said firmly. "Every morning, ready or not. Are we done?"

"Just a few final questions," Doyle said quickly. "Your husband had a string of traffic citations, mostly for speeding. Was he a reckless driver?"

"Jared never hit anyone, he had great reflexes. But every trip was Le Mans for him. I hated that d.a.m.ned car."

"Was he ever involved in conflicts with other drivers?"

"Road rage, you mean? His driving often ticked people off, but he never stopped to argue. It was more fun to leave them in the dust."

"Which brings us full circle to question number one," Doyle said. "Can you think of anybody who might wish to harm your husband?"

Lauren hesitated a split second. Another hit, Zina thought, though not as strong as the first.

"No one," Lauren said carefully. "Jared was a charming man, as long as you weren't playing tennis against him or facing him in court. If he was having trouble with a client, his office staff would know more than I do. He's with Lehman and Greene, downtown."

"How about you, ma'am?" Doyle asked. "The Benz is jointly owned, so it's at least possible your husband wasn't the intended victim. Have you had any problems? Threats, a stalker, anything like that?"

"No."

"What about your students?" Zina asked. "Your schedule includes mentally challenged students as well as hearing impaired. Are any of them violent? Maybe overly affectionate? Seems like there's a lot of teacher-student hanky-panky in the papers."

Lauren met Zina's eyes a moment, tapping on the desk with a single fingernail.

"You two are really good," she said abruptly. "Usually the male plays the aggressive 'bad cop,' while the female plays the sympathetic sister. Reversing the roles is very effective."

"Thanks, I think," Zina said. "But you didn't answer the question."

"As I'm sure you're aware, Detective Redfern, some of my students have behavioral problems that keep them out of mainstream schools. But none of them would have any reason to harm Jared. Or me. Now if you don't mind, I'd like a minute alone before my next cla.s.s. Please."

"Of course, ma'am," Doyle said, rising. "I apologize for the tone of our questions. We're sorry for your loss, Doctor Bannan." He handed her his card. "If you think of anything, please call, day or night."

Zina hesitated in the doorway.

Lauren raised an eyebrow. "Something else, Detective?"

"That kid you mentioned? What did she say when you told her the cancer had come back?"

"She ... asked her father if they could celebrate an early Christmas. So she could re-gift her toys to her friends."

"Good G.o.d," Zina said softly. "How do you handle it? Telling a child a thing like that?"

"Some days are like triage on the t.i.tanic, Detective," Lauren admitted, releasing a deep breath. "You protect the children as best you can. And the battered women. And at five o'clock, you go home, pour a stiff brandy and curl up with a good book."

"And tomorrow, the sun also rises," Zina finished.

"Every single day. Ready or not."

In the hallway, Doyle glanced at Zina. "What?"

"I hate having to tell the wives. The tears, the wailing. Rips your freakin' heart out."

"The lady's used to dealing with bad news."

"She's also pretty good at dodgeball. She echoed half of our questions to buy time before she answered. Or didn't answer at all."

"She's got degrees in psych and special ed. She's probably better at this than we are. Anything else?"

"Yeah. Her clothes were expensive but not very stylish. She's a good-looking woman, but she dresses like a schoolmarm."

"She is a schoolmarm. What are we, the fashion police now?"

"Nope, we're the d.a.m.n-straight real poleece, Sarge. I'm just saying a few things about that lady don't add up. If a toasted husband can't crack your cool, what would it take?"

"You think she might be involved in her husband's death?"

"Let me get back to you on that. Who's next?"

"She said Bannan's office staff would know about any threats."

"Argh, more lawyers," Zina groaned. "I'd rather floss with freakin' barbed wire."

The offices of Lehman, Barksdale, and Greene, Attorneys at Law, occupied the top floor of the old Montgomery Wards building in downtown Valhalla. Old town, it's called now. The historic heart of the village.

The new big box stores, Walmart, Home Depot, and the rest, are outside the city limits, sprawling along the Lake Michigan sh.o.r.e like a frontier boomtown, fueled by new money, new people. High tech emigres from Detroit or Seattle, flocking to the north country to get away from it all. And bringing most of it with them.

But Old Town remains much as it was before the second war, brick streets and sidewalks, quaint, globular streetlamps. Nineteenth-century buildings artfully restored to their Victorian roots, cast-iron facades, shop windows sparkling with holiday displays, tinny carols swirling in the wintry air. Christmas in Valhalla.

Harbor Drive offers a marvelous view of the boat basin and the Great Lake beyond it, white ice calves drifting in the dark water all the way to the horizon, to infinity, really.

Few of the locals give it a glance, but the two cops paused a moment, taking it in. They'd both worked the concrete canyons of southern Michigan, Detroit for Doyle, Flint for Zee, before returning home to the north. Beauty shouldn't be taken for granted.

Totally rehabbed during the recent real estate push, the offices of Lehman and Greene were top drawer now, an ultra-modern hive of gla.s.s cubicles framed in oak with ecru carpeting. Scandinavian furniture in the reception area, original art on the walls.

Doyle badged the receptionist, who buzzed Martin Lehman Jr. to the front desk. Mid thirties, with fine blonde hair worn long, thinning prematurely. Casually dressed. Shirtsleeves and slacks, loafers with no socks. No tie either. New age corporate chic.

"How can I help you, Officer?"

"It's Sergeant, actually. I understand Jared Bannan works here?"

"He's one of the partners, yes. He missed a deposition this morning, though. Is there a problem?"

"Maybe we'd better talk in your office, Mr. Lehman. Wait here, Redfern. I'll call you if we need anything."

"Hurry up and wait," Zina sighed, leaning on the reception counter as Doyle and Lehman disappeared down the hallway. "Is there a coffee machine somewhere?"

"Over in the corner, I'll get-"

"Don't get up," Zina said. "You're on the job, I'm just hanging around. Can I get you a cup?"

"If you wouldn't mind," the receptionist said.

"My treat," Zina winked. "Working girls should look out for each other, don't you think?"

"Jared dead? Good lord," Marty Lehman said, sinking into the Enterprise chair behind his antique desk. "We played golf last Sat.u.r.day, I can't-"

He caught Doyle's look.

"We flew down to Flint, there's an indoor course there," Lehman said absently. "It doesn't seem possible. Jared had so much energy ... Had he been drinking?"

"Did he drink a lot?"

"Not really. He loved to party, though, and ... look, I'm just trying to make sense of this."

"Join the club, Mr. Lehman. Your partner was apparently the victim of a hit and run that may have been deliberate. What kind of work did Mr. Bannan do here?"

"Real estate cases, mostly. He was a fixer. He brokered deals, arranged financing, resolved legal problems. One of the best in the state. We were lucky to land him."

"But since at least one party's unhappy in most business deals-"

"You know that I can't discuss Jared's cases with you, Sergeant. Attorney/client privilege applies."

"I'm not asking for specifics."

"Even so, our firm's reputation for discretion-"

"Listen up, Mr. Lehman! Somebody rammed your buddy's car off the freaking road, into a ravine. Where he burned to death! Do you get the picture yet?"

"My G.o.d," Lehman murmured, ma.s.saging his eyes with his fingertips.

"I'm not asking you to violate privilege, but we could use a heads-up about any problem cases or clients that could have triggered this thing."

"That's not so easy. Jared specialized in difficult cases."

"Define difficult."

"Property cases where the parties are in conflict, foreclosures, or the disposal of a.s.sets during a divorce. Jared loved confrontations. He'd needle the opposition until they blew, then he'd file a restraining order or sue for damages, generally make their lives miserable until they settled."

"So he was what? A hatchet man?"

"The best I ever saw," Lehman admitted. "The slogan on his office wall says Refuse to Lose. He rarely did."

"That kind of att.i.tude might make him a few enemies."

"It also made a lot of money. Real estate law is a tough game, and Jared's a guy you'd want on your team. Even if down deep, he scared you a little."

"Were you afraid of him?"

"I had no reason to be, we were colleagues. But in court or in negotiations, he was a ferocious opponent. No quarter asked or given."