Once in the interview room, Decker expected Lombard to lawyer up. Instead, the man sat stoically in his chair, waiting for the cops to make the first move. Oliver and Marge were behind the one-way mirror.

Decker said, "You know why you're here?"

"You tell me."

"We're investigating the murder of a woman named Solana Perez."

Lombard nodded. A moment later, a single tear leaked from his right eye. He quickly blinked it away.

"How long were you two involved with each other?"

Without a moment of hesitation, Lombard answered, "A while."

Decker tried to hide his surprise at the admission. "Could you be more specific?"

Lombard rubbed his eyes. "I didn't kill her."

"That's not what I asked you, Matt. I asked how long you two were involved with each other."

"Two, three years."

"A long time."

Lombard didn't answer.

"Did you know she was pregnant?"

There was a pause. Then the lawyer nodded. "She told me."

Again he had talked freely. Decker gave himself a microsecond to collect his thoughts. "Solana told you she was pregnant with your child?"

"Yes, she told me."

"How'd you feel about that?"

"Surprised."

"Just surprised?"

"It wasn't planned."

"Since you're married with two kids, I could imagine it wasn't planned."

Lombard said nothing, exhibiting none of the usual bodily reactions that most suspects had. No sweating, blushing, random movements, or fidgeting. It was as if his nervous system had shut down.

Decker said, "How'd you feel about her condition after the surprise wore off?"

"Maybe a little nervous . . . maybe excited."

"Excited?"

Lombard shrugged.

"Did you tell your wife?"

"No."

"Did you intend to tell your wife?"

Again Lombard shrugged. "I don't know what I intended to do. I was thinking long and hard about it. I was at a crossroads. Then Solana . . ." He paused. "I don't want to talk anymore. Am I under arrest?"

"So, here's the story, Matt, and it isn't looking very good for you. Your mistress is dead, and you, by your own admission, know that you're the father of her unborn child. We've got forensic evidence that puts you in her apartment. We've got an eyewitness who puts you in the house where we found the body."

For the first time, Lombard reacted. "Where did you find the body?"

"You dumped her there. Why don't you tell me?"

"I didn't dump her anywhere. I have no idea where you found the body. For all I know, you could be lying. I know that's what you people do. And I know it's legal."

"I'm not lying."

Lombard became still. Then he slumped in his chair, a defeated man.

Decker said, "Matt, you're a married man with two kids. Now you've got a love child on the way. That could cause all sorts of problems-with your work, with your wife, with your life. You wanted Solana to have an abortion. You offered to pay for it and her medical expenses and even a little extra cash to boot. But she refused-"

"I didn't kill her."

"You didn't kill her?"

"No."

"You're the father of her unborn child, you were at the crime scene, you were in the house where the body was found, but you didn't kill her."

"I don't know anything about a crime scene, and I don't know where the body was found. I loved Solana. I would never hurt her. I would never force her to get an abortion."

"She was killed at her apartment, Matt. We've got your fingerprints all over the place."

"Or course you do. I was at her apartment dozens of times." A pause. "She was murdered in her apartment?"

"You tell me."

"I can't tell you, because I didn't murder her. I certainly wasn't at any crime scene, unless you count me going over to her place to look for her when she didn't show up at work."

"Yes, Matt, I'll count that."

"I didn't know it was the crime scene. Everything looked pretty much in order when I was there. But I knew something was wrong. She wouldn't just disappear without telling me."

"So if you suspected something was wrong, why didn't you go to the police?"

"I don't know why I didn't. Maybe I was scared because I was afraid that something had happened to her. Maybe I was confused. I loved Solana, but I also have a wife and two kids. You can think what you want, but I didn't kill her."

"You didn't kill her."

"No."

"If you didn't kill her, do you have any idea who might have killed her?"

"Don't ask me that."

"Why not?"

"I'm not going to answer that."

"So what's going to happen when you're asked the question on the witness stand?"

"I'll plead the Fifth."

"That's going to look bad for you, Matt."

"I suppose it will. I think I should call a lawyer now."

"That's up to you."

"I know that. The interview is over."

And that was that. Still, Lombard had admitted the affair. He also had admitted being the father of Solana's baby. Adele had put him at the open house, but there was nothing specific to tie him to the actual murder. Since DNA banding charts took months to get back, Decker had yet to receive a profile for Lombard. But even if they found trace amounts of Lombard's blood at the apartment, that would be meaningless, since he had acknowledged being there many times. He could always say he nicked himself shaving or cut himself . . .

Nicks and cuts.

Decker mentally slapped himself on the forehead. There had been material found underneath Solana's fingernails, and Lombard's face was free of scratches. Decker wondered about other areas of the man's body and decided to try the most obvious first. "Now, I'm not going to ask you any more questions-"

"You can't ask me any more questions," Lombard said. "I already asked for a lawyer."

"You know, it would be really good for you if you rolled up your sleeves."

"What?"

"I'm not asking you to do it, but if you happen to do it, I'd like to take a look at your arms."

"What are you doing? You're not taking my blood, are you?"

"Of course not," Decker answered. "All I'm saying is that if you roll up your sleeves of your own volition, I would like to take a look at your arms." Lombard was silent, his eyes locked with Decker's. "You don't have to do it. Completely up to you. But an innocent man has no reason not to cooperate."

"Innocent men have no reason to be charged with crimes they didn't commit. Still, it happens all the time."

"Your cooperation would be duly noted," Decker said.

"You shouldn't be asking me anything after I asked for a lawyer."

"I haven't asked you a thing. I've just said that if you did it, it would be convenient for me to look at your arms."

Lombard shook his head. "You're out of line." Still, he rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were covered in dark stiff hair; the undersides were pale, with prominent pulsing veins.

"Thank you," Decker said. "Will you excuse me for a moment?"

"I have a cell phone. I'm calling my lawyer."

"Sure. I'll be back in a minute." Decker closed the door to the interview room and went into the chamber where Oliver and Marge had been watching. From the one-way mirror, Decker saw Lombard picking up his cell only to stow it in his pocket. He sagged in the chair, his hands in his lap, his chin almost touching his chest. Then he closed his eyes. Lombard was on automatic pilot. It was clear to Decker that he was involved, but in what way? The lawyer hadn't exhibited any agitation that Decker would expect from a guilty man.

"What now?" Dunn asked.

"We have a strong circ.u.mstantial case, but not beyond a reasonable doubt. Certainly we can get a warrant to search his house. Maybe we can turn up some b.l.o.o.d.y clothes or something that puts her DNA on his clothes, or . . ." Decker thought a moment. "Or even better would be something that put his DNA on her body."

"The body was nude, Loo," Oliver reminded him. "Someone had cleaned her up."

"Well, she had a full head of hair. Someone at Mission Road must have combed through it by now."

"They did," Marge said. "We checked. The loose hairs that they pulled were consistent with her own hair."

"There was matter under her fingernails. Lombard's arms were clear, but I couldn't check his back or his legs. We need a DNA profile from the sc.r.a.pings."

"The labs are backlogged."

Decker frowned. "Anyone on good terms with a DNA geneticist who does private testing?"

"I know someone who works for Biodon," Oliver said.

"Him or her?"

Oliver smiled.

"Good terms with her, Scottie?"

"She never complained."

"Take her out to dinner on the department. Impress upon her the need for speed."

Oliver grinned. "I know a great bistro with a dynamite pinot noir. Quiet, dark, a good place to conduct business."

"What place is that?"

"Geraldo's."

Marge said, "That place is around seventy-five a person, Scott."

"I know. I take my job very seriously."

The woman who answered Decker's knock was around five foot eight, with a full bosom and curves. Her hair was strawberry blond, and a sprinkling of freckles dotted her nose. She wore faded denim jeans, a long-sleeved cotton blouse, and a red bandana around her neck. Her eyes went wide when Decker showed her his badge.