"You do," he steered them across an intersection in the direction of his precinct. "So let's think on reasons why a psychiatrist would neglect to check bloodwork."

"Basically, Sheila pegged it. Number one would be ignorance. I'd follow that up with sloppiness, there are some hacks who see so many patients that they just forget or don't care."

"What else? Neither of those fit."

Barrett stopped beside a Korean grocer's flower display. "I know another reason. He wouldn't check ... if he knew that the patient wasn't taking the medication."

"That's the spirit," Hobbs picked up a bunch of purple iris and another of half-opened yellow crocus.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing," he handed the flowers to the grocer and paid him. "So if he knew that Jimmy wasn't taking the pills, why didn't he report it?"

"Because that would be the end of a very tidy piece of change."

"Exactly," Hobbs handed the freshly wrapped bouquet to Barrett.

"Thank you," she said, admiring the contrasting yellow and purple blooms, and a bit confused as to how she was supposed to respond. Feeling flushed, opting to say little, she tried to focus on Dr. Kravitz. "But then why would he suddenly order bloodwork if he knew that Jimmy wasn't taking his pills?"

"Something changed," Hobbs remarked. "Hold onto that thought, and I'll be right back."

Barrett watched as Hobbs took the stairs to the brick-fronted precinct station two at a time. She sat on a bench beneath a Ginkgo tree, holding her paper-wrapped blooms and mulling over what he'd said. It was the only answer that made sense. Morris Kravitz must have had some deal with Jimmy and then two weeks before his death something changed. He knew that Jimmy wasn't taking his pills, and they'd been colluding, so then why suddenly order bloodwork? It didn't fit. Lost in thought, she startled at Hobbs' voice.

"Blackmail," the detective commented.

"What?"

"Maybe Kravitz wanted more money, so he started putting the screws to Jimmy. You said that even slight violations could get him sent back to Croton. Not taking medication would fit that, yes?"

"Yes, but ..." She tried to focus, to not think about the sun twinkling in Hobbs' hazel eyes, or the bouquet of spice-sweet blooms. "Once the results came back it would be out of Kravitz's hands and he'd lose his golden goose. It's got to be something else."

"Okay, try this on for size ... maybe Jimmy had told Kravitz that he wanted another shrink ... like you. What would Kravitz have done then?"

"I don't know. If he needed the money that badly I imagine he'd try to talk him out of it," she said, as they headed off in the direction of her co-op.

"And if that didn't work?"

"Then I guess he's screwed, and in more ways than one. Because not only is he losing his best-paying customer, but his shoddy work is about to get exposed. So maybe ... maybe he figured that he'd either scare Jimmy into staying with him, or at least try to cover up for what he should have been doing all along."

"Still a little rough," Hobbs commented, "but I think it's as close as we're going to get without more data. But if it's right, then it gets very hairy."

"I know," she said, "we're looking at a hit-and-run where the blood is lost and ..."

"And a dead psychiatrist with a young wife and a Park Avenue apartment that he couldn't really afford."

"Do you always finish people's sentences?" she asked.

"Not usually," he admitted. "It's a bit of deja vu, isn't it?"

"Yes ... you know there's something I've been wanting to ask you, and you don't have to answer if you don't want."

"Shoot."

"This is a pretty big coincidence-your showing up at Jimmy's house the way you did. Is it a coincidence?"

"No, I saw your name and pulled a few strings to get the a.s.signment."

"I'm glad you did," she looked up at her building. "Well, this is me," she said, not wanting their walk to end.

"Before I forget," he reached into an outer pocket. "I got a wire for you. I could give it to you here, if you like. Have you ever worn one?"

"No, and just the idea of it makes me pretty nervous. You want to come up and show me what I'm supposed to do with it?"

"Sure," he said, following her inside.

Neither one spoke as they rode up six floors and walked down the hall to her apartment.

Ed watched as she unlocked the door. "You know you should get better cylinders for those locks," he commented.

"I was planning to get them changed ... ."

"Good idea. The ones you've got now are easy to pick."

As she opened the door, she asked, "What about the ones at the Kravitz apartment-easy or hard?"

"Easy, but at least they have a doorman and you don't."

"Great ... can I get you something to eat? Or drink?"

"I'm good," he stood in the doorway taking in Barrett's surroundings. "Interesting."

She took her flowers into the galley kitchen and poured water into a crystal vase, "What's interesting?" She glanced at the answering machine and saw the red light flashing with new messages.

"Your apartment."

"Interesting how?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's very nice, it's just ..."

"Not me?"

"Right. It's not what I expected."

"My husband ... Ralph did the decorating. Everything has to be very clean, very modern. I like things with color. I guess you pick your battles in a marriage."

"Interesting choice of words."

"Look, you," Barrett placed the flowers on a coffee table and walked up to Hobbs, "if you keep using the word interesting instead of the more appropriate f.u.c.ked up or this woman is out of her gourd I will hit you."

"I forgot that."

"What?"

"Your temper," he laughed.

Barrett found herself staring deeply into Ed's eyes, noticing flecks of green and rich amber. In the close s.p.a.ce she smelled the hint of his aftershave and wondered if he'd put it on for her benefit.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" he whispered.

She barely heard the words, but rather felt them as they fell from his lips. She wondered what his moustache would feel like. "I can't do this," she said.

"Okay, I understand, I just came up here to show you the wire."

"Right," she tried to pull back, but at the same time didn't want to let the moment pa.s.s.

"It's easy," he said, "and I'll be able to hear every word."

"I'm glad."

"It'll be like having you inside my head."

"What are we doing?" she asked, noticing the dryness in her mouth.

"I don't know. But I very much want to kiss you."

Barrett could hear all the reasons why she shouldn't clamor at her brain. She looked into his eyes and nodded slightly. She felt his hand gently touch her cheek, she felt the heat of his body as it pulsed through the opening in his leather coat, and then came the brush of his moustache, so much softer than she'd expected. And as she closed her eyes and his lips met hers, all of the reasons why she shouldn't be doing this left her and she surrendered into the sweetness of a perfect first kiss.

___.

Closing the door behind Hobbs, Barrett felt lightheaded and confused. She'd just kissed a man who wasn't her husband. Of course, Ralph had done far worse, and then the anger returned. He'd never shown up, just left her sitting without even a message. She saw the blinking on the answering machine. At least one of them was probably Ralph, what would the excuse be, and how much more of this could she take?

She pressed the play messages b.u.t.ton. A mechanical voice gave the time "ten forty-five AM." Then, a woman's voice-Ralph's mom, Celia. "Hi Barrett, I'm just calling because I know Ralph was planning to see you last night ... I was wondering if he was still there ... I guess not. If you see him, I got a call that he's supposed to be at a morning rehearsal ... oh, well. Bye."

Barrett's first thought was that Ralph had probably met up with someone else, or maybe Carol, and had forgotten about the early rehearsal. The second message quickly dampened that thought, "h.e.l.lo, this is Veronica Durst at Mount Sinai Hospital. I need to speak with a family member of Ralph Best. Please call," and she left a number.

"s.h.i.t!" Barrett quickly dialed. She'd not even considered that Ralph had gotten sick, and that's why he hadn't shown. "s.h.i.t."

The phone picked up, "Morgue."

Barrett's stomach lurched, she couldn't comprehend. Had she misdialed? "This is Barrett Conyors, I was left a message about my husband, Ralph Best."

She heard the slow intake of breath, "Mrs. Conyors, I'm afraid I have some very bad news, we're going to need you to come down."

SIXTEEN.

Thursday came, and Barrett-against everyone's advice-had gone to work. She'd needed to escape from the phone that wouldn't stop ringing, as news of Ralph's death circulated. All the members of the orchestra wanted "to touch base," "to express their grief," "to tell her what a sweet man Ralph was." In the end, she'd handed the phone to Justine and her mom, and when they'd finally left, she'd unhooked the ringer.

It was too hard to believe, going to the morgue late Tuesday, the white oilcloth cover being pulled back. "Is this your husband?" They'd cleaned up his face, but even so she saw the abrasions of where he'd been dragged on the asphalt. "Yes, it's him," unable to move, the moment frozen forever. He'd been on his way to meet her, to tell her that he was sorry and that he loved her. They might have worked it out and put together a plan to get their marriage back on track, and to talk about children. She was ready; was he? "This could never happen again," she'd say. He would have agreed, and while she'd find it hard ever to trust him fully, she would have taken him back.

After identifying him, and signing her name to several doc.u.ments, her first call had been to her mother. After that she lost track-the last thirty-six hours fused into a series of terrible tasks. The call to Ralph's mother. "Celia, Ralph is dead." The police coming to their condo, needing a statement. "No, we haven't found the driver. It was. .h.i.t and run, a taxi ran a red light. Many witnesses, but none of them said more than it was a yellow cab, its windows dark. No one got the plate or medallion numbers."

And now, to finish off her day, she was in Jimmy Martin's museum of a house dressed in gray and wearing a gift from Hobbs-a gold floral lapel pin with a synthetic sapphire in the center. When he'd given it to her-after their kiss-she'd been impressed at what nice equipment the police department provided. His response was that the detective bureau had c.r.a.ppy surveillance stuff and that he'd bought it from a security supply store. She'd thought about their kiss as she'd put it on, it seemed so long ago, but it was just a couple days. Your husband's killed, you kissed Hobbs-nothing seemed real.

"Is that a new suit?" Jimmy asked, ignoring the kitten who b.u.t.ted his head against his master's leg. His hair was slicked back, and he was dressed in a white, open-necked polo shirt and jeans.

"It is," she answered, trying to focus, but just wanting to get through this.

"It's a good color for you."

"Thank you," she replied, wondering if his observations on her Donna Karan had any hidden messages, like, nice suit, did you buy it with the extra money I stuffed into your check? She looked carefully at Jimmy. He appeared different, quieter, and he was holding his hands together in his lap. "So how's your week been?" she asked.

"Okay, I guess ... did you get the rest of my bloodwork back?"

He was anxious.

"Most of it."

"And ..."

"And your lithium level was on the low side, but your kidneys and thyroid seem fine. I still haven't gotten back your Risperdal level, but I imagine that will be fine, as well."

"They took a lot of blood. You weren't just checking drug levels, were you?"

"I told you I wasn't. Part of the reason you check blood is to prevent some of the potentially toxic effects of lithium." She looked at his hands; he had a fine tremor.

"I had a doctor once tell me that all medicine is poison."

"I suppose in high-enough doses that could be true."

"Even aspirin can kill you," he offered, glancing up and then looking away.

"It could." What was he getting at?

"So you could be prescribing something for one of your patients and it could be killing him."

"I try not to do that," she answered, wondering if she should just cut the session short.

"I wasn't saying ..."

"Look Jimmy, I know you don't want to take the pills, I even think I know some of the reasons, but right now you don't have a choice. You could tell me why you don't want to take them. I'm not saying that I'll change them, but at least I'll get a sense of where you're coming from."