"It's a theory."

Irritation flicked over Corbett's face before he stepped in, closed the door at his back. "Look, Wolfe's on his way back to Boston. If he comes back, unless he comes back with conclusive evidence against you, he's on his own. There's nothing tying you to Duncan's murder at this time. The only connection is, person or persons unknown hired him to report on your movements. I don't see you for it, for all the reasons discussed in our last meeting. Added to it, I've got no reason to doubt Abra Walsh's word, even though my investigative powers tell me she's spent a few nights here since, and not on the sofa downstairs."

"Last I checked s.e.x between consenting adults was still legal in Ma.s.sachusetts."

"And thank G.o.d for that. What I'm telling you is you're not on my radar for this. The problem is n.o.body's on my radar for this. Yet. What I've got is a break-in, an a.s.sault and a murder, in the same night. That makes me wonder. So if you do get a clue who's been digging down there, it'd be in your best interest to let me know."

He turned for the door, paused, turned back to face Eli. "I'd be p.i.s.sed off if I had a bunch of cops going through my house all day. I'm going to tell you I handpicked them. If we didn't find anything, there's nothing to find. And I should further add that even though they were careful, this is a d.a.m.n big house with a h.e.l.l of a lot of stuff. Some of it may not be back in place."

Eli hesitated as Corbett opened the door, then took the leap. "I think whoever dug that trench either pushed my grandmother on the stairs or caused her to fall. Then left her there."

Corbett stepped back, shut the door again. "I've given that some thought myself." Without waiting for the invitation, he crossed over, sat down. "She doesn't remember anything?"

"No. She can't even remember getting up, coming downstairs. The head trauma ... the doctors say it's not unusual. Maybe she'll remember, maybe not. Maybe parts, maybe all, maybe none. She could've died, and probably would have if Abra hadn't found her. Shooting a PI's not a far reach from pushing an old lady down the stairs and leaving her to die. This is her place, her heart's here, and she may never be able to live here, at least not on her own, again. I want to know who's responsible for that."

"Tell me where you were that night, the night she fell."

"Jesus Christ."

"Let's be thorough, Mr. Landon. Do you remember?"

"Yeah, I remember, because I'll never forget the look on my mother's face the next morning when she came in to tell me, after Abra called the house. I wasn't sleeping well. I hadn't slept well since ... in a long time. I moved in with my parents a few weeks after Lindsay's murder, so I was there the night of my grandmother's accident. My father and I ended up playing gin and drinking beer until about two. I guess I could've hauled my a.s.s up here, tossed my grandmother down the steps, then hauled my a.s.s back to Boston and settled in before my mother came in to tell me Gran was hurt and at the hospital."

Ignoring the comment, Corbett took out his book, made some notes. "There are a lot of valuables in this house."

"I know it, and I can't understand it. There's plenty you could basically stuff in your pockets and make a nice profit. But he spends hours, days, hacking at the bas.e.m.e.nt floor."

"Esmeralda's Dowry."

"It's all I can come up with."

"Well, it's interesting. Any objection, if her doctors clear it, if I talk to your grandmother?"

"I don't want her upset, that's all. I don't want my family dragged through another mess. They've dealt with enough."

"I'll be careful."

"Why do you care?"

"Because I shipped a dead man back to Boston, and as far as I can tell, he was just doing his job. Because somebody broke into this house and might've done more than a.s.sault a woman if she hadn't defended herself and gotten away. Because you didn't kill your wife."

Eli started to speak, then whatever had been in his mind just slid away. "What did you say?"

"Do you think I didn't read and review every word of your file? You never changed your story. The wording, the delivery, but never the content. You weren't lying, and if it had been a crime of pa.s.sion, as speculated, a good criminal defense lawyer-and you had a record of being one-would've covered his tracks a h.e.l.l of a lot better."

"Wolfe thinks I did."

"Wolfe's gut tells him you did it, and I think he's got a good gut. This time it's wrong. It happens."

"Maybe your gut's wrong."

Corbett smiled thinly. "Whose side are you on here?"

"You're the first cop who's looked me in the face and said I didn't kill Lindsay. It takes some getting used to."

"The prosecutor didn't think you did it either. But you were all they had, and Wolfe was dead sure, so they pushed until they ran out of room."

Corbett rose. "You got a raw deal. You won't get one from me this time around. You've got my number if you think of anything relevant."

"Yeah, I've got it."

"We'll get out of your hair."

Alone, Eli sat back and tried to sort out his mixed feelings.

One cop saw him as innocent, one cop saw him as guilty. It felt good to be believed, to have the words still hanging in the air.

But any way he cut it, he was still stuck in the middle.

CHAPTER Fifteen

SHE WORRIED HOW SHE'D FIND HIM. DEPRESSED AND brooding? Angry and dismissive?

Whatever his reaction, she couldn't blame him for it. His life had been disrupted, again, his morality questioned, again. And his privacy shattered-not only by the police, but by people like Heather. Again.

She prepared herself to be understanding, which might mean firm and matter-of-fact or supportive and sympathetic.

She didn't expect to find him in the kitchen working at a cluttered island with a look of exasperation on his face and a bulb of garlic in his hand.

"Well. What's going on here?"

"Chaos. Which is apparently what happens when I try to cook."

She set aside the plate of brownies. "You're cooking?"

"'Try' is the operative word."

She found the trying both sweet and positive. "What are you trying?"

"Some chicken-and-rice thing." He shoved at his hair, scowled down at the mess he'd made. "I got it off the Internet under 'Cooking for Morons.'"

She came around the island, studied the printout of the recipe. "Looks good. Want some help?"