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was dotted and the last t crossed, she’d thought that would be the end of it, except for grieving.
    But this morning Clark had phoned her at home. He apologized for the imposition but told her he and Javier would like to clear up a few details and asked if she would mind returning to the police station.
    The request was issued in a friendly, casual manner, but it made her uneasy, uneasy enough to feel it would be advisable to have counsel meet her there. Her dealings with lawyers were limited to tax issues, real estate transactions, contracts, and her parents’ estate. She doubted the attorneys handling those matters had ever been inside a police station.
    Needing a reference, she had called the television station’s general manager.
    Of course the lead story on every station last night had been about Jay Burgess’s shocking death. Her fellow broadcast journalists had been discreet in their reports of her involvement, but no matter how they’d couched it, it was a hot story: The highest rated news reporter in the market, Britt Shelley, was now the one making news.
    From the objective standpoint of a television journalist, she had to admit it was a juicy irony as well as a sensational story.
    The general manager had commiserated with her situation. “What an awful ordeal for you, Britt.”
    “Yes. It was. Is, actually. That’s why I’ve bothered you at home.”
    “Whatever you need. Whatever I can do to help,” he’d said. She’d asked him to recommend a lawyer.
    “A criminal lawyer?”
    She’d been quick to assure him that she was only being prudent, that the interview—she didn’t even refer to it as an interrogation—was routine, a formality really. “Even so, I think I should have counsel.” He had readily agreed and promised to make some calls on her behalf.
    When Bill Alexander had arrived at the police station, he’d been breathless and apologetic for being ten minutes late. “I got stuck in traffic.”
    She’d hoped for someone imposing, authoritative, and charismatic, so it was difficult to hide her disappointment when the slight, unassuming, and frazzled Alexander proffered his card and introduced himself only seconds before they were joined by the two detectives.
    By contrast, Clark and Javier personified central casting’s call sheet for tough detective types.
    Yesterday, when the pair had arrived at Jay’s town house and realized they were talking to the Britt Shelley of Channel Seven News, they’d been dumbstruck and awkward, as people sometimes were upon seeing a TV personality out and among ordinary folk.
    The detectives had apologized for having to detain her and put her through the police work on the heels of such a traumatic experience, but unfortunately it was their job to learn exactly what had happened. She’d answered their questions to the best of her ability, and they had seemed satisfied with her account.
    This morning, however, the tenor of their questioning had changed, slightly but noticeably. They seemed no longer star-struck. Their inquiries had taken on an edge that hadn’t been there yesterday.
    Britt was cooperative, knowing that reluctance to cooperate with the authorities usually signaled guilt, at least on some level. All she was guilty of was sleeping with a man who happened to die in his sleep. It was fodder for crude jests about Jay’s sexual prowess, and hers.
    He went out with a bang. Wink, wink.
    Bet he died with a smile on his face. Wink, wink.
    He came and went at the same time. Wink, wink.
    If these detectives were after details about the sex, they were out of luck. All Britt remembered was waking up and finding Jay lying dead beside her in his bed. She had no memory of anything else happening in that bed. Even after an hour of intense dialogue, she didn’t think the detectives believed that.
    Moments ago, they had suggested taking a break, leaving her alone with her newly retained attorney, which gave her an opportunity to better acquaint herself with