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then, we’re all peachy-dandy
here, because whatever I did or didn’t do with Des has nothing to
do with murder.”
    “We’re
more interested in did than didn’t, ma’am.”
    She
didn’t answer. Milo let it ride and the three of us kept walking.
    Five
houses later, she said: “You met my husband. He’s been that way for six years.
I’m not going to make tawdry excuses, but neither am I going to apologize for
having needs.”
    “Of
course, ma’am.”
    “Don’t
patronize me, Detective. I’m not a moron.”
    Six
more houses. She picked up speed. A tear track darkened her cheek. “Once.
That’s all it was. Ned doesn’t know and there’s no reason to tell him.”
    “I
agree, ma’am.”
    “He
was tender, it was almost like being with another woman. Not that I’d know
about that … it was a crazy thing to do, I regret it. But at the time …” Drying
her tears with her sleeve. “One of my sons is the same age as Des and if you
don’t think that made me feel sleazy,you’re wrong. It
was never going to happen again and I was not going to torture myself.”
    She
stopped short, touched Milo’s wrist. “I want to make one thing clear,
Detective: Des did not exploit me, nor am I some desperate cougar. It just happened.”
    “One
time,” said Milo.
    “You
want me to take a lie detector, fine. Just as long as Ned doesn’t find out.”
    “All
we want to do is find out who killed Des.”
    “I
can’t help you with that.”
    “Did
anyone at the firm have conflict with him?”
    “No.”
    “Not
Helga?”
    “I
wish I could say yes but not even her.”
    “She
told us she was never intimate with Des.”
    “Are
you shocked? I doubt Helga has the capacity for intimacy.”
    “She
also said Des slept with every other woman at the firm.”
    “I
can’t speak to that.”
    “She
said you could, Ms. Holman. That she learned about all of this because you and
Ms. Sanfelice and Ms. Passant talked about it openly. At a staff meeting.”
    Marjorie
Holman rocked on her heels. Walked with her head down. “Oh, Jesus.” She let out
a strange giggle and threw up her hands. “Martinis and estrogen, what can I
say?”
    “Staff
meeting with alcohol?”
    “Staff
meeting at a restaurant.”
    “Without
getting into details, if you could tell us where you and Des … trysted …”
    “Why
is that your business?”
    “We’re
searching for patterns, Ms. Holman.”
    “What
kind of patterns?”
    “Des
frequenting construction sites.”
    She
went pale.
    “Ma’am—”
    “This is humiliating.” Another brittle laugh. “You
want the dirty details, fine: One night, three, four months ago, Des and I were
working late. Looking back, he probably planned it. He’d heard about the
Kraeker—that’s an art gallery in Switzerland we were supposedly going to be
involved in. Another of Helga’s fantasies, she never even filled out the
preliminary forms—you don’t care about that, you want sleaze. Des wanted me to
put in a good word for him with Helga, I said I would. We were hungry so we
went out to dinner. Des said he had a construction site he wanted me to see.
Because of its design. If that makes a pattern, fine.”
    Milo
said, “Where was the site?”
    “Oh,
Lord … Santa Monica, near the Water Gardens, off Twenty-sixth Street and
Colorado. Des said a film studio was beginning a project that was aiming for
complete sustainability, down to black-water and gray-water management. It was after
dark, we drove over in separate cars, I had no reason to think it would turn
out—when I got there, I was confused, it was just an open empty lot. There was
a trailer set up as an office, nothing educational design-wise, and I was
peeved at Des for dragging me out there. He said hold on, there’s something you
need to see, and took me behind the trailer.”
    Her
hair hadn’t moved but she smoothed it. “I suppose I was ready to be led by the
nose. Des took hold of my shoulders and said, ‘I know this is wrong and it may
cost me