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gone on.
    But she couldn’t even summon a single tear for Ned. Maybe that would come later.
    She looked up as the Kirkland officer took a seat in a bentwood rocking chair. Gemma noted the spot allowed Officer Teng to watch Gemma, Brady and Nikki without being obvious.
    When the doorbell chimed again, Gemma was so relieved she nearly sprinted to the foyer. She stood back as Mike strode in—tall, solid, red-haired, with his green eyes flashing a challenge that made him look less like an attorney than one of the Viking raiders who had plundered the Irish coasts a thousand years before. All he needed was a big axe, she decided, and one of those helmets with the nose-piece thing.
    “Gentlemen?” Mike began, pulling her back into the moment.
    Concentrate, Gemma. Keep it together.
    “I’m Michael Cavanagh, Ms. Cavanagh’s attorney. You’ve met my associate,” he added with a nod toward Brady, and began passing out business cards.
    Mike sat on a leather loveseat facing the couch, and Gemma joined him. Brady sat quietly, his expression on the polite side of neutral, and the detectives took a seat on the couch. The uniform rose and stood stolidly behind them, her face a careful mask as both detectives gave Mike their names and ID numbers.
    “Ms. Cavanagh—” Abernathy began.
    Mike put down his briefcase, took out a tablet, and took his time writing down the information they had given him.
    Abernathy shifted, making embarrassing squeaking noises on the leather couch.
    “Can you tell us where you were last Friday and over the weekend, Ms. Cavanagh?” Olsen asked.
    Gemma glanced at Mike before answering. He nodded. “Friday, I was here, working,” she said.
    “All day?”
    “Yes.”
    “Alone?”
    “Just me and Nikki.” She looked over at the dog, who had relaxed when Mike arrived, and now lay with eyes closed, her nose on her forepaws.
    “Can anyone verify that?”
    “There should be records on my phone and computer. I had a conference call with a client at seven-thirty a.m. that lasted an hour or so, and was in fax and Skype mode with another client the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon.”
    “The clients’ names?”
    “Seattle Tech in the morning, and then Lubbock State College the rest of the day.”
    “That was Friday.”
    “Yes. Saturday and Sunday, the whole family went to an Irish Immersion Weekend in Lake City Way. We got back fairly late last night, so I stayed at my brother’s until about nine this morning. I got home around ten, and haven’t left since then.”
    “Irish immersion,” Abernathy said. “That’s like, what, baptism?”
    Gemma and Mike swiveled their heads toward him with identical expressions of surprise. “Language classes, detective,” Mike said.
    Abernathy scowled. “Classes for Irish? It’s just English with an accent, right?”
    Mike opened his mouth but Gemma interrupted. “Even Microsoft recognizes Irish Gaelic as a separate language.” She held her voice steady with an effort against a wild impulse to giggle. Great. Hysterics were just what nobody needed.
    Olsen glanced at his red-faced partner and cleared his throat. “What sort of work do you do, Ms. Cavanagh?”
    All at once, the whole thing became real. Her stomach dropped and her heart began to pound, making her breath come short. “He’s really dead this time, isn’t he?”
    “Yes, ma’am, he is.” Olsen’s tone was dust-dry.
    Mike shot a protective look at his sister. “Will my client be asked to identify the body?” he asked before Olsen could speak again.
    The detective’s mouth firmed and he shook his head. “I’ve brought some photos.” He stared straight at Gemma. “Can you tell me if your husband had any identifying marks?”
    Gemma held herself against the urge to flinch. If they asked that, it must have been a really bad wreck. Only it hadn’t been a wreck, had it? They said he’d been murdered. “He has a red birthmark at the back of his neck, and a tattoo of a scorpion on