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said finally, grateful to be certain of something at last. "Not that it's any of your business. But look…if my wife went to see this lawyer, she must have had some reason other than divorce. We're not having any kind of marital trouble."

    Morse leaned back in her chair. "You don't think Thora could be having an affair?"
    His face went red at the use of his wife's first name. "Are you about to tell me that she is?"
    "What if I did?"
    Chris stood suddenly and flexed his shoulders. "I'd say you're crazy. Nuts. And I'd throw you out of here. In fact, I want to know where you get off coming in here like this and saying these things."
    "Calm down, Dr. Shepard. You may not believe it at this moment, but I'm here to help you. I realize we're talking about personal matters. Intimate matters, even. But you're forced to do the same thing in your job, aren't you? When human life is at stake, privacy goes by the board."
    She was right, of course. Many of the questions on his medical history form were intrusive. How many sexual partners have you had in the last five years? Are you satisfied with your sexual life? Chris looked away from her and tried to pace the room, a circuit of exactly two and a half steps. "What are you telling me, Agent Morse? No more games. Spell it out."
    "Your life may be in danger."
    Chris stopped. "From my wife? Is that what you're saying?"
    "I'm afraid so."
    "Jesus Christ! You're out of your mind. I'm going to call Thora right now and get to the bottom of this." He reached for the phone on the wall.
    Agent Morse got to her feet. "Please don't do that, Dr. Shepard."
    "Why shouldn't I?"
    "Because you may be the only person in a position to stop whoever is behind these murders."
    Chris let his hand fall. "How's that?"
    She took a deep breath, then spoke in a voice of eminent reasonableness. "If you are a target—that is, if you've become one in the last week—your wife and this attorney have no idea that you're aware of their activities."
    "So?"
    "That puts you in a unique position to help us trap them."

    Awareness dawned quickly. "You want me to try to trap my wife? To get her jailed for attempted murder?"
    Morse turned up her palms. "Would you rather pretend none of this happened and die at thirty-six?"
    He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to restrain his temper. "You're missing the forest for the trees here. Your whole thesis is illogical."
    "Why?"
    "Those men you think murdered their wives…they did it to keep from splitting their assets and paying out a ton of alimony, right?"
    "In most cases, yes. But not all the victims were women."
    Chris momentarily lost his train of thought.
    "In at least one case," said Morse, "and probably two, the murder was about custody of the children, not money."
    "Again, you're miles off base. Thora and I have no children."
    "Your wife has a child. A nine-year-old son."
    He smiled. "Sure, but she had Ben even before she married Red Simmons. Thora would automatically get custody."
    "You've legally adopted Ben. But that brings up another important point, Dr. Shepard."
    "What?"
    "How your wife got her money."
    Chris sat back down and looked at Agent Morse. How much did she know about his wife? Did she know that Thora was the daughter of a renowned Vanderbilt surgeon who'd left his family when his daughter was eight years old? Did she know that Thora's mother was an alcoholic? That Thora had fought like a wildcat just to get through adolescence, and that making it through nursing school was a pretty amazing achievement given her background?
    Probably not.
    Morse probably knew only the local legend: how Thora Rayner had been working in St. Catherine's Hospital when Red Simmons, a local oilman nineteen years her senior, had been carried into the ER with a myocardial infarction; how she'd become close to Red during his hospital stay, then married him six months later. Chris knew this story well because he'd treated Red Simmons during the last three years of his life. Chris had