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"It's difficult.
    I didn't come home from the office that day. I had drinks with someone after work, and then dinner out, and I think I went to a party in the Village. It's not important. The point is that I didn't get home until the following morning. I knew what to expect when I got here because I read the morning paper with my breakfast. No, that's wrong. I remember that I bought the News because it's easier to manage on the train, the business of turning the pages and all. The headline was Icepick Killer Strikes in Brooklyn, or words to that effect. I believe there had been a previous killing in Brooklyn."
    "The fourth victim. In Sheepshead Bay."
    "Then I turned to page three, I suppose it must have been, and there was the story. No photograph, but the name and address, of course, and that was unmistakable." He put a hand to his chest. "I remember how I felt. It was incredibly shocking. You don't expect that sort of thing to happen to someone you know. And it made me feel so vulnerable myself, you know. It happened in this building. I felt that before I felt the sense of loss one feels over the death of a friend."
    "How well did you know the Ettingers?"
    "Reasonably well. They were a couple, of course, and most of their social interaction was with other couples. But they were right across the hall and I'd have them in for drinks or coffee from time to time, or they'd ask me over. I had one or two parties that they came to, but they didn't stay very long. I think they were comfortable enough with gay people, but not in great quantity. I can understand that. One doesn't like to be overwhelmingly outnumbered, does one? It's only natural to feel self-conscious."
    "Were they happy?"
    The question pulled him back to the Ettingers and he frowned, weighing his answer. "I suppose he's a suspect," he said. "The spouse always is. Have you met him?"
    "No."
    " 'Were they happy?' The question's inevitable, but who can ever answer it? They seemed happy. Most couples do, and most couples ultimately break up, and when they do their friends are invariably surprised because they seemed so bloody happy." He finished his drink.
    "I think they were happy enough. She was expecting a child when she was killed."
    "I know."
    "I hadn't known it. I only learned after her death." He made a little circle with the empty glass, and Rolfe got gracefully to his feet and replenished Gilman's drink. While he was up he poured me another Wild Turkey. I was feeling the first one a little bit so I took it easy on the second.
    Gilman said, "I thought it might have steadied her."
    "The baby?"
    "Yes."
    "She needed steadying?"
    He sipped his martini. "De mortuis and all that. One hesitates to speak candidly of the dead. There was a restlessness in Barbara. She was a bright girl, you know. Very attractive, energetic, quick-witted. I don't recall where she went to school, but it was a good school. Doug went to Hofstra. I don't suppose there's anything the matter with Hofstra, but it's less prestigious than Barbara's alma mater. I don't know why I can't remember it."
    "Wellesley." London had told me.
    "Of course. I'd have remembered. I dated a Wellesley girl during my own college career. Sometimes self-acceptance takes a certain amount of time."
    "Did Barbara marry beneath herself?"
    "I wouldn't say that. On the surface, she grew up in Westchester and went to Wellesley and married a social worker who grew up in Queens and went to Hofstra. But a lot of that is just a matter of labels."
    He took a sip of gin. "She may have thought she was too good for him, though."
    "Was she seeing anybody else?"
    "You do ask direct questions, don't you? It's not hard to believe you were a policeman. What made you leave the force?"
    "Personal reasons. Was she having an affair?"
    "There's nothing tackier than dishing the dead, is there? I used to hear them sometimes. She would accuse him of having sex with women he met on the job. He was a welfare caseworker and that involved visiting