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other explanation was that Nat was actually …
    He looked at Flaherty again, and she had the same sympathetic look on her face that she wore when she walked into the office. All at once, Finn knew it wasn’t a joke, and that he hadn’t misheard Kozlowski.
    “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded. He meant for it to come out forcefully, as though if he were belligerent enough, he could prevent what Kozlowski said from being true. He heard his own voice as a whisper, though.
    “I’m very sorry, Mr. Finn,” Flaherty said. “We believe we found Ms. Caldwell’s body in the harbor yesterday evening. We’re investigating the circumstances of her death.”
    “You ‘believe’? You mean you’re not sure?” Finn felt his heart flicker, only to have Kozlowski stomp on it again.
    “The body’s fingerprints match those on record for Ms. Caldwell with the FBI. As you probably know, she had no parents or immediate family, so we haven’t found anyone to make a positive ID yet, but we’re ninety-nine percent sure.”
    Flaherty cut off Kozlowski’s cruelty. “Again, we’re very sorry, Mr. Finn, but we do need to ask you some questions.”
    Finn could hear the blood rushing through his ears. The pretty lieutenant was still talking, but he couldn’t make out her words. His world had narrowed and his brain was blocking out everything; everything except that one sentence that kept repeating over and over:
We’re investigating the circumstances of her death.
The rhythm of the words tortured him and kept him from focusing on anything else.
    “Wait,” Finn interrupted Flaherty in midsentence. “You found her in the harbor?”
    “Yes, she was …” But Finn had tuned her out again. He got up and took two steps over to the floor-to-ceiling window in his office. He looked across the channel and saw the yellow police tape still walling off an area near the bridge, but there was only one officer still there. For the most part the activity from the morning had ceased.
    “It was Natalie, wasn’t it?” Finn asked without turning around.
    “I’m sorry?” Flaherty asked, not comprehending.
    “It was Natalie they were talking about in the papers, wasn’t it? Number Seven. It was her. Little Jack did this, didn’t he?”
    “We’re not sure at this point.”
    “The papers seemed sure this morning.”
    Flaherty sighed. “Yeah, well, this kind of thing makes better copy if it’s a serial killer, doesn’t it? And it’s possible it
is
the same guy; that’s certainly something we’re looking at. At this point, though, we’re just trying to conduct the most complete investigation we can.”
    Finn was still staring out the window at the crime scene across the channel. All at once it hit him. He wouldn’t have the chance to apologize for his behavior at the bar on Friday. She couldn’t forgive him. It wouldn’t be all right.
    “That’s why we need your help,” Flaherty said, trying to penetrate his grief.
    He took a deep breath and put on his game face before turning around.
    “What can I do?” he asked.

Chapter Six
    “L AST FRIDAY NIGHT ,” he said. “Evening, actually. We went out for a couple of drinks.” The detectives were still in his office. Finn was sitting at his desk again, having composed himself.
    “This was with people from the office?” Flaherty asked. Both she and Kozlowski had taken out notebooks and were scribbling away.
    “Not really people, just Nat and me.”
    “Was that normal? The two of you going out to drink alone after work?” This time it was Kozlowski, and there seemed to be some insinuation in the question.
    “We’re lawyers,” Finn said simply. “We
all
drink.”
    “How long were you out for?” Flaherty asked.
    “Several hours, but I was only with Natalie for an hour or so. We had separate social lives, so we were just having a couple of drinks after work. To unwind, you know?”
    Kozlowski gave a grunt. Finn couldn’t tell whether it was a grunt of