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the investigation into Marge's murder, but
she also lacked a vital personal component-she had no sense
of humor. Fine. I'd try a different, more direct tack.
    I followed her into the locker room. 'Any news?"
    "What kind of news would you like, Ms. Farrell?"
    I stopped pulling pins from my hair. 'Are you kidding
me? You practically accused me of killing my mentor the
last time we spoke, and now you want to know what kind
of news I want?"
    The cop shrugged, but her gaze said there was nothing
blase about her. She had the upper hand.
    "Fine. You want me to put it in so many words? Well, I'm
no coward." Oh, sure. And if I say it enough times I might
someday believe it too. "Do you have the results of Marge's
autopsy? Have you learned anything new?"
    My heart beat so hard I could hardly breathe.
    Detective Tsu let me sweat-I really had to be more careful what I wished for. This wasn't the kind of sweating I'd
look forward to when I came to the dojo. She turned toward
the bank of lockers and clicked in a combination. She then
took out a classy leather duffel bag and a soft cream and gold
cosmetics case. Without another look my way, she went to
the nearest shower, set her bags on the bench at its side, and
rummaged through her belongings.

    I felt like dumping her fancy stuff on the floor so she could
find what she wanted and then answer my questions. But like
a good little Tai Chi student, I kept my cool.
    Finally, with a thick ivory towel hung from the hook on
the wall and coordinated French-perfume toiletries in hand,
Detective Tsu walked into the shower.
    That was rude. "I did ask you a question, and in view of
my position, I don't think I'm out of line. The least you could
do is-"
    "The least I can do," she said, curtain in hand, "is to remember I'm a professional. I can't discuss an ongoing investigation, and I'm sure you've watched enough TV to know
that. Even scriptwriters don't have a detective share data
with-"
    "The prime suspect." Now I knew I had the top of their list
all to myself. "Don't let me keep you. Take your shower. We
wouldn't want even a whiff of impropriety to hang around
you."
    Again, her eyes widened, and it was all I could do to keep
from smacking my forehead. How could I let this ice princess
rattle me like that? I had to get a grip if I was to keep myself
out of jail.
    I snagged my army surplus duffel bag and left before I
pulled another dumb stunt. Like a homing pigeon, I shot
straight for my car.
    I almost made it too. Tyler blocked the dojo door.
    "You can't get behind the wheel right now. We have to
talk."
    Sometimes being a grown-up is a royal pain. "You're right.
I'm too mad to handle a lethal weapon."

    I collapsed into the very American overstuffed couch in
Tyler's office. He loves all things Asian, as the shelf of fabulous carvings and the framed watercolors on the room's walls
shows. But the sensei also loves his creature comforts-he
draws the line at sitting with clients on a mat-covered floor.
    He took the corner opposite me. "I won't ask what got you
like this. So why don't you explain that murder one thing."
    "It's all the same." A familiar sensation clawed to life in
the pit of my stomach. "Why didn't you tell me you had a
hotshot cop teaching lessons?"
    "Why didn't you ask?"
    "Okay. You want me to be reasonable, but you know? I'm
way past that. Did you read yesterday's paper?"
    He waved toward his desk. "It's somewhere in here. I didn't
get a chance to look at it. Mei-Li fussed all day long, and Sarah
got called in to an emergency surgery."
    Tyler's five-month-old daughter is a sweetie, but teething
isn't going well.
    "Sorry. As bad as it must have been, it doesn't come close
to the grim content in my last two days."
    "So? When are you going to tell me? I know whatever's
got hold of you is bad. I've watched you long enough now
to know when something's exploded on you."
    "That's putting it mildly." I fought the nausea, squared my
shoulders,