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my job, but I find you crushingly attractive, I’ve been thinking about
you since I met you, and, God help me, I’d love to screw you.’”
    She
straightened her collar, adjusted her necklace, as if primping for a portrait.
“That sounds vulgar in the retelling, but you had to be there, guys. Trust me,
it was alluring.”
    Ten
more minutes of strolling produced an easy-to-verify alibi for the previous
night. The Holmans had attended an experimental music concert at Disney Hall
with another couple, followed by a late dinner at Providence on Melrose.
    “Seafood
orgy, guys. After we’d gorged ourselves silly, we headedclear
across town to Vibrato, in Beverly Glen, thinking we’d catch some jazz, but the
show was over so we went home. I went to bed and Ned stayed up reading, the way
he usually does. He lives for books and language, he’s an esteemed linguist,
used to teach at the U. Used to do all sorts of things.” Frown. “That was my
pathetic play for sympathy. Not that I need any. It’s poor Des who does.”
    “What
can you tell us about Des’s background?” said Milo. “Personal, not
professional.”
    “We
never talked about things like that. Never talked much, period. He was a lovely
boy, gentle, considerate. I can’t see why anyone would want to kill him.”
    Milo
showed her the dead woman’s picture.
    “Who’s—my
God, she’s …”
    “Do
you recognize her, Ms. Holman?”
    “Absolutely
not.” Thrusting the photo back.
    “The
other women at the firm—Sheryl and Bettina. Single or married?”
    “Single.”
    “Reason
I ask, ma’am, is we need to check out irate boyfriends, husbands.”
    She
stared at us. “Ned? Not a chance. For a husband to be irate, he needs to be
aware, and Ned isn’t. Even if he did find out, he’s not exactly in a position
to do anything about it, is he?”
    The
flippant cruelty of the last sentence hung in the air.
    “Speaking
of which, I’d best be getting back, gentlemen. Ned might need freshening up.”

CHAPTER 6
    Marjorie
Holman sprinted up the ramp to her deck.
    Milo
said, “Freshening him up. Hubby as houseplant. Some nest of vipers ol’ Des got
himself into.”
    We
headed back to the car, crossed a footbridge above still, green water.
    I
said, “Sounds like ol’ Des dove into the nest with enthusiasm. If he took
Passant and Sanfelice to construction sites, we’re talking predictable,
high-risk behavior.”
    “Come
away with me to le beeg deeg, mon amour . Might as well wear a Stalk
Me sign. So maybe this will boil down to another jealous domestic
and no matter what Holman says, we coulda just met the main players. A mister
bitter over his plight. Missus thinks he’s greenery but there could be plenty
of animal left.”
    “Charming
Helga called Holman a nibbler of forbidden fruit. It’s possible her flings
weren’t limited to Backer.”
    “All
the more reason for pent-up anger, but right now the only lothario I care about
is Backer. Mr. Smooth. Coming out and askingfor it
ain’t exactly suave, let alone three women in the same office. But it worked,
so what do I know?”
    I
said, “Sounds like Backer had a nose for emotional vulnerability. Think about
the Holmans’ house: Ned’s got no access to the second floor, where Marjie
sleeps. She’s an architect, if anyone could figure out a way to get him up
there, it’s her. They’ve chosen to live physically segregated lives. It’s not
just a matter of sex, it’s intimacy. And that’s what she says she got from
Backer.”
    “He
tries a little tenderness, she falls right in.”
    “My
question is, if her needs were being met, why limit it to a one-night stand?”
    He
rolled his shoulders. “She lied to us and she and Backer had something serious
going on?”
    “That
would threaten Ned Holman big-time. On top of being humiliated, he’s left alone
physically and emotionally. We’ve both seen enough domestic homicides to know
the pattern: The jealous spouse focuses first on eliminating the