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again,” she said. “Why would I want to kill him?”
    It was a rhetorical question, and I didn’t bother answering it.

Five
    After a while, Officer Lloyd came over. “Mr. Coyne, Mrs. Nichols, would you come with me, please?”
    We both stood up and followed Officer Lloyd to the elevators. We took one of them down to the first floor, where she led us to a small conference room off the lobby. It was wood-paneled and empty except for a rectangular table with about a dozen leather-cushioned chairs arranged around it.
    â€œHave a seat, please,” said Officer Lloyd. “The detectives will be here in a minute. Can I get you something?”
    â€œAnother coffee for me,” I said.
    â€œJust a glass of water, please,” said Sharon.
    Officer Lloyd nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.
    Sharon and I sat side by side at the table. I looked at my watch. It was a few minutes before one in the morning.
    Officer Lloyd came back with a cup of coffee for me and a bottle of water for Sharon. We thanked her, and she left again.
    I’d drunk about half of my coffee when the door opened and Horowitz and Marcia Benetti came in. They sat across from us.
    â€œI’m Detective Horowitz,” he said to Sharon. “This is Detective Benetti.”
    They all nodded to each other.
    Horowitz looked at me. “We’re gonna be here all night. There are two hundred and seventeen visiting veterinarians attending this convention. Tomorrow they’ll all go home. They come from all over the world. Japan and Argentina and Denmark and Egypt. We got to interrogate and clear every one of them.” He shook his head. “Not even to mention about fifty hotel employees on duty tonight and all the other hotel guests.”
    â€œPoor you,” I said.
    â€œMy sentiments exactly.” He put his forearms on the table, leaned forward, and looked at Sharon. “We hope you can help us understand what happened here tonight,” he said. “You won’t mind answering some questions for us?”
    â€œI don’t mind,” said Sharon.
    â€œOkay, good,” said Horowitz. He jerked his head in the direction of his partner. “We’re going to record this. Save us the trouble of taking notes.” He looked at me. “Okay?”
    I nodded. “Sure.”
    Benetti reached into her big shoulder bag and took out a battery-run digital recorder. It was about the size of a television remote. She pressed a button on its side, said, “Just testing,” flipped another button, and we heard, “Just testing,” loud and clear.
    She put it in the middle of the table between us and said, “Okay. We’re good to go.”
    Horowitz said, “We’re here at the Beverly Suites Hotel in Natick. This is Detective Roger Horowitz. Detective Marcia Benetti is here, along with Sharon Nichols and attorney Brady Coyne. It’s, um, April twenty-one”—he glanced at his wristwatch—“no, it’s after midnight—12:42 A.M . on Sunday, Apriltwenty-two.” He looked at Sharon and me and shrugged. “Okay, then. Mrs. Nichols. Our victim, Kenneth Nichols, he was your ex-husband, right?”
    â€œYes, that’s right,” said Sharon.
    â€œAnd you were here tonight…why?”
    â€œWe hadn’t seen each other in a long time. It was a kind of…a get-together. A chance to get to know each other again.”
    â€œLike a date.”
    â€œSort of, yes.”
    â€œIn his hotel room.”
    Sharon nodded.
    â€œAnswer for the recorder, please,” Horowitz said.
    â€œYes,” she said. “We’d planned to meet in Ken’s hotel room.”
    â€œWhy in his room?”
    â€œIt was a kind of celebration. He was going to order champagne.”
    â€œA celebration of what?” asked Horowitz.
    â€œOf our…of being interested in each other again.”
    Horowitz hesitated, then said,