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Fenwick asked.
    “No. He’s in sales for a satellite dish company. He might make vice president in just three years.”
    “Did you know Mr. Lenzati?” Turner asked.
    “We knew of him. We’d never actually met. This is a pretty quiet neighborhood and pretty exclusive. You don’t expect neighbors to bring pies across the street.”
    “Did you see him coming and going?”
    “Every once in a while. I take Todd”—she pointed at the child—“out for strolls quite often. He likes to get out and see things and explore.”
    “Anyone in particular show up, or one particular car that you noticed?”
    “No one, really. Except that famous partner of his in that computer business. They made all that money.”
    “Anything at all unusual that you ever noticed?”
    “Well, I’m not sure, but with this pregnancy, I’ve been up late a lot. Mike, my husband, has been so sweet …”
    Turner let her ramble for several moments before bringing her back. “You were talking about late nights?”
    “Yes. It was odd. A few times he had late visitors around two, three, even four in the morning.”
    “Did you see anyone last night?” Turner asked.
    “No, I’m sorry. I’m just grateful when I do sleep through the night.”
    “Any regulars?” Turner asked. “Anyone you recognized, or would recognize again?”
    “His partner. I think I saw him once. I didn’t recognize anyone else.”
    “Were these men or women?”
    “Women. Usually young women who seemed happy.”
    “Happy?” Turner asked.
    “Well, that kind of giggly drunk, that so often sounds more like fake happiness.”
    “Were these individuals or groups?” Turner asked.
    “Once it was a group. The other times, just one.”
    She knew no more. They left.
    “He had intimate little parties,” Fenwick said. “Not a big motive for murder.”
    Turner said, “I thought not being invited to parties was the big problem.”
    “Maybe the rich are different. We’ll have to ask Werberg about parties.”
    Continuing along the block, they found two more not-at-homes for which they would have to return. At three homes farther down the block no one had noticed anything. Apparently in this wealthy enclave you often drove through your security gate and then ignored the rest of the world. Turner and Fenwick rendezvoused with Roosevelt and Wilson, who hadn’t learned anything helpful either. They returned to their car.

5
     
    Technology makes it so much easier to find and kill victims. I love gathering information about people I don’t know. I love knowing that which they think is secret about their lives. Computers are wonderful in the way they let anybody intrude, and I am more “anybody” than anyone they are ever going to have to deal with.
     
    “Let’s try his company,” Turner said.
    “A secret computer cabal,” Fenwick said, “doing mystical things with machines that Bill Gates hasn’t even dreamed about. I like that as background and even more if it lends us a motive.”
    “I still think Bill is innocent. I doubt if he came to town and committed murder, and he probably wouldn’t like you mentioning his name.”
    “When he talked to me last night, he said I should tell you hello.”
    “Don’t applaud, just send money,” Turner said.
    “What does that mean?”
    “That what you’re telling me is a crock, but I’m too polite to mention it. Or that you’ve told that type of joke so many times that it’s too stale to trigger an intelligent response.”
    “You ask me if I’ve got problems, and here you are disparaging my jokes.”
    “I always disparage your jokes. You’re just depressed enough today to notice.”
    Fenwick thought about that a moment. “Oh.”
    As they waited for the light at Balbo and Lake Shore Drive, Turner said, “You were kind of touchy about that reporter’s article. I thought you said you were going to ignore it.”
    “It was crap. I hate useless speculation. A cop serial killer? Bullshit.”
    Turner said, “Seven