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him.
    “How’ve you been doing, Doc?”
    “All right. And you?”
    “Me?” Doresh seemed offended by the common courtesy. As if his job gave him the right of total privacy.
I’ll ask the questions . . .
    “I’m fine, Doc.” He wiped a speck of chocolate from his lips and blinked several times. “Well balanced and nourished. So everything’s copacetic with you.”
    “I’m surviving.”
    “Well, that’s good,” said Doresh. “Especially considering the alternative.”
    They passed the marble wall engraved with the names of hospital benefactors, pushed through the glass doors, walked through the covered breezeway that led to the doctors’ parking lot. The convenient lot. After Jocelyn, there’d been talk about moving the nurses closer, but nothing had materialized.
    Doresh said, “Nice to keep dry.”
    Jeremy said, “What’s up, Detective?”
    “I’ll get right to the point, Doc. This is going to sound like one of those movie cliches, but where were you last night, let’s say between ten and midnight?”
    “At home.”
    “Anyone with you?”
    “No. Why?”
    “Just routine,” said Doresh.
    For a moment, Jeremy thought he’d go along with the script. Then something snapped, and he barked, “Bullshit,” and moved well ahead of Doresh.
    The detective caught up. Chuckled loudly, but there was no humor to the sound he emitted. The warning growl of a big, watchful dog.
    Those eyes. Regarding Jeremy with what seemed like new respect. Or maybe it was contempt.
    Doresh said, “You’re right, it’s total bullshit. I’m not going to waste my time driving over here and making small talk. So tell me this: Is there any way you can verify being home by yourself last night? It would help both of us if you could.”
    Jeremy suppressed the reflexive
why-the-hell-should-I
? “Not for an entire two hours there isn’t. I got home late — around eight-thirty, took a walk in my neighborhood for an hour or so. Someone may have seen me, but if they did, I didn’t notice. After that, I returned home, showered, had a drink — scotch. Johnny Walker, if you care — and called out for some dinner. Twenty-four-hour pizza place. I ordered a medium, half-cheese, half-mushrooms. It was delivered around ten-fifteen. I gave the boy a five-dollar tip, so he’ll probably remember. I ate three slices of pizza — the rest is in my refrigerator. The scotch made my mouth dry, and the pizza didn’t help, so I drank water. Three eight-ounce glasses. I read the papers, watched TV — if you’d like I can name the shows.”
    “Sure,” said Doresh.
    “You’re kidding.”
    “Anything but, Doc.”
    Jeremy rattled off the list.
    “That’s a lot of TV, Doc.”
    “Normally I’d be reading by candlelight,” said Jeremy, “but I just finished the entire Great Books Compendium and Chaucer and Shakespeare, thought I’d give myself some downtime.”
    Doresh studied him. “You’ve got a sense of humor. I didn’t see that before.”
    The situation didn’t exactly warrant it, idiot.
    The doctors’ lot came into view, and Jeremy walked faster. Rain pebbled down on the roof of the breezeway, poured down the sides, like glycerine drapery.
    Doresh said, “What’s the name of the pizza place?”
    Jeremy told him. “Who got killed?”
    “Who said—”
    “Spare me,” said Jeremy. “I went through hell, and you didn’t make it any easier. Now you’re still bugging me instead of finding out who killed Jocelyn.”
    Doresh’s eyes narrowed, and he moved in front of Jeremy, blocked Jeremy’s progress. “Making people feel good isn’t my job.”
    “Fine. So let’s cut to the chase. You’re here because something happened. Something similar enough to Jocelyn to want to take another look at me.”
    Doresh’s eyes dropped to the ground. As if the truth disgraced him. As if crime was a personal failure.
    He said, “Why not, you’ll read about it in tomorrow’s paper. Yeah, something very much like Ms. Banks happened.” He