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Why, for example, did she take Billy's death so personally that she was prepared to be exploited in order to have his story publicized? "Are you sure you didn't know him?" he suggested with apparent indifference.
    Her surprise was genuine. "No. Why would I need answers if I'd known him?"
    He opened his notebook on his lap, and wrote: Why does anyone need answers about a complete stranger six months after his death? "Which would you prefer," he asked, "that Lisa takes her photographs before we talk or while we're talking?"
    "While."
    He waited as Lisa unzipped her bag and removed her camera. "Do you have a Christian name, Mrs. Powell?"
    "Amanda."
    "Do you prefer Amanda Powell or Mrs. Powell?"
    "I don't mind." She frowned into the camera lens.
    "A smile would be better," said Lisa. She snapped the shutter. Click. "That's great." Click. "Could you look at the floor? Good." Click. "Keep your eyes cast down. That's really touching." Click, click.
    "Go on, Mr. Deacon," said the woman curtly. "I'm sure you don't want me to be sick over my own carpet."
    He grinned. "I prefer Deacon or Mike. How old are you?"
    "Thirty-six."
    "What do you do for a job?
    She glanced at him as Lisa took another photograph. "I'm an architect."
    "On your own or with a firm?"
    "I'm with W. F. Meredith." Click.
    Not bad, he thought. Meredith was about as good as you could get. "What are your political affiliations, Amanda?"
    "None."
    "How about off the record?"
    She gave a faint smile which Lisa caught. "The same."
    "Do you vote?" She caught him watching her, and he looked away.
    "Of course. Women fought long and hard to give me that right."
    "Are you going to tell me which party you usually vote for?"
    "Whichever I think will do the least damage."
    "You seem to have little time for politicians. Is there a particular reason for that or is it just fin de siecle depression?"
    The faint smile again as she reached for her wineglass. "Personally, I'd hesitate to qualify a huge abstract concept like fin de siecle depression with 'just,' but for the purposes of your article it's as truthful as anything else."
    He wondered what it would be like to kiss her. "Are you married at the moment, Amanda?"
    "Yes."
    "What does your husband do?"
    She raised the glass to her lips, momentarily forgetting the camera lens pointing at her, then lowered it with a frown as Lisa took another photograph. "My husband wasn't here when I found the body," she said, "so what he does is irrelevant."
    Deacon caught the look of amused cynicism on Lisa's face. "It's human interest," he countered lightly. "People will want to know what sort of man a successful architect is married to."
    Perhaps she realized that his curiosity was personal, or perhaps, as Lisa had guessed, there was no Mr. Powell. In either case, she refused to expand on the matter. "It was I who found the body," she repeated, "and you have my details already. Shall we continue?"
    The pale eyes, so like his mother's, rested on Deacon's craggy face too long for comfort, and his mild fantasy about kissing her shifted from harmless fun to sadistic revenge. He could imagine what JP's reaction was going to be to the paucity of information that he'd managed to drag out of her so far. Name, rank, and number . And he had little optimism that the photographs would be any better. Her features were so controlled that she might as well be a poker-faced prisoner of war backed against a wall. He wondered if fires had ever burned in her cool little face, or if her life had been entirely passionless. Predictably, the idea excited him.
    "All right," he agreed, "let's talk about finding the body. You said you were shocked. Can you describe the experience for me? What sort of thoughts went through your mind when you saw him?"
    "Disgust," she said, careful to keep her voice neutral. "He was behind a stack of empty boxes in the corner and he'd covered himself in an old blanket. The smell was really quite awful once I'd pulled it away from him. Also,