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on.” They went back down the hall and disappeared.
    Simms said, “I’m Officer Simms. There’s another officer outside checking the yard. What we’re going to do is look around, then sit down with you and talk about it, okay?” He had a good style. Relaxed and easy.
    Ellen Lang’s “Yes” was very soft.
    Eddie tapped at the glass doors that led off the dining room out to the pool and Simms went over. They mumbled together, then Simms said, “Poolhouse is inside out. I’ll be right back,” and went out to see. The jasmine floated in the open door.
    I said, “You want the cops in on this or not? They’re in now and it’s smarter if they stay in.”
    She shook her head without looking at me.
    Janet Simon said, “Oh, for God’s sake, Ellen,” for maybe the 400th time, and took a seat on the hearth.
    I said, “It is my professional opinion that you allow the police to investigate. I checked Kimberly Marsh’s apartment this afternoon. It looks like she went away for a few days. If she did, there’s a good chance she went somewhere with Mort. If Mort’s out of town, then he couldn’t have done this. That means you had a stranger in your house. Even if Mort hired somebody, that’s over the line and the cops should know.”
    Janet Simon said, “Wow. You work fest.”
    Ellen Lang went white when I mentioned Kimberly Marsh.She tried to swallow, looked like she had a little trouble, then stood up and said, “I won’t have the police after my husband. I won’t do that to him. I don’t want the police here. I don’t want ABPs. I don’t want Mort in any trouble.”
    â€œA
P
B,” I said. “All Points Bulletin. That went out with Al Capone.”
    â€œI don’t want that, either.”
    My head throbbed. The muscles along my neck were tight. Pretty soon I’d have knots in the trapezius muscles and sour stomach. “Listen,” I said. “It wasn’t Mort.”
    Ellen Lang started to cry. No whimpering, no trembling chin. Just water spilling out her eyes. “Please do something,” she said. She made no move to hide her face.
    The cops came back and glanced into the kitchen. Eddie mumbled some more to Simms and headed out to the radio car. Simms stayed with us. “We’re gonna get the detectives in on this,” he said.
    Ellen Lang folded up and sat down like she’d just been told the biopsy was positive. “Oh, God, I can’t do anything right.”
    I watched her a moment, then took a long breath in through the nose, let it out, and said, “Simms?”
    Simms’ eyes flicked my way. Flat, bored eyes. Street-cop eyes.
    I brought him aside. “She thinks it was her husband,” I said. “It’s a domestic beef. They’re separated.”
    Simms said “Shit” under his breath and called out the front door for Eddie to wait. He stood in the living room, one thick hand on his gun butt and one on his nightstick, looking around the place like he was standing hip deep in dog shit. The older girl came back in, saw her mother crying, and looked disgusted. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Mother.” She went back down the hall. Maybe she wanted to grow up to be Janet Simon.
    Ellen Lang cried harder. I went over to her, put my hand on her shoulder, and said, “Stop that” into her ear. She nodded and tried to stop. She did a pretty good job.
    Simms said, “All right. Do you want to report anything missing?”
    She shook her head without looking at him, either.
    â€œA lot of this stuff is ruined,” he said. “You could maybe file a vandalism claim with the insurance, but only if we file a report, and only if we can’t prove it’s your husband. Okay, even if we forget your husband, the detectives still gotta come out hereand file a vandalism report. That’s the insurance company,