“I was home, sleeping through the baseball game, when Guy called.”

“What did he say?”

“I can’t tell you. Depending on the circumstances, it might be a privileged communication.”

“You mean if he was calling you as a lawyer,” said Breger, “instead of as a friend.”

“That’s right. But he didn’t say much. He wasn’t really coherent. He sounded out of his head, confused.”

“Stoned?”

“With grief, maybe. I didn’t know what to do. I told him to stay calm, that I’d be right over.”

“What number did he call?”

“My home number.” I gave it to them. “When I arrived, he was sitting on the steps waiting for me.”

“In the rain?”

“Yes. Sobbing. And he was naked. I ran upstairs and found her on the mattress. I used the upstairs phone to call 911. Then I took a black raincoat from the hall closet, went back out with Guy, covered him as best I could. I waited out there with him.”

“When you were up in the room, did you see a gun or shells or anything?”

“No.”

“Did you smell anything, anything funny?”

“Other than the gunpowder and the smell of the blood? No.”

“It must have been a shock for him to see her dead like that,” said Breger.

“I suppose so.”

“Why, then, do you think he called a lawyer?” asked Breger, his head still in the file. “Of all the people he could call when he saw what he saw, why do you think he called a lawyer? I don’t think I would call a lawyer. A doctor, the police, my mother maybe, but not a lawyer.”

“He burned a lot of bridges when he left his family and his job to move in with Hailey. We had stayed in contact. He had introduced me to Hailey months ago. Maybe there was no one else for him to call.”

“You say Guy left his wife for her?” asked Stone. “What is the wife’s name?”

“Leila,” I said. “Leila Forrest. They weren’t yet divorced.”

“Do you have an address?”