“You are so superficial,” said Heat. “It’s not about looks. It’s about money.”

“Weird Al,” said Raley when the three of them entered the squad room. “ ‘It’s Raining Men’? My guess is Al Yankovic.”

“Nope,” said Rook. “The song was written by…Ah, I could tell you, but where’s the sport in that? Keep trying. But no fair Googling.”

Nikki Heat sat at her desk and swiveled to face the bullpen. “Can I break up tonight’s episode of Jeopardy! for a little police work? Ochoa, what do we know about Kimberly Starr’s alibi?”

“We know it doesn’t check out. Well, I know, and now you do, too. She was at Dino-Bites today but left shortly after she got there. Her kid ate his tar pit soup with the nanny, not his mom.”

“What time did she leave?” asked Heat.

Ochoa flipped through his notes. “Manager says around one, one-fifteen.”

Rook said, “I told you I got a vibe off Kimberly Starr, didn’t I?”

“You like Kimberly Starr as a suspect?” asked Raley.

“Here’s how it spins for me.” Rook sat on Heat’s desk. She noticed him wince from the rib kicks he’d taken and wished he would get himself checked out. “Our adoring trophy wife-and-mother has been getting sweet lovin’ on the side. Her punch pal Barry, no looker he, claims she dropped him like a sack of hammers when his hedge fund cratered and his money supply pinched off. Hence today’s assault. Who knows, maybe our dead gazillionaire kept the little missus on a short money leash. Or maybe Matthew Starr found out about her affair and she killed him.”

Raley nodded. “Does look bad that she was cheating on him.”

“I have a novel idea,” said Heat. “Why don’t we do this thing called an investigation? Gather evidence, assemble some facts. Somehow that might sound better in court than, ‘Here’s how it spins for me.’ ”