“And there is the boat,” I continued, ignoring her comment about the offer. “You own a boat.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “He named it after me. We leave it in Florida.”

“How big is the boat?”

“Something like forty feet, I’m not sure. Winston is the sailor. He is quite dashing in his white ducks and blue blazer.”

“In whose name is the boat titled?”

“Isn’t this getting repetitious, Mr. Carl? It is in both of our names. Everything is in both of our names.”

“Including the condominium in Atlantic City?”

“We don’t own a condominium in Atlantic City.”

“Are you sure?” I said. “There is a condo in a building right on the Boardwalk titled to Winston Osbourne. Let me show you a copy of the deed. I’ll mark this P. 12.”

“There must be some mistake, you must be thinking of another man. We don’t own a condominium in Atlantic City.”

“The person living there identified your husband as the owner.”

“I’m not aware of a condominium in Atlantic City.”

“Well, this person living there now says she doesn’t pay rent to Mr. Osbourne, and I was wondering if she paid the rent to you. Any such rent would be attachable on behalf of Mr. Sussman.”

“No, of course I am not receiving the rent.”

“Perhaps you know the person living in your husband’s apartment, a Miss LeGrand?”

“No.”

“Let me show you a picture. I’ll mark this P. 13.”

“What is this? This is a brochure of some sort.”

“Yes, for a gentlemen’s club called the Pussy Willow. Why don’t you look through it. I’m referring to the section about the exotic dancers. Let me show you. The woman right there.”

“Tiffany LeGrand?”

“Oh, so you do know her,” I said, even though the shaking of her head, her dazed eyes, opened brutally, unnaturally wide, the death grip with which she now held onto her pearls, all of it stated with total clarity that no, no, she did not know her, had never heard of her, no.