I made eye contact with Lonnie, who interjected a comment, picking up on my question as if with ESP. "The guy's name is David Barney. He was acquitted, in case you're curious."

Voigt changed positions in his chair as if the very name made him itch. "The bastard."

Lonnie said, "Go on with your story, Ken. I didn't mean to interrupt. You might as well give her the background as long as she's here."

It seemed to take a few seconds for him to remember what he'd been saying. "We were married for four years… a second marriage for both. We have a ten-year-old daughter named Shelby who's off at boarding school. She was four when Iz was killed. Anyway, Isabelle and I had been having problems… nothing unusual as far as I knew. She got involved with Barney. She married him a month after our divorce became final. All he wanted was her money. Everybody knew that except poor, dumb Iz. And I don't mean any insult to her when I say that. I loved the woman, truly, but she was gullible as they come. She was bright and she was talented, but she had no sense of self-worth, which made her a sitting duck for anybody with a kind word. You probably know women like that. Emotionally dependent, no self-esteem to speak of. She was an artist, and while I had tremendous admiration for her ability, it was hard to watch her throw her life away…"

I found myself tuning out his analysis of her character. His generalizations about women were obnoxious and he'd evidently told the same story so often his rendering of events was flat and passionless. The drama was not about her anymore, it was the tale of his reaction. My eye wandered over to the pile of fat manila folders on Lonnie's desk. I could see VOIGT/BARNEY written across the spine. Two cardboard boxes stacked against the wall contained additional files, judging by the labels affixed to one side. Everything Voigt was saying was going to be right there, a compilation of facts without all the editorials attached.