"Also," Agent Morse added, "they actually all died within two and a half years of each other."

"Is that unusual?"

"Let me finish. All these spouses were white, previously healthy, and all were married to wealthy people. I can show you actuarial tables, if you like. It's way off the charts."

Chris was intrigued by Morse's single-minded intensity. "So, what you're saying…you think this divorce lawyer is helping potential clients to murder their spouses rather than pay them a financial settlement?"

The FBI agent brought her hands together and nodded. "Or to gain sole custody of their children. That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Okay. But why are you saying it to me?"

For the first time, Agent Morse looked uncomfortable. "Because," she said deliberately, "one week ago, your wife drove to Jackson and spent two hours inside that lawyer's office."

Chris's mouth fell open. A wave of numbness moved slowly through his body, as though he'd been shot with a massive dose of lidocaine.

Agent Morse's eyes had become slits. "You had no idea, did you?"

He was too stunned to respond.

"Have you been having problems in your marriage, Doctor?"

"No," he said finally, grateful to be certain of something at last. "Not that it's any of your business. But look…if my wife went to see this lawyer, she must have had some reason other than divorce. We're not having any kind of marital trouble."

Morse leaned back in her chair. "You don't think Thora could be having an affair?"

His face went red at the use of his wife's first name. "Are you about to tell me that she is?"

"What if I did?"

Chris stood suddenly and flexed his shoulders. "I'd say you're crazy. Nuts. And I'd throw you out of here. In fact, I want to know where you get off coming in here like this and saying these things."