Tandy was forty, tanned, a gym rat. His shoulder holster bulged under the tight fit of his shiny blue jacket.

Tandy said, “You know Detective Ziegler.”

“We’ve met,” I said.

Ziegler had a swimmer’s build: broad shoulders, a long torso. He wore a copper bracelet on his right wrist. Gun on his hip. I remembered him now. We’d mixed it up once when he was harassing one of my clients. I’d won. His hair had gone gray since I’d seen him last.

Tandy said, “Where’s the victim?”

I told him and he told me to stay where I was.

Ziegler smiled, said, “Sit tight, Jack.”

I stared out the windows toward the beach. All I could see was foam on the dark waves. My head pounded and I wanted to be sick, but I held everything down as Tandy and Ziegler went to my bedroom.

I heard Tandy’s voice on the phone but not what he said. And then he and Ziegler were back.

Tandy said, “I called the ME and the lab. Why don’t you tell us what happened while we wait for them to come?”

We all sat down, and I told Tandy that I didn’t know who could have killed Colleen or why.

“I haven’t slept in more than twenty-four hours,” I said. “I was a zombie. I started taking off my clothes the minute I walked in. I used the hallway entrance to the bathroom.”

I told him about walking into my bedroom after my shower, expecting to fall into bed. Finding Colleen.

“Very convenient, you taking a shower,” Tandy said. “I suppose you did a load of wash too.”

“My jacket is on that chair. My shirt is on the hallway floor. I threw my pants over the door. My shorts are outside the stall.”

I gave Ziegler the names of Colleen’s next of kin in Dublin and told the cops that the entry log showed that Colleen’s code had been used a half hour before I came home.