I bent down, put one arm behind her neck, snaked the other arm beneath her legs, lifted. She was lighter than a woman her size had any right to be. I smelled the shampoo in her hair and felt the silky heat of her skin as I carried her to the couch. I placed her gently on the cushions so she was sitting up. From the bedroom I fetched her a blanket, with which I covered her modestly. From the kitchen I fetched her a beer, which I placed into her hand. She sipped from the bottle once and then ignored it while her dazed eyes darted to and fro. I sat close and petted her still-wet hair.

“Do they know who killed him?”

“No.”

“Do they know why?”

“Not yet.”

“Was it a robbery?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do I do now?”

“You need to get dressed,” I said.

“Okay.”

“The cops are outside. They’re looking for you, and they’re outside.”

“Why are they looking for me?”

“To ask you questions. They want you to help them find out who killed your husband. And they’ll also want to know where you were tonight.”

“Do they know I’m here?”

“Not for sure, but they suspect.”

“They shouldn’t know. This was just about us, not about them. I don’t want them goose-stepping into our lives.”

“It’s too late for that. Either they’re waiting outside, hoping to catch you leave, or they’re waiting for a warrant to be approved by a judge so they can come back and search my apartment. Either way, you need to get dressed.”

“I’ll go out the back.”

“My guess is it’s also being watched.”

“Where will I go?”

“It doesn’t really matter. Once the police spot you, they’ll pick you up and take you to the Roundhouse for questioning.”

“Police headquarters?”

“That’s right.”

“They think I did it.”