“I didn’t do anything, Victor.”

“It doesn’t matter. They can twist things. And I don’t trust the guys they assigned to the case.”

“Do they think I killed him?”

“The spouse is always a suspect until she’s cleared.”

“What do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“But you just kissed me. Would you kiss me if you thought I was a killer?”

“Go get dressed,” I said.

She took another long drink of the beer, nodded a couple of times, and then stood. As she turned away from me and walked into my bedroom, the blanket still clutched to her front, I caught a view of the length of her naked body, from the back of her head to her thin heels.

Lovely neck, I thought. A sweet arch in her spine. Nice legs. To answer her question, even if my worst suspicions had been right, I’d still kiss her. And more. See, I never believed that part about Sam Spade. Sure he would have turned in Brigid O’Shaughnessy, but only after. That’s the way we’re wired.

When she came out of the bedroom, she was fully dressed, with makeup in place and lipstick bright, her red handbag like a shield at her side. She looked like a woman who had made a decision. I turned to the window again, peered out at the street. The car was still there, Hanratty and Sims were still there.

“They’re waiting for you.”

“I’m ready,” she said, her voice firm.

“I’ll take you down, introduce you, stay with you as long as they let me. Do you remember what I said?”

“To say nothing.”

“Good. If they press, tell them you want to see your lawyer.”

“Okay.”

I walked toward her, took hold of her right arm to lead her to the door, but she didn’t follow. Instead she pivoted forward into my chest. The top of her head tickled my nose. We stood there for a while. And then she tilted her face up and stood on tiptoe and kissed me. And I let her. She kissed me, and her body eased and sagged into mine, and we fit together, like we fit together before, like we were made one for the other, and I kissed her back.