“If that’s what you want it to be,” said Hanratty. “Is that what you want it to be?”

“Why don’t you stop holding it in and tell me what this is all about.”

It was Sims who broke the news. “Dr. Wren Denniston was found murdered in his Chestnut Hill mansion this evening.”

I tried to say something clever, but the words caught in my throat. I caught a whiff of burnt coffee in the air.

“Shot in the head,” said Hanratty.

“Imagine that,” said Sims. “Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts at around eight tonight?”

“No.”

“You sure? We’re talking around eight o’clock. No one saw you at the office, at the store, didn’t happen to stop into the tap on your way home for a beer?”

“None of the above.”

“That’s a shame. Makes things a little tougher on you.”

“You mind if we look around?” said Hanratty.

“Not at all,” I said slowly, “as long as you have a warrant.”

Sims smoothed out the pleat on his pants. “So it’s going to be like that.”

“Yes, it’s going to be like that.”

“Have you seen Wren Denniston’s wife lately?”

“Thank you so much for coming.”

“We’re talking about Julia Denniston. The girl you were engaged to. The girl who broke your little heart. Have you seen her?”

“But I think it’s time for you to go.”

“You’d remember her, I’m sure. No flower has sweeter nectar than the old love who broke your heart. Isn’t that from an Eagles song? No, maybe not.”

“I’m done talking.”

“You hear that, Hanratty? He’s done talking.”

“I heard.”

“Which is funny, actually, because I don’t think he ever started. What should we do?”

“You know what we should do.”

Sims slapped his knee. “Give us a moment, Hanratty, won’t you?”

Hanratty glared some more at me, turned his glare on Sims, and then slipped out of the apartment. Sims stood from the couch and came over to where I was standing. He thumbed at the door, lowered his voice to a conspirator’s whisper.