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"You're preaching to the choir, Gerry. But you're the DA. You've got to make the call."

Abrams' eyes flicked at the ceiling, came back to Juhle. "We don't do something, he's gonna walk. Are you expecting more from the morgue or the lab?"

"Nope. We could always get surprised, but…"

Abrams crossed back to the lockers one more time, his finger tattooing the echoing metal, trying to make up his mind.

Just at that moment, the telephone on the desk rang. Juhle held a finger up to Abrams and picked it up. "Juhle, Homicide." He all but came to attention in his chair, straightening up, grabbing for his pen. "Yes, Mrs. Robley," he said, "go ahead. I'm listening." And as he listened, his face clouded over until it was set in darkness. "Yes, ma'am," he said. "Should I talk to her? No. Sure. I understand." After another minute of monosyllables, Juhle hung up and looked over at Gerry Abrams. "Bethany Robley's mother," he said. "The son of a bitch sent his own daughter to threaten Bethany to change her testimony."

This wasn't good news for the witness by any means, but it brought a cold smile to Abrams' face. "We've just tipped, Dev. Go talk to her on tape. Nail it down. Then let's go find us a judge, get the sucker in jail while we've still got the chance."

Robert McAfee greeted Wyatt Hunt in the doorway of the newly built warehouse-like structure on Geary at the eastern edge of Japantown. The site of the city's soon-to-be-completed Total Joint Clinic was not in a low-rent neighborhood by any stretch, and its now-sole principal betrayed a distinct pride of ownership as he shook Hunt's hand.

McAfee, dressed more like a construction worker than a doctor, in heavy work boots, tan denim pants and a black and gold Giants windbreaker, looked young and fit enough to play with the big club. He had all of his hair, and none of it was gray above a subtle widow's peak that bisected an unlined forehead. With his piercing gray eyes, strong nose, good teeth and day-and-a-half stubble, he was as handsome as a movie star. He also accepted without question, and without looking at the proffered business card, Hunt's description of himself as a defense investigator looking into the death of Caryn Dryden, offering only, "But I already talked to one of your partners, whose name escapes me, I'm sorry."

"Devin Juhle?" Hunt volunteered, willing to take advantage of McAfee's lack of distinction between police and defense investigators. Hunt had done what the Penal Code required-identified himself and given the witness a business card. What the witness chose to believe after that was not Hunt's problem.

"That was it. Juhle. I told him I was asleep on Sunday night, which I was. Though of course I was devastated to hear about Caryn. I still am. But I don't know what else you need to know from me. I hadn't seen her since last Thursday. Surely I'm not a suspect, am I?"

Hunt loved it when he was mistakenly taken for a policeman. He answered with an open, guileless look. "Until somebody's arrested, the field's technically open, but you were home in bed when the murder occurred." He phrased it as fact, although he knew from Gina that McAfee was Stuart's pick as most likely suspect which, if true, meant the alibi was bogus.

"That's right."

"So my real interest is that as Caryn's business partner, you might know something about her and either not know that you know it or not realize its importance."

"Okay, that's possible." McAfee's smile came and went haphazardly. Hunt's presence and questions clearly were rattling him. "But I thought you'd more or less settled on Stuart?"

"He's in the mix, Doctor, but as I said there's been no arrest yet. The media's made up its mind, if it has one, but there are some questions."

Hunt's intention wasn't to let his cop impersonation intimidate the witness; he wanted to get him relaxed and talking. He looked over McAfee's shoulder to where construction sounds could be heard and put some enthusiasm into his tone. "I love these infill projects. I live in a converted warehouse myself down on Brannan. How close are you to being finished here?"

"Well, now, with Caryn gone, that's all a bit up in the air. If you'd like a quick tour while we talk, I'd be happy to show you around a little."

"That'd be great. I'd like that. Thanks."

McAfee's relief at leaving the immediate subject of Caryn's death was palpable. He turned to indicate the reception area. "Well, where we are here, this is pretty much finished." He led Hunt behind the counter, showing off the stations, the computer outlets, the phone bank.

"How many patients were you planning on handling?"

"We hoped to get up to eight a day."

"Eight a day? That many people need new hips?"

"And shoulders, and knees. And yes, even hips alone, eight a day, at least."

"You and Caryn were going to do four operations each, every day?"

Perhaps this struck McAfee as funny. Perhaps he was still nervous. At any rate, he had a loud, uninhibited laugh, though he cut it off after the first couple of notes. "I'm sorry," he said, "but no. We hoped to be able to bring in associates, fellow orthopedic specialists, and have them on staff here within a year or two. Any one doctor shouldn't do more than one total joint surgery in any given day. Although there are some who try."

Hunt decided to take a risk. "Michael Pinkert?"

The name stopped him, wiped the joviality from McAfee's face. "Yes, he'd be one of them. Have you been talking to him?"

"Not yet."

"But obviously you know that he'd been in some negotiations with Caryn."

"And with you, right? You want to talk about it?"

Clearly, McAfee didn't. He looked back over his shoulder quickly as though considering whether he should take his inquisitor on the next leg of the clinic tour, but finally flashed another false smile and leaned back against the wall. "You have to understand that Caryn and I, we went back as far as our residencies together. She was an incredible woman-smart, driven, a workaholic really, like me. With so much going on in her brain all the time. It was-she was-a joy to be around. Not that everybody saw that part of her, of course. She could be very… abrupt, I suppose. And short-tempered. Impatient with stupidity, that was all."

"She wouldn't have liked me," Hunt said, trying to keep his witness at least marginally on his side for as much time as he could, which he was afraid wouldn't be much longer.

"I think you're being modest, Inspector," McAfee said. "In any event, what I'm getting at is that she and I were an immensely compatible team from very early on. We shared the same work ethic, the same approach to our practices. Dr. Pinkert has a different philosophy than either Caryn or me. I didn't see him working well with us."

"Don't take offense at this, Doctor, but were you and Caryn intimate?"

McAfee let out a breath, and with it went some of the confidence in his posture. "I should have expected it would come to this," he said mostly to himself. Then he nodded. "For about a two-week interval about twenty years ago. No, more like eighteen. Soon after Kymberly-her daughter-was born. She and Stuart were having troubles. The girl was evidently…" He shook his head. "Anyway, she decided she wasn't going to leave him or end the marriage back then-I don't know why-but she and I… we both realized it was a mistake." Meeting Hunt's eye, he said, "I know this looks bad, but we haven't been together since then, and that's the truth. We were friends and business partners, that's all."

"And suddenly she was betraying you by asking Pinkert to join you both on this clinic?"

"Well, not betraying me. That's a bit strong. We disagreed about it, sure, but… I didn't kill her, Inspector. I wasn't her lover anymore."