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Payne now could smell the alcohol on Austin’s breath.

So, he’s drunk?

“Johnny?” Grosse said. “You want to ease up?”

“This son of a bitch was with Camilla Rose last night.”

Payne studied Austin, and thought, It’s possible he’s using the booze for against the pain. Or maybe booze and pain pills, making for a nice toxic mix.

Maybe it’s more likely, as Amy said, that he’s self-medicating.

Is this one of those mania episodes she mentioned?

“Two things, Austin,” Payne said, his tone even. “First off, as I’m sure counsel here can tell you, you hit a cop, you go directly to jail. Do not pass go. Got it?”

“Fuck you—”

“And, two, I never went inside that bar. Not that there’s any reason I shouldn’t have. But the fact is, I happened to run into Camilla Rose in the lobby outside it. And not ten minutes later, the last I saw her, she was on the elevator, heading up here to her condo.”

“Why should I believe you? You left the hospital with her after she was there with me. And then you’re seen together in the bar later that night.”

“I just told you, unequivocally, that I never was in the bar.”

“But you were with Camilla Rose.”

“I’m beginning to think that crash affected your hearing,” Payne said. “I was never in the bar. Listen, she told me she wanted to talk, said she had more information that I could possibly use. So, at her request, I went with her to talk—”

“To here, to her condo?” Austin said, stepping in closer.

Payne sighed audibly. He looked between Austin and Grosse, then said to Austin, “She went up here alone, is all I can tell you. I, instead, wound up meeting a few blocks away, with Detective Harris, who you met this morning.”

Austin took a step back as he considered that.

“Why didn’t you go up and talk with her?” he said.

Payne met Austin’s eyes as he mentally debated telling him about Camilla Rose having made a pass at him. And he wondered if he should also use the picture of her by the fireplace she had sent him as evidence. He dismissed both thoughts as fast as they had occurred to him. Damaging the virtue of any woman, especially one deceased and unable to defend herself, struck him as reprehensible.

There also was the very real chance that Austin, hearing such news, would really come unglued. It would be easy on Austin’s part to make the accusation that Payne, in taking advantage of Austin being sedated in the hospital, had rushed to be her shining knight on a white horse.

“Camilla Rose,” Payne said, “drank two vodka miniatures in my car when we were maybe a block from the hospital. She was clearly upset—she said that her nerves were shot—and, as far as I know, continued drinking until I saw her outside the bar. It was then my observation that in her condition she would not have information I could use.”

He paused, let that sink in, and went on. “And when Detective Harris called and said he did have information, that was where I went.”

He paused again, thought, What the hell, why not? and added, “In retrospect, I really regret not having gone with her, as that very likely could have changed the course of the evening.”

Austin jerked his head toward Payne at that.

And now I feel a little shitty saying that, Payne thought, but he doesn’t know the details.

And the fact is, it is damn sure true that the evening would have had a different outcome—and she could very well be alive right

now.

Austin made what looked like a face of disbelief as he shook his head. But he did not challenge Payne on what he had said.

“You can believe what you want,” Payne said, “but you’ve got bigger problems. Which is why I’m here.”

Payne looked at Grosse.