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DANNY ESPOSITO SAYS HE’S heading back to his office and will check in with Jimmy and me later.

Katherine Welsh is still inside the house.

Jimmy and I are standing on Harrington’s front lawn, waiting while the techs from the mobile crime labs are swabbing Harrington’s gun with their nitric acid solution, and checking his hand for gunpowder residue.

It’s nearly forty-five minutes later when Carlos Quintero comes out to tell us that there was indeed GSR on Harrington’s right hand, as they suspected there would be, and that by now they pulled a single bullet out of the kitchen wall.

In addition, they said, the only set of fingerprints on the handle of the Glock belonged to Harrington.

Jimmy says, “Anything to indicate that some bastard who knew what he was doing could have wiped it?”

“Without wiping away Harrington’s prints?” Quintero asks. “How would that work?”

“Somebody who wanted to make a murder look like a suicide, somebody who Harrington probably knew, could have come up from behind him, pulled the trigger, wiped the gun, put it back in his hand and then fired it again,” Jimmy says.

“Sure, and maybe it was the second shooter from the Kennedy assassination,” Chief Carlos Quintero says, “even though he’d have to be really, really old at this point.”

“I’m telling you, this guy didn’t kill himself,” Jimmy says.

“Then where’s the other bullet, if it happened anything like you say it did?” Quintero says.

“A pro would know how to fire it into something, collect it, and leave with the evidence,” I add.

“You got any proof to back that up?” Quintero says.

“None,” I say.

I see Katherine Welsh walking out the front door then, motioning for me to walk with her up the block to where she had parked her car.

“You’re convinced he was murdered,” she says when I get with her.

“I am.”

“With nothing to go on.”

“Maybe less than nothing,” I say. “But as a good Catholic girl, I was taught that faith is believing in what you can’t see.”

“Catholic maybe,” she says. “Not so sure on the good part.”

“It comes and goes,” I tell her.

She stops and gives me a long look, almost as if she’s telling me to cut the shit.

“Who wouldn’t have wanted Paul Harrington to testify today?” she asks finally. “And might have been willing to have him killed to stop him from doing that?”

“Do you even have to ask?” I say.