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“Really?” he asked skeptically.
“Really.”
“Why did you end the affair?”
“I don’t see the relevance of that.”
“There may be none. Or it could be extremely relevant.”
She lost the staring contest. “What we were doing was wrong. I couldn’t do it anymore. I told him we couldn’t see each other again.”
“Before him, had you had other affairs?”
“No.”
“No one would blame you. In light of Mr. Speakman’s…”
“Mr. Speakman’s what?” she demanded frostily.
He backed down. “Burkett was your first and only affair since you married Speakman?”
“That’s what I said.”
“And when you broke it off, Burkett didn’t argue, put up a fuss, beg you to reconsider?”
“No.”
“Huh.” Thoughtfully, he scratched his acne-scarred cheek. “That doesn’t sound like the Griff Burkett I know.”
Coolly she said, “Then perhaps you don’t know him very well.”
“Apparently you don’t, either, Mrs. Speakman. Because when you called off your affair, Burkett didn’t take it lying down. Not at all. He’s been simmering over it. Last night he came here, overpowered Manuelo Ruiz, then drove a letter opener into your husband’s neck. Classic crime of a jilted lover.”
She forced herself not to look away from him. She deserved his implied scorn, she supposed, although in light of her grief, and guilt, it seemed unusually cruel punishment. It was one thing to endure the censure of people you respected. It was quite another to bear the scorn of someone you held in low esteem.
He got up and walked to the desk. “You’re sure nothing is missing from this room?”
“I don’t believe so. I can’t be sure until I’ve looked more thoroughly.”
“When you feel like it, please do.”
“Certainly.”
“Does this mean anything to you?”
He’d pulled on a pair of latex gloves to pick a single sheet of paper up off the desk. He carried it over to her. “I wanted you to see this before I bagged it as evidence.”
He held the sheet so she could read the typewritten paragraphs. There were three of them. After several tries to get through the first sentence with any degree of comprehension, she looked up at him with puzzlement. “It’s nonsense.”
He laughed shortly. “I’m glad you said that. I thought I was losing it. It made no sense to me, either. It’s just a bunch of big words strung together, right?”
“Just a bunch of big words.”
“Any explanation?”
“No.”
“Do you think your husband typed these paragraphs?”
