I said to Kerry that night after dinner, “and all I’ve got for the effort is a headache.” “Well, I hate to say it, but that could be because you’re trying to build a case where none exists.” “I don’t think so. Angelina Pollexfen could be guilty, sure, and the shooting could’ve happened the way Yin and Davis have it figured, but there’re too many inconsistencies—Pollexfen gathering her and Cullrane together in the library, feeding them drinks that were almost certainly drugged. The three-hour time lapse. The doors apparently being bolted from the inside for no good reason. Plus the kind of man Pollexfen is, plus the blackmail and revenge motives.” We were in our mom-and-pop chairs in the living room, a wood fire going, cups of espresso on the table between us. Emily was there, too, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, reading Pride and Prejudice for her school English class. Behind her, Shameless lay draped half on the couch and half on her shoulder in one of his typical cat poses, purring loud enough to override the crackle of the fire.
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