everal minutes later, Sam triumphantly placed Leigh Manning's open file in front of McCord and pointed to an old New York City address. For Shrader and Womack's benefit, she said aloud, "Leigh Manning moved to Great Jones Street while she was still attending NYU."

McCord glanced at the address in the file as he reached into his desk drawer and yanked out a phone book.

"I already checked," Sam said, returning to her chair. "There's an Angelina's Restaurant and an Angelini's Market listed, and I called there a moment ago. The market has been at that same address for forty-five years, and it's just down the block from Leigh Manning's old address. I also checked the early employment records in Valente's file—he worked there on and off during the same period Leigh Manning lived down the street."

Shrader sent Sam an approving, paternal nod for her discovery; then he turned businesslike. "Exactly how long ago did she live near the market?"

When Sam told him, he tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling, his eyes narrowed in thought. "So by the time she met Valente, he'd already done time for manslaughter…" In the pause that followed, no one attempted to confirm his statement, because they were all so familiar with Valente's life history by then that any one of them could have written his biography.

"Let's consider a different scenario for Valente and Leigh Manning and see if this one plays," Shrader said. "Valente meets Leigh Kendall when she lives down the street from the market where he works, and they have a fling. Naturally, he tells her the story of his life, and since Valente's a tough bastard and proud of it, he includes his stint in prison for manslaughter. After the fling is over, she goes her way and marries Manning, and Valente goes his way. Valente and Leigh Manning don't see each other after that. I mean, they never really had anything in common in the first place, right?"

"Right," Womack said. "Go on, I'm with you."

"Fourteen years go by," Shrader continued; "then one day, Leigh Manning finds out her husband is cheating on her, or laundering illegal money—or whatever—and she decides she wants to get rid of him, permanently. Now, who would she call to advise her about doing something like that? Who does she know who has firsthand experience with murder?"

"She'd call her old friend from Great Jones Street," Womack agreed aloud.

"Exactly. She calls him from a pay phone, and he picks her up in his car, and they talk there. They meet the same way another time or two to make their plans, but that's all they do. That would explain why we can't dig up any evidence they were having an affair—because they weren't having one."

He paused, his brow furrowing again. "When I think about it, it's just as likely that she didn't call Valente out of the blue with her problem. Manning's secretary said Manning had been making some business overtures to Valente in the weeks before he died. Maybe Manning brought up Valente to his wife, and that's when she realized how helpful her old pal could be in disposing of her husband. Doesn't matter," he said, giving his big head a shake. "Anyway, on the night before they plan to off old Logan, he suddenly decides he could make some points with his potential business investor by inviting him to Leigh's fancy party. Mrs. Manning's secretary—Brenna something—specifically told me Manning added Valente to the guest list himself, at the last minute."

Womack looked impressed. "So Valente goes to the party, but for obvious reasons, he and Mrs. Manning carefully pretend not to know each other." He looked at Sam, who was frowning in thought. "You got problems with this theory?"

"I was thinking about the pears he sent her in the hospital," Sam replied. "I've always assumed he knew she liked pears for breakfast because they'd had a lot of cozy breakfasts together, but it's perfectly possible that Valente simply remembered her shopping habits at his aunt's market, and in a nostalgic moment, he sent her the pears in the hospital."

Satisfied, Shrader turned to McCord. "How does this sound to you, Lieutenant?"

The phone on McCord's desk had started ringing before Shrader finished the question. McCord answered it, listened for a moment, and then said curtly. "Put them in an interview room and tell them to wait there."

When he hung up, he said, "Valente and Buchanan are here"; then he unhurriedly considered Shrader's question. "I have one major problem with your theory, and it's this: The Feds call Valente the Ice Man because he's the most calculating, cold-blooded son of a bitch they've ever encountered. Based on what I've heard, he wouldn't help out an old girlfriend—or anyone else—unless there's something in it for him. In order for him to agree to pop Logan Manning, and risk getting a lethal injection for his trouble, Leigh Manning had to have something to offer him that he wanted very badly."

Womack immediately came up with a viable possibility: "Maybe she offered him her husband's dirty money. She doesn't strike me as the type to try to launder it herself."

"That's an inducement that would appeal to Valente, as long as there's a truckload of money involved," McCord agreed. "Evidently Mrs. Manning also sweetened the deal by offering him herself, because there is definitely something sexual going on between them now."

In the silence that followed, Sam reluctantly shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I can't buy any of this."

"What do you mean you can't buy any of it?" McCord said sharply, frowning at her. "It explains things that have bothered me for weeks about their relationship. It makes perfect sense."

"But only up to a point. It explains why and how two guilty conspirators kept their acquaintance a complete secret while they planned to murder Manning. But what it doesn't explain is why they abandoned all caution, even before his body was discovered. Why would Valente be stupid enough to fly her in his helicopter to a place he knew would be crawling with cops? Why are they flaunting their relationship now, when they need to look innocent?"

Sam had been speaking to all three men, but she directed her last question specifically to McCord. "You said Valente was 'calculating,' yet he's been visiting her openly at her apartment. Last night, he took her out to dinner—very publicly—and then he spent the night with her, even though he obviously knows he's under surveillance." She lifted her hands, palms up. "Why would a cold, calculating man do such reckless things?"

"Based on my firsthand knowledge of man's basest nature," McCord said with a mocking smile, "I would have to assume that Leigh Manning offered herself to Valente as part of the bargain, and he's extremely eager to start collecting payment."

"You mean," Sam paraphrased with a smile, "he has the hots for her?"

"Obviously."

"I see," Sam said wryly. "So—apparently the 'Ice Man' is actually so 'hot' that he's willing to risk a death sentence to be with her?"

McCord sighed, but he didn't argue. He couldn't.

"I'm not saying Valente didn't murder Logan Manning," Sam added, "but I've met him, and I don't think he's as inhumanly cold and emotionless as you've been told. I was watching him when he got his first look at Mrs. Manning's Mercedes as it was being winched up to the road. He looked completely shaken and almost ill when he saw it. I also saw him carry her in his arms—up a steep hill, through deep snow—from the cabin to the main road. I'll be interested in hearing what you think of him," Sam finished.

McCord glanced at his watch. "Then let's go have a talk with him, so I can decide for myself." He phoned Holland's clerk and told him the interview was about to begin; then he pushed back his chair.

"If you ask me," Womack said as they all stood up to head toward the interview rooms, "Detective Littleton thinks the Ice Man is hot stuff."

Sam made a joke of it as she picked up her pad and pencil, though what she said was what she thought. "I think he's very attractive—in a dangerous, unfriendly sort of way."

As she finished speaking, she happened to glance at McCord, who was walking around his desk toward her, and she found herself momentarily impaled by a pair of blue eyes as sharp as daggers. "Is that right?" he inquired in a deliberately offhand tone that completely belied the expression in his eyes.

"Nope, not really," Sam said unhesitatingly… untruthfully… and completely unintentionally. Stunned by her involuntary reply, she started across the squad room toward the interview rooms, with Shrader and Womack in the lead, while she tried to understand what had just happened. That look on McCord's face had been there either because he thought she was biased in favor of a suspect—and a criminal, to boot. Or because he had been jealous. No, it couldn't have been jealousy, Sam decided. No way. Not McCord. Not possible.

After momentarily examining the reasons for her own reaction, Sam concluded that she'd denied her stated opinion of Valente either because she didn't want McCord to think her professional opinions could be influenced by any man, no matter how attractive he might be. Or—and she didn't like this possibility—because jealousy was an uncomfortable, unpleasant feeling and she didn't want to do anything, ever, to make that amazing man feel an unnecessary moment of unpleasantness. If so, that would indicate her feelings for him were very tender, and that he already meant a great deal more to her than she realized. But he didn't. She would never be foolish enough to let that happen.

Beside her, McCord sent her a slanted little smile and lowered his voice. "I think we got through our first lovers' quarrel pretty well, don't you?"

Sam turned the corner too sharply, and nearly hit the wall.

He spared her the need to reply by abruptly switching to the matter ahead as they neared the interview rooms at the end of the next hallway. "Shrader, do you want to sit in, or do you want to watch it from the other side of the mirror?"

"Since I'm not going to participate, I'd rather watch from outside. The view's broader from further away."

When Womack said virtually the same thing, McCord looked at Sam.

"I'd like to sit in on it," she said instantly. "I wish you'd ask him about his relationship with Mrs. Manning while he's here."

"If he's come here to hand me a solid alibi, there's no point in asking him about her, or anything else, because he'll tell me to fuck off. Mr. Valente," McCord continued snidely, "doesn't like us to 'pry' into his affairs. He once made the State's prosecutors spend months trying to force him to hand over some records they wanted to see in connection with their fraud case against him. First his lawyers stalled, then they argued, then they fought against it all the way to the New York Supreme Court. Do you know what happened when the Supreme Court finally made him turn over the files the prosecutors wanted?"

"No, what?"

"The records completely exonerated him. Valente knew they would. If he's actually got an ironclad alibi today, he's not going to give me one molecule of additional information. In fact, I still can't believe he's planning to volunteer anything. It's a real first for him."