The Undertaker's Widow by Phillip Margolin

that I’ve been asked to speak at the National Association of Litigators’ annual convention on St. Jerome next month?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œLaura’s coming with me. We’ll go a few days early. It will be good for her to get away and just relax.”
    â€œSt. Jerome should be beautiful this time of year. I’m jealous.”
    Quinn grinned. “I’ll be thinking of you as I lie on the beach. The paper said it was eighty-four and sunny today.”
    Price laughed. “Go ahead, rub it in, you ingrate. I hope you get hit by a hurricane.”

5

    Shortly after noon, one week after the Hoyt homicide, Lou Anthony returned to the Homicide Bureau and found two messages from Gary Yoshida, the lead forensic expert on the case. Anthony found the criminalist bent over a microscope in the crime lab.
    â€œLou,” Yoshida said with a smile. He swiveled the stool on which he was perched. Anthony leaned against the counter. Around them, other forensic experts were testing drugs, examining objects under microscopes and recording observations on reports that were often the difference between a guilty and not guilty verdict.
    â€œYou called twice,” Anthony said, and Yoshida’s smile faded.
    â€œThanks for getting back to me so quickly.”
    Anthony shrugged. “What’s up?”
    â€œHas the Hoyt crime scene been turned back to Senator Crease?”
    â€œYeah. We released it two days ago.”
    â€œDamn.”
    â€œWhat’s the matter?”
    â€œI’d really like to look it over again.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Yoshida walked over to his desk and picked up a stack of photographs that had been taken in Lamar Hoyt’s bedroom. When he found the two that he wanted, Yoshida brought them over to Anthony.
    â€œI was going through the evidence again when I was writing my report and I spotted this,” Yoshida said, pointing to a section of each photo that showed the armoire that held the television.
    â€œIs that blood spatter?”
    â€œYeah. And it’s got me concerned. I don’t like to screw up, but I may have, big-time.”
    â€œI don’t get it.”
    Yoshida explained the problem to Anthony. When he was finished, the detective looked upset.
    â€œHow certain about this are you?”
    â€œI’ve got to see the scene in three dimensions to be sure. That’s why I want to look at the bedroom again.”
    â€œShit.” Anthony took a deep breath. “Okay. Look, two days isn’t that long, and I don’t imagine Crease is staying in the bedroom. Maybe the scene hasn’t been altered yet. We could take a drive out to the estate. Can you go now?”
    â€œYou bet.”
    â€œThen let’s head out.”
    â€œGreat.”
    â€œNot if you find what you’re looking for,” Anthony answered grimly.
    Days of biting cold followed the heavy rains that had disrupted the commerce of the city. Low gray clouds drifted in an iron sky and threatened more rain. The winding country roads that led to the Hoyt estate were clear of debris, but the landscape looked bedraggled and grimy.
    Anthony rolled down his window so he could use the speakerphone at the front gate. A gust of cold wind rushed into the police car. After a brief wait, James Allen buzzed Anthony and Yoshida through the gate. The estate grounds had been hard hit by the weather. The colorshad been leeched out of the hedges and the lawn by the pale light, and the foliage bowed down, cowed by the cold and the threat of rain. The house looked deserted and dispirited as if it were in mourning.
    Anthony circled the turnaround and parked near the front door. The houseman was waiting for them. He had the door open as soon as Anthony and Yoshida were out of their car. The men hunched their shoulders and walked with speed into the entry hall.
    â€œGood afternoon, Mr. Allen,” Anthony said. “Is Senator Crease in?”
    â€œNo, sir. She’s