'And you never actually saw this woman get on the elevator? You just saw the door close?'
'That's right.'
'So when you left, Eric Brooks was alive.'
'Very much so.'
'And you went where, then, Miss Coffey?'
'Straight home.'
'And you've been there ever since?'
'Yessir.'
'I appreciate all this, Miss Coffey.'
'We're done?'
'For tonight, anyway. I'm sure I'll have follow-up questions.'
'Lieutenant Sievers?'
'Yes.'
'I didn't kill him.'
'I'm glad you didn't, Miss Coffey.'
'I want you to believe me.'
'You seem like a very nice person, Miss Coffey.'
'One more time so there can be no misunderstanding: I did not kill Eric Brooks.'
'I'm writing that down in my notebook. ''Miss Coffey says she did not kill Mr Brooks.' There, duly noted, Miss Coffey. I hope you get a good night's sleep.'
Then he was gone.
And Jill sat in the echoes of their conversation feeling very much the way Lieutenant Sievers wanted her tolike a murderer.
'Ceremonial cocoa,' he said, 'sort of like a Japanese ritual.'
She smiled wearily.
As a little girl, whenever Jill had been feeling depressed or anxious, her mother had made her cocoa, usually pouring it into her very special Lone Ranger mug, that Jill had inherited from her older brother Jason, who was then a military adviser in a faraway land called Vietnam.
'Still got that old mug of yours, I see,' Mitch said.
'Always with me in my darkest hour,' she said. Then, 'I wish Jason were.' Her brother had been killed in Vietnam in 1964, just as the war had become a political issue domestically.
They sat on the couch, in front of a TV screen filled with David Letterman. Neither of them paid much attention to it.
Twenty minutes ago, Jill had finished her conversation with the police but even now her stomach was in knots and she felt her hands spasm every few minutes. It was starting all over again, she thought. Even though she was innocent of murdering Eric, the press would love this story: the wife of a serial killer now suspected of being a killer herself.
'I appreciate you making me the cocoa,' Mitch said gently. 'It tastes great.'
She looked at him. 'Like the old days?'
'Just like the old days.'
'They were good days, that's for sure.' Her right hand rested on the knee of his dark corduroy jeans.
'Best days of my life, Jill. They really were.'
She started to move her hand but he gripped it. 'This is kind of like high school. I want to make a pass but I'm afraid to.'
She smiled. 'I guess I'm feeling the same way. I want you to make a passbut then again, I don't want you to make a pass.'
'We don't need to make love. I'm not asking for that.'
'I know you're not, Mitch. It's just I'mafraid. We get close again and you'll leave.'
'I want to marry you, Jill.'
She laid her head against the back of the couch, stretched her long legs out on the coffee table and said, 'Could we just sit here and hold hands for awhile?'
'Sure.'
'And just listen to Letterman?'
'Sure.'
She laughed. 'You're awfully agreeable for a cop.'
'They're making us take all these public relations courses. Whole new approach. We kill people with kindness instead of bullets.'
'Does it work?'
'Not so far. The public I'm trying to kill won't even let me kiss her.'
'Maybe she will in the next fifteen minutes or so.'
'You want to synchronize watches?'
She laughed again. 'God, that feels great.'
'Laughing?'
'Uh-huh.'
'Well, maybe I should stop by more often. It'll give you a lot more to laugh at.'
'How about one kiss?'
'My pleasure.'
'But not open-mouthed.'
'What kind of guy do you take me for anyway? I've got more self-respect than that.'
They kissed.
No open mouths.
It made her dizzy.
She pulled away. 'Maybe we shouldn't have done that.'
'Yeah, maybe we should have waited for the full fifteen minutes. I think we still had fourteen to go.'
'I want to hate you.'
'Well now, that's a nice neighborly thing to say.'
'You really hurt me.'
He didn't say anything for a long time, just stared at the TV screen without seeing anything and finally said, 'I'm sorry, Jill.'
'That's the terrible thing.'
'What is?'
'I believe you. That you're sorry. And I don't want to believe you.'
He turned on the couch and took her slowly in his arms. 'You should believe me, Jill. You really should.'
After they had finished making love, they snuggled beneath the covers and listened to the wet chill wind slap against the windows.
She couldn't get enough of his touch, or the familiar way he felt pressed against her, the smell of his hair, the gruff feel of his chin. He was one of those men who needed to shave twice a day. At this moment, he was lover, friend, brother and confidant and she loved all of them equally.
They were going to get married and love each other forever more. There might be children, and there would certainly be a rambling rustic house as idyllic as those she always saw in the romantic movies of the thirties and fortiesa true retreat from the wickedness and pain of the world, a place where sunsets were unspeakably beautiful, and lasted for days at a time, a kingdom where the crystal blue lakes remained untouched by industrial pollution. She closed her eyes and imagined such a realm, with herself as the princess and Mitch, of course, as her prince.
