humiliate me?'
'No, Ted, you're doing a damn fine job of that on your own. I'm trying to teach you humility. There's a difference.' The D.A. turned to Karen: 'Sure you don't want to move to the Island? You could be the first female D.A. in the history of Galveston.' The D.A. gestured at the baggies. 'These their prints, those wives'?'
'And their husbands'.'
'You figure a jealous husband for the killer?'
'Could be.'
'Could be your wife was the jealous party.'
'Trey proposed to her that night.'
'So she said.'
The D.A. pushed another document across the desk.
'Item two: list of websites Trey visited over the last six months. Common theme seems to be porn.'
Scott passed it on to Bobby. Karen leaned toward Bobby to read the list.
'Did he go onto Facebook?' she said.
'Every day the last couple of weeks,' Bobby said.
'What's your point?' the D.A. said.
'Trey could have communicated with someone through their Facebook account, online but outside his email accounts.'
'Like who?'
Karen tapped on the laptop keyboard then turned the screen toward the D.A. On the screen was a Facebook profile.
'Like her.'
'Who's Billie Jean Puckett?'
'Pete Puckett's seventeen-year-old daughter.'
'The golf pro?'
Scott nodded. 'Trey was having an affair with Billie Jean. Pete threatened to kill him if he didn't stay away from her. Happened at the Challenge tournament in California, one week before Trey was killed. There was a witness, another golfer.'
'I take it he didn't? Stay away from her?'
'No. He didn't.'
The D.A. again gestured at the baggies. 'You got Pete's prints?'
'Not yet. But he seems capable of violence. He threatened me after his round on Friday, with a one- iron.'
'A one-iron?' The D.A. grunted. 'Most pros carry the hybrids now, you can hit the ball higher-'
'The prints on the kitchen counter are from a big man. The construction workers down the street, they told Carlos they saw a big man at Trey's house the day he was killed. And a blonde girl.'
Hank snorted. 'They told us they didn't see nothing.'
'You're a cop,' Carlos said.
'True.'
'I've seen Pete on TV,' the D.A. said. 'He's a big man.' He gestured at the Facebook profile. 'And Billie Jean's still blonde?'
'She is,' Scott said. 'And Pete's a hunter, good with guns and knives. And he was in Trey's house that day.'
'Can you prove it?'
'Not yet.'
'Let me know when you can.'
'Rex, I think Pete Puckett killed Trey.'
'Thought the caddie killed him?'
'You just said his prints didn't match.'
'Scott,' Karen said, 'we should subpoena Facebook, get all of Billie Jean's messages. Maybe she said something to Trey about Pete's threats.'
The D.A. turned his palms up at Scott. 'Facebook, Twitter, texting, sexting-you ever feel like you're living in a parallel universe?'
'All the time,' Scott said, 'with two eleven-year-old daughters.' To Karen: 'Where's their headquarters? Facebook's.'
Karen typed. 'California. Their only presence in Galveston County is online. No way they comply with a state court subpoena.'
'They might if I sign the subpoena,' the D.A. said.
'You'd do that?'
'Sure. Like I said, Scott, I think your wife killed Trey. But if she didn't, I want to find out who did.' To Karen: 'Write the subpoena, Professor.'
'I usually write the subpoenas,' the Assistant D.A. said.
'I know.' To Scott: 'Even if Pete was in Trey's house, his prints weren't on the knife. Your wife's were. You got that good explanation yet?'
'Not yet.'
'Let me know when you do.'
The D.A. handed over another document.
'Item three: phone logs, landline and cell. His landline bills were at the house, so we ran all those numbers. The logs list all calls, the parties, dates, times, and duration of the calls.'
Scott scanned the logs. 'Lots of calls to Terri and Rebecca. None to the other women.'
'What about his cell?' Bobby said.
'We got the log off the phone,' the D.A. said.
'He might've deleted some calls. But every call-even the deleted ones-shows up on the phone bills. We need to subpoena Trey's cell phone records.'
'Okay. Write that one up, too.'
'Trey's last calls that Thursday were to and from Rebecca, Tom Taylor, and a Benito Estrada at six-eighteen P.M.,' Scott said. 'Who's he?'
The D.A. leaned back in his chair and cut a glance at Hank.
'Well, that brings me to item four: the toxicology report.' He put on his reading glasses, picked up a document, and read. 'Trey Rawlins' blood alcohol level at the time of his death was point-two-six, three times the legal limit. He also had cocaine in his system. Six hundred nanograms per milliliter.'
'Trey used cocaine?'
The D.A. nodded.
'How much is that? Six hundred nanograms.'
'A lot.'
'Enough to cause an overdose?'
'I asked the M.E. that same question. Can't have a murder case if the victim died before he was stabbed.'
'We could still charge her with abuse of a corpse,' the Assistant D.A. said.
The D.A. ignored his assistant. 'M.E. said he was alive when he was stabbed because his heart pumped out so much blood.'
'Was cocaine found in the house?'
'Nope.' The D.A. rubbed his face. 'Good thing his dad's dead 'cause this would've killed him.' He looked up at Scott. 'I'm no longer in denial about Trey.'
'I'm sorry, Rex. I know you cared for him.'
The D.A.'s face was grim. He exhaled and said, 'Now it's your turn, Scott.'
'My turn for what?'
'To end your denial. About your wife.'
The room turned quiet, and Scott became aware of his own breathing.
