Mr. Murder

couldn't allow himself to say, "You stupid ass."
        Raising his eyebrows and looking stricken, as if he couldn't imagine what he'd done to earn such enmity, Lowbock said, "Surely, Mrs.
        Stillwater, you realize there are people out there, a world of cynics, who might say that attempted strangulation is the safest form of assault to fake. I mean, stabbing yourself in the arm or leg would be a convincing touch, but there's always the danger of a slight miscalculation, a nicked artery, then suddenly you find yourself bleeding a lot more seriously than you'd intended. And as for selfinflicted gunshot wounds-well, the risk is even higher, what with the possibility that a bullet might ricochet off a bone and into deeper flesh, and there's always the danger of shock."
        Paige bolted to her feet so abruptly that she knocked over her chair.
        "Get out."
        Lowbock blinked at her, feigning innocence long past the point of diminishing returns. "Excuse me?"
        "Get out of my house," she demanded. "Now."
        Although Marty realized they were throwing away their last slim hope of winning over the detective and gaining police protection, he also got up from his chair, so angry that he was trembling. "My wife is right.
        I think you and your men better leave, Lieutenant."
        Remaining seated because to do so was a challenge to them, Cyrus Lowbock said, "You mean, leave before we finish our investigation?"
        "Yes," Marty said. "Finished or not."
        "Mr. Stillwater… Mrs. Stillwater… you do realize that it's against the law to file a false crime report?"
        "We haven't filed a false report," Marty said.
        Paige said, "The only fake in this room is you, Lieutenant. You do realize that it's against the law to impersonate a police officer?"
        It would have been satisfying to see Lowbock's face color with anger, to see his eyes narrow and his lips tighten at the insult, but his equanimity remained infuriatingly unshaken.
        As he got slowly to his feet, the detective said, "If the blood samples taken from the upstairs carpet are, say, only pig's blood or cow's blood or anything like that, the lab will be able to determine the exact species, of course."
        "I'm aware of the analytic powers of forensic science," Marty assured him.
        "Oh, yes, that's right, you're a mystery writer. According to People magazine, you do a great deal of research for your novels."
        Lowbock closed his notebook, clipped his pen to it.
        Marty waited.
        "In your various researches, Mr. Stillwater, have you learned how much blood is in the human body, say in a body approximately the size of your own?"
        "Five liters."
        "Ah. That's correct." Lowbock put the notebook on top of the plastic bag containing the leather case of lock picks. "At a guess, but an educated guess, I'd say there's somewhere between one and two liters of blood soaked into the upstairs carpet. Between twenty and forty percent of this look-alike's entire supply, and closer to forty unless I miss my guess. You know what I'd expect to find along with that much blood, Mr.
        Stillwater? I'd expect to find the body it came from, because it really does stretch the imagination to picture such a grievously wounded man being able to flee the scene."
        "I've already told you, I don't understand it either."
        "Muy misterioso," Paige said, investing those two words with a measure of scorn equal to the mockery with which the detective had spoken them earlier.
        Marty decided there was at least one good thing about this mess, the way Paige had not doubted him for an instant, even though reason and logic virtually demanded doubt, the way she stood beside him now, fierce and resolute. In all the years they had been together, he had never loved her more than at that moment.
        Picking up the notebook and the evidence bag, Lowbock said, "If the blood upstairs proves to be human blood, that raises all sorts of other questions that would require us to finish the investigation whether or not you'd prefer to be rid of us. Actually, whatever the lab results, you'll be hearing from me again."
        "We'd simply adore seeing you again," Paige said, the edge gone from her voice, as if suddenly she ceased to see Lowbock as a threat and could not help but view him as a comic figure.
        Marty found her attitude infecting him, and he realized