Sacred Sins

her.”
    “When did this happen?”
    Suzanne didn't answer Ben for several seconds. She stared blankly at the television screen. A woman spun the wheel and hit Bankrupt. Tough break.
    “The night she was killed. She called me that same night, saying she didn't know what she was going to do, how she was going to handle it. It hit her hard. He wasn't just another guy, he was it for Anne. I asked her if she wanted me to come over, but she said she wanted to be alone. I should have gone.” She screwed her eyes closed. “I should have gotten in my car and gone over. We could've gotten drunk or high or ordered pizza. Instead she went out walking alone.”

    Ben said nothing as she wept quietly. Tess would know what to say. The thought came from nowhere and infuriated him. “Ms. Hudson.” Ben gave her a moment, then continued. “Do you know if anyone had been bothering her? Had she noticed anyone around the apartment, around the office? Anyone who made her uneasy?”
    “She didn't notice anyone but John. She'd have told me.” She let out a long breath and rubbed the back of her hand under her eyes. “We'd even talked about this maniac a couple of times, talked about being extra careful until he was caught. She went out because she wasn't thinking. Or maybe because she had too much to think about. She'd have pulled herself out—Anne was tough. She just never had the chance.”
    They left her on the couch staring at the Wheel and went to see John Carroll.
    He had a duplex in a part of town that catered to young professionals. There was a gourmet market around the corner, a liquor store that would carry obscure brands, and a shop specializing in athletic wear, all tucked within reasonable walking distance of the residential area. A dark blue Mercedes sedan was parked in his driveway.
    He answered the door after the third knock. He was wearing an undershirt and jogging pants and carrying a fifth of Chevas Regal. There was little resemblance to the young, successful lawyer on his way up. Three days' worth of beard shadowed his chin. His eyes were swollen and the skin had folded into pockets that drooped beneath. He smelled like a vagrant who had crawled into an alley on Fourteenth to sleep it off. He took a cursory look at the badges, hefted the bottle for another swig, and turned away, leaving the door open. Ed closed it.

    The duplex had wide-planked oak floors partially covered with a couple of Aubussons. In the living area the sofa was long and low; the upholstery on it and the chairs ran to masculine colors, grays and blues. State-of-the-art electronic equipment was displayed on one wall. Along another was a collection of toys—antique slots, banks, trains.
    Carroll collapsed on the sofa in the center of the room. Two empty bottles and an overflowing ashtray were on the floor. A blanket was tossed over the cushions. Ben calculated he hadn't moved much beyond that spot since he'd been notified.
    “I can come up with a couple of clean glasses.” His voice was husky but not slurred, as though the liquor had quit doing its job some time before. “But you can't drink, can you? On duty.” He lifted the bottle again and sucked. “I'm not on duty.”
    “We'd like to ask you some questions about Anne Reasoner, Mr. Carroll.” There was a chair behind him, but Ben didn't sit.
    “Yeah, I figured you'd get around to it. I told myself if I didn't pass out, I'd talk to you.” He looked at the bottle that was barely three-quarters full. “Can't seem to pass out.”
    Ed took the bottle from his fingers and set it aside. “Doesn't help, really, does it?”
    “Something's got to.” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, then began to search the littered smoked-glass coffee table for a cigarette. Ben lit one for him. “Thanks.” He drew hard and kept most of the smoke in his lungs. “I quit two years ago,” he said, and drew again. “Didn't gain any weight, though, because I cut out starch.”
    “You and Miss Reasoner had a relationship,” Ben began. “You were one of the last people to talk to her.”
    “Yes. Saturday night. We were supposed to go to the National. Sunday in the Park with George. Anne's fond of musicals. I prefer straight drama myself, but—”
    “You didn't go to the theater?” Ben interrupted.

    “I was feeling pressured. I called her to break the date and told her I wanted to let the relationship cool for a while. That's how I said it.” He looked up, over the cigarette,