The only good Lawyer

generally strike advert’ execs as too glamorous for Mummy-shepherding-the-kids stuff, so my current options are a bit limited. Hence this miniature apartment, and Woodrow.”
    “Mr. Gant?”
    “Why I married him, John. He provided total benefits while we were together, and enough alimony to see me through after we split. Good thing, too, since I couldn’t very well rely on my family.”
    “Your family.”
    “Right.” Pollard raked her left hand through the hair on that side before tucking it back behind her ear. “Mum grew up in London , and Dad was a Yank pilot over from Chicago . Met during the Blitz, so you’d think they’d be open-minded about relationships, wouldn’t you? But no, neither of them was exactly thrilled when I decided to marry a ‘black-a-moor,’ which was Mum’s way of showing off her Shakespeare and chiding me in the bargain. They disowned me, and frankly never have forgiven me.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Hey, man—whoops, that’s Woodrow talking now. But truly, John, don’t be sorry. Life with barrister Gant was good while it lasted.”
    “How did you meet?”
    “I let him pick me up in a bar, one of the model hangouts on Boylston Street across from the Pru. He was lounging on a stool, I came up to order a drink from the bartender. Woodrow said, ‘Let me get that for you,’ and I asked him—because I’m five-ten and he was sitting down?—’Just how big are you?’ And he smiled that wide smile of his, and said, ‘Can you be more specific?’ And then—oh.” Pollard’s eyes glittered. “I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?”
    “Not so far.”
    “Well, then, this might. Woodrow had one you could slam a door on without hurting it much. A genuine Merlin.”
    “Merlin?”
    “Camelot again. A ‘Merlin’ is a burning wizard in bed.”
    “Jenifer, I’m—”
    “Oh, please don’t be ‘sorry’ again, John.” A wave of melancholy suddenly washed across Pollard’s features. “It’s not your fault that what started out with Woodrow as ‘bewitched, bothered, and bewildered,’ degenerated into ‘repelled, repulsed, and revolted.’ ” The first evidence of sincerity I’d seen from her. “What I was going to say is, I’m working for Alan Spaeth, trying to—”
    “Spaeth? The irate hubby the police think did it?”
    “I think differently.”
    “Well, then.” Pollard seemed to brighten a little. “I have a bit of advice for you, John.”
    “Which is?”
    “Focus on whomever Woodrow was sleeping with. God knows he made me want to kill him often enough.”
    I watched her a moment before saying, “A woman Was seen with him at a restaurant before he got shot that night.”
    “There you are.”
    “But I can’t find anybody who seems to know who she was.”
    “Well, Woodrow certainly stopped confiding in me long ago. But I can tell you this. He was into sex, very heavily.”
    “So I gathered.”
    “No, John. If what I said before shocked you, prepare for electrocution.” Pollard leaned forward, as though she were posing again. “Woodrow liked me to dress up. Fishnet body stockings, lavish wigs, grotesque makeup, you name it. Frankly, I found it to be fun at first, but then that was all he wanted to do.” The melancholy again. “Eventually there came a point when he must have asked himself, ‘Why stick with a one-woman show when you can have the whole repertory company?’ ”
    I stopped. “Meaning he might be seeing more than one woman at a time?”
    “It wouldn’t surprise me.”
    I thought about Imogene Burbage and Deborah Ling. “How about people at work?”
    “Never really met his law firm chums, though I did get a letter from the one handling Woodrow’s estate.”
    “Any women from his job in the D.A.’s office?”
    A stagey shrug. “I’m not sure any of them would still be there. Rather a transitional environment, I always thought, and it was over three years ago that he left.”
    “Any names you recall?”
    “No,” she said a bit quickly, then saddened again. “I guess I’m not technically Woodrow’s ‘widow,’ but his murder reminded me of being the wife of a prosecutor, and I suppose it surprises me that I still can...” She looked out her wall of windows. “Miss him.”
    A second slip into sincerity, and I found myself wondering just how attractive Pollard would be if she could just stay there. “How about any males?”
    She turned back to me, confused. “John, I can assure you that Woodrow was heterosexual.”
    “Not