Gary was at his desk, phone to his ear, when Art arrived. "A little late, aren't we? You look like crap. You okay?" he called as a greeting, and hung up his phone. "The wife is on the way in."

"Didn't sleep much." He saw Grace shake her head.

Right away, Gary realized the reason and mentally slapped himself. "Well, we can see what she says, then what's the plan?"

"I want to take another run at Wales." Art opened his drawer and pulled out the file. "Where are we with his financials?"

"I gave you all that yesterday, partner." Gary frowned, sharing a concerned look across the aisle.

"Oh- right. Here it is. What about Harrison?"

"That's on the bottom sheet. You sure you're okay, Art. I can take Grace and visit Wales again."

"I'm fine," he snapped, flipping through the pages to the bottom sheet. "Says here, two convictions for DUI just in the last eight months."

"Yes," Grace called. "I managed to question a couple of the bank personnel, and apparently he was already on the carpet for drinking, and the firing was a kind of last straw."

"He was well enough off." Art said, running a finger over the notes.

"Yeah--" The phone rang and Grace held up a hand. "Harrison's wife is downstairs. Room Two?"

"Yeah, it's a little more presentable, we don't want her freaking out."

As they descended the stairs to the interview rooms, Gary asked again about his condition, and was told to shut it. A uniform jerked his head toward the door. "She's inside." The detectives entered Room Two and took up seats at the metal table opposite the woman.

"Mrs. Harrison, thank you for coming in. We're very sorry for your loss."

"I don't understand why I'm here," she frowned, looking about the room. "I've already made identification."

"Yes. May I ask who informed you of that requirement?"

"I received a call from your office about-  about my husband's . . . death."

Art consulted some papers as Gary wrinkled his nose and pushed back a little from the table. "We would like to ask you about your husband's relationship with Jonas Wales." Grace grinned at Gary's movement, as she watched from the observation room.

"Relationship?" Her eyes widened, and she placed a well manicured hand against her throat. "You're not insinuating--"

"No, no. Of course not. We just mean, how did they come to share an apartment? How did they get along? Was there any trouble? I understand you were recently separated. Did your husband's drinking have any--"

"I don't know any of those things." She snapped, taking out a cigarette case. "Our separation was mutually agreeable."

"Sorry, smoking isn't permitted here." Art blinked sympathetically.

Gary got up and stood against the wall. "How did they meet?" He heard the soft tap on the glass behind his head, and he knew Grace was enjoying whatever was bothering him.

"Jonas- Mr. Wales' company did business with Reggie's bank. They became friends, and when Reggie was let go, Jonas took him in?"

"You didn't see fit to offer help? Is that why you separated, Mrs. Harrison, his drinking problems?"

"Reggie was going through some bad times. Jonas is- was very generous . . ." Her eyes flashed and her face blotched red. "We both decided it wasn't working anymore. Reggie had become . . . morose, and difficult."

"We both decided?"

"I told you, it was mutual." The colour rose again.

"When did his drinking start? Was there some particular reason?" Art asked.

Felicia dropped a shoulder, turning away, her fingers adjusting the hair across her forehead. "It started a while ago . . . he had periods of depression."

"Do you know why he was depressed?"

"He wouldn't talk to me about it." She wet her lips and made a point of brushing wrinkles from her skirt.

"How do you know Jonas Wales?"

"I told you, he did business with Reggie's bank."

"You said they became friends." Gary prodded. "How did that include you?"

The blush returned, and she turned her head away for a moment. "There were a few business social occasions we all attended together."

"And were you planning on divorcing?" Art asked.

"I don't see where that is any of your business."

"I imagine that would provide a handsome settlement." Gary said, from the corner.

"I don't deny it."

"And greener fields, maybe?" Gary prodded.

"I came here voluntarily – a mistake, as it has turned out. If you are quite through with your crude insinuations, I'm going."

Art gathered his files and nodded to Gary that they were done.

"You let her off pretty easy, partner." Gary was blowing his nose, as they watched a uniform lead Mrs. Harrison out of the station. Grace came out of the other room, grinning.

"I got the picture I needed. And what was with you standing across the room?"

"The perfume," he tossed a look at Grace, "I'm not saying it was too strong. I'm just saying the canary was alive before she got here."

Art looked at Grace, and they both laughed, shaking heads as they returned to their office.

"What did you mean when you said you got the picture you needed?" Gary hunted in his pocket for a candy from his daughter's Halloween loot.

"If you had been at the table when I asked about his drinking, or when you mentioned greener fields, you'd have seen the tell, and the little slip between Jonas is, and was generous. I'm getting a suspicion that Mrs. Harrison and Jonas Wales might be an item."

"You think they connived to do in old Reggie?"

"It's an avenue I plan to stroll when I speak to him again. And I want another run at finding a weapon. Dumpsters. Garbage chutes. Storage lockers – everywhere. Inside and out."

"That's a tall order. We don't even know what we're looking for."

"The murder weapon, Detective Crawford, the murder weapon."

"You know what I mean, Art."

"And you know what I mean. It has to be somewhere there. Something tapered, remember?"

"How about an ice cream cone? Or maybe a dunce cap?" Grace offered.

"I'll give you dunce cap in a minute." Art chuckled. "Let's just get on with it."

                                                     ❄❄❄❄❄

Art Springer stood in the entrance of the apartment watching the forensic team scour the room where the body was found for a second time. He gritted his teeth and racked his brain for some clue as to what could have been used to stab Harrison. Roughly an hour or two before they arrived. If it had been Wales, it was just an hour. He went back down to the lobby and stepped outside, checked his watch and went back in. Checking again when he reached the apartment, he deducted the time it took from the hour, then went back down and did it again.

"You're worse than a kid, Art. What the heck are you doing, up and down on the elevators?" Gary met him in the apartment hallway.

"The longest it took was eleven minutes. The shortest was four. That's starting with the elevator already there and waiting. Now at that time of night I would have to assume less traffic, but let's use eleven minutes for Wales to get from the street to the apartment. The time stamp said ten-forty. His call came into us at eleven fifteen, plus the fifteen it took for the medics to arrive. That gives him fifty minutes." Gary shrugged, agreeing. "And we gave him the best case for time. It could have been more."

"Okay, so what are you saying is that's the time he had to do the deed and dump the weapon?"

"Right. And the concierge downstairs confirms an approximate ten-forty arrival." Art looked over his shoulder, calling, "Any joy in there?"

"Nothing yet." One of the forensic team called back. "Same as last time," came the following sarcasm.

Art stared around the apartment. "Windows are screened, he couldn't toss it outside. Garbage chute maybe?"

"They did all that, Art." Gary sighed. "I thought of another possible weapon—"

"You mean besides Grace's ice cream cones or dunce hats?"

"A plumb line. You know, that pointy thingy on the bottom of a string that's used for vertical measure or depth."

"Look at you! You looked that up."

Gary pulled a face, nodding at the tease. "Yep, not just a girl trap, Art."

"No, I'll say. Okay, it could be as small as that I suppose."

"So our killer comes in and what, threatens him with a gun, makes him sit there and drink all the wine then stabs him after he passes out?" Gary pulled a doubtful face.

"Wales couldn't know how much time that would all take, and we know when he got here." Art puffed his cheeks, and stared at the chair.

"You're trying to force him into the frame, Art. It is possible that it wasn't Wales."

"Look at the timeline. Doc said one to two hours."

"Still, we don't know if someone came in another entrance at any time."

Art shoved his hands in his pockets. "Well if it was someone else, Wales must have just missed them."

"Maybe Doc's time was wrong."

"C'mon, Gary. Even BAC supports that. The body naturally loses .015 percent, or something close, every hour after the drinking stops."

"Well how the hell did he do it then? He had to hide the weapon or take it with him.  Everything would have had to be premeditated, and timed perfectly."

"Detective Springer? We found nothing anywhere that would match the wound, and I mean nothing. We've taken the place apart – again, and we've already bagged all the paperwork and stuff from drawers, wastebaskets, and the garbage. We'll go through all that at the lab." The forensic officer pulled his hood off and blew out a breath.

"Thanks, Forrester, let me know if you find anything. We still have the rest of the toxicology to come. Maybe that'll give us a clue." Art punched a fist into his hand. "There was no sign of a break-in. If it was a mystery man, how did he get in with Harrison out cold in the chair? Wales. It had to be Wales."

"Seems most likely, and maybe he did take the weapon away with him - he wasn't searched."

Art gave a half smile and rolled his eyes. "Let's have another go at that department store. CCTV might pick him up and we can track his movements through the rest of the system."