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His scenario made me realize how much more I knew about the case than he did. I said, “In fact I’ve already asked Max about that.”

“And what did he say?”

“He told me, and I believe him, that the last thing he could afford is even a hint that he deals in fakes.”

“When did you talk to him?”

“Not long after I was arrested.”

“You should have told me.”

“You left me out of the loop, remember?”

He smiled ruefully. “I did. It won’t happen again.”

“So we’re back to square one,” I said equably. “It’s possible, isn’t it, that the counterfeiting doesn’t figure in the murder?”

The lieutenant looked at me doubtfully as though sensing I wasn’t telling him everything I knew. “Anything’s possible. But it doesn’t ring … right to me.”

“There is one way we might clear up the matter.”

“How?”

“Diantha tells me that Heinie … von Grümh was very emphatic about needing the gun to protect something he had on his boat. Let’s say that that something is the original collection of coins, the real ones.”

“We’ve already gone over the boat.”

“How thoroughly?”

He turned thoughtful. “We should have been able to find that many coins.”

“But you weren’t looking for them at the time.”

“True, but what would it signify if we did find them?”

“It would at least clear Max. Of that motive, anyway.”

He nodded slowly. “You’re right. Eliminating suspects is as important as finding them.”

We chatted for a while longer. Then, almost casually, he said, “You’ve got me thinking. We have a guy, an expert on concealment, that we sometimes use on cases like this. If he’s available, we could drive down to the boat this afternoon and go over it one more time.”

“I see,” I said doubtfully. I had planned to leave early for a weekend at the cottage with Diantha and Elsie. And the prospect of rummaging through the scene of my wife’s infidelity did not appeal to me, to say the least.

He gave me a sharp look of entreaty. “I thought you might be able to help us. You’ve been on board before.”

“Okay,” I said. “But I don’t want to make a career out of it.”

“Short and sweet,” he smiled. “I promise you.”

So, packed for the weekend, I arrived a bit early at the dock and waited for the lieutenant, who showed up not long afterward with the expert, a small, dapper middle-aged man introduced to me as Mr. Randall. The manager of the marina, an old-salt type with whiskers and belly, made some protesting noises as a matter of form. He glanced over the search warrant and dug out the keys we needed. He seemed accustomed to having boats searched, perhaps because of the drug trade.

As we boarded the vessel over an aluminum gangway, I began to fully understand my reluctance to be there. It wasn’t just that this vessel was the venue of Diantha’s infidelity. On the deck of tightly joined hardwood, the nightmare of my possible guilt rose around me like a dark miasma. Because there are moments when I am not only glad that Heinrich von Grümh has been murdered, but would’ve liked to have done it myself. And perhaps did. Upon entering the master stateroom with its gleaming metal and waxed maple banality and taking in the very place where he and Diantha had been naked and lascivious in one another’s arms and legs, I knew for a certainty I could have held a gun to the man’s head, tormented him with words, and pulled the trigger.

Or could I have? Gradually, as I stood there amid the decor of what amounted to an upscale recreational vehicle, the significance of their encounter dissipated to what it had been. Sex without passion or love is about as meaningful as a rectal exam when you think about it. I realized anew that if I had murdered the man it was because of his subtle, patronizing taunts.

I collected my wits and got to work. It is extraordinary how many nooks and crannies there are inside the finite space of a sixty-foot sloop. With Mr. Randall’s help, we found drawers within drawers, spaces within spaces. There was a series of brass-fitted compartments with covers that hinged up or down or slid smoothly sideways. We made some interesting discoveries, including a cache