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“One more thing. Where were you yesterday morning between the hours of ten and eleven?”

“Yesterday? It’s the hour I take my daily exercise. A brisk walk in the park.”

“Can anyone verify that?”

“I was alone.” His voice was cold again. The temper was coming back, but it was more controlled. “Am I to be detained any longer? I have a memorial service to attend.”

“You’re advised not to leave the city.” Eve studied his face. There was something off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Any attempt to do so will result in an immediate warrant for your detention.”

She rose, signaled toward Observation and Trueheart.

“An officer will take you back to your apartment. Oh, Mr. Stiles, one last thing. Did you ever have occasion to converse with Linus Quim?”

“Quim?” Stiles got to his feet, brushed the back of his fingertips down his lapel. “No. One didn’t converse with Quim. He had a disdain for people in my profession. An odd little man. I wouldn’t be surprised if you discovered he’d switched the knives. He really couldn’t stand actors.”

“Peabody, start tracking down Anja Carvell.”

“I don’t like the way it plays,” Feeney commented. “Too slick.”

“Yeah, I was waiting for the lights to come up and the music to start. Still, it could’ve gone down pretty much like he said.”

“Even if it did, it doesn’t change anything. He had a hard-on for Draco, a big, fat one. He strikes me as the type who’d chew on it for at least two decades.”

“I like him for a long-term planner,” Eve agreed. “Somebody who keeps slights and annoyances tucked in little boxes. And as someone who wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty, not a second time.”

But something was out of step. Details left out, or details added in. “We’ll see how the Carvell connection shakes out,” she decided. “He was leaving holes, picking what he wanted to tell us, how he wanted it told. Adlibbing,” she mused. “Isn’t that what they call it? He did a good job of it.”

“I think he was in love with Anja.” Peabody had her palm unit out but hadn’t yet started the scan. “It makes a difference if he was.”

Eve shuffled back her own thoughts, turned to her aide. “Where do you get that from?”

“It was the way he talked about her before he started to think it through, before he started picking his way. He got this look in his eyes. Wistful.”

Eve hooked her thumbs in her front pockets. “He got a wistful look in his eye?”

“Yeah, just for a minute, he was really thinking about her, about the way it was, or the way he’d wanted it to be. I think she was the love of his life. When you’ve got one of those, it does stuff to you.”

“Define stuff.”

“It makes you think about them even when you’re doing routine things. It makes you want to protect them, to make them happy and safe. You know,” Peabody said with some frustration. “You’ve got one.”

“One what?”

“Love of your life, jeez, Dallas. But see, you’re the love of his right back. This wasn’t the same way, because she threw him over for Draco. If you were to go insane and throw Roarke over for somebody, what do you think he’d do?”

“Before or after this somebody was no more than a smudge on the bottom of Roarke’s shoe?”

“See?” Pleased, Peabody grinned. “If you’ve got a love of your life, you know.” She paused, sniffed. “Something smells really good.”

“Just keep going,” Feeney ordered quickly. “If the theory is that Stiles was stuck on this Carvell woman, how does that change the picture?”

“Because you never get over the love of your life. That’s the whole definition, isn’t it? You only get one. So that bit about him losing touch with her was bull.”

“I like it. If we find that Stiles had some contact with the woman, we’ve got a motive that spans a quarter century. The setup suits him in both murders. He had opportunity.”

“It’s all circumstantial,” Feeney reminded her.

“Yeah, but we pile on enough, we might finesse a confession out of him. Find the woman, Peabody. If you run into snags, hook up with McNab on it. Feeney, how do you feel about going to a splashy memorial service?”

“My wife loves it when I rub elbows with celebrities.”