to reveal real evidence, I cut her off. As he passed the Super Wal-Mart, he picked up the cell phone Morse had given him and dialed the only number in the SIM memory.
“It’s Alex,” Morse answered. “Are you okay? I know I hit you pretty hard back there about Thora.”
“What evidence do you have tying my wife to Shane Lansing?”
Morse took an audible breath. “Twice this week, Dr. Lansing has stopped at your new house while Thora was there.”
Chris felt a wave of relief. “So what? Shane lives in that neighborhood.”
“The first time he stayed inside for twenty-eight minutes.”
“And the second?”
“Fifty-two minutes.”
Fifty-two minutes. Long enough to— “Thora was probably showing off the place to him. She designed the house herself. And there were workmen there, right?”
Morse’s reply was a blunt as a hammer. “No workmen.”
“Neither time?”
“Neither time. I’m sorry, Chris.”
He grimaced. “That could still be innocent contact, you know?”
“Is that how you think of Shane Lansing? A choirboy?”
Chris didn’t think of Lansing in those terms at all.
“No matter who I ask about him,” Morse said, “I hear three things: he’s a gifted surgeon, he’s an arrogant asshole who treats nurses like shit, and he’s a pussy hound.”
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