'We're very sorry for your loss.'

Captain Brass sat in his chair in the Police Department, and pushed the box of tissues toward his interviewee. Sandra Marshall took one with a manicured hand and noisily blew her nose. 'Thank you.'

'You understand why we've had to call you here, of course,' began Brass. 'Purely a matter of routine; we just need to make sure we investigate all avenues in our inquiry.'

Sandra sniffed, then nodded.

'Mrs Marshall, did your husband have any enemies that you know of, anyone with a grudge against him?' asked Sara. 'He was a successful businessman – any rivals, disgruntled employees…?'

The woman shook her head. 'No, not that I know of. He wasn't an overly sociable person, but I can't think of anyone who actively disliked Jonathan. As for the business, we didn't really discuss it, but I know he treated his workers well – good benefits, decent hours – you know, one year he even sent every employee a little box of chocolates at Christmas? Just to say thank you.' She paused, then blew her nose once more. 'He was such a wonderful man.'

Sara looked down at her hands at her hands that were fiddling with her pen. Displays of human emotion, whether genuine or feigned, always made her slightly uneasy. Still, she thought, got to press ahead. 'So you can't think of anyone who'd want to harm your husband?'

'No. Why? Jonathan's death was an accident, wasn't it?' Sandra glanced at Brass, then back at Sara. 'You don't… surely you don't think… you think someone pushed him down the stairs? That that's how he died?'

'We think someone pushed him down the stairs, but we don't think that's what killed him,' cut in Brass.

The woman looked at him, aghast. 'What are you saying?'

'Mrs Marshall, the coroner's investigation shows that your husband was probably dead some time before he fell,' supplied Sara.

'Then… then what killed him?'

'A drug overdose,' said Brass. 'Your husband's body was chock-full of codeine.'

'Oh my God…' Sandra stared at the Captain, then quickly reached for another tissue.

Sara looked at the woman with concern. 'Are you okay to continue, Mrs Marshall?' she asked.

Sandra nodded. 'I… I think so.'

'Were you aware that your husband was being treated for depression?'

'Yes. It would be difficult for me not to be; he had to take so many pills, and he had his dark days. But things had been better for him since he started taking the new meds.'

'Did your husband ever express any suicidal tendencies?'

'What? No! He was depressed, yes, but not suicidal.'

Brass leaned forward in his chair. 'Mrs Marshall, we found scars on the insides of your husband's wrists.'

'That was years ago!' cried Sandra. 'Years ago, before Jonathan and I even met. He… he wasn't like that anymore.'

'Okay, okay,' sighed the detective. 'Let's move on. Actually, no – let's go back for a moment. What did you and your husband do that day? I mean everything. You got up, you showered – everything from then on.'

'Well, we had breakfast – granola, skim milk – then Jonathan went into the office for a few hours, till about two, three o' clock. Then he came home, and we rested for an hour or so. When we got up, we both sorted through our mail; you know how it can pile up. By the time we finished it was nearly six, and we decided that instead of cooking, we'd… we'd get takeout.'

'Thai?' asked Sara.

'Yeah,' replied Sandra. 'We got it from Krung Thep, this really nice place in town. Anyway, we had dinner, but then Jonathan said he wasn't feeling so good, so I said maybe he'd better lie down and then… Oh my God.'

'What?'

'I… I gave him a couple of codeine tablets and he went up to our room.' The woman turned to Sara. 'It was only a couple of tablets – he took them all the time.'

'If it's any consolation, the tablets you gave your husband weren't the ones that killed him,' Sara said reassuringly.

'Oh thank God,' gasped Sandra.

'Anyway, after your husband went to bed – what happened then?' pressed Brass.

'Well, after we ate, I got a phone call from my sister – she lives out of state, so we don't get to see each other very often – and I took it in the study.'

'How long did the call last?'

'I don't know… half an hour, an hour, I don't really remember. Anyway, I talked to Karen, and then…' Sandra bunched the damp tissue in her hands before continuing, 'I came out and there… there was Jonathan, lying on the floor.'

'Right.' Brass proffered the box of tissues to the woman once more. 'Is there any way there could have been anyone else in the house during this time?'

'Well, we have a maid who comes in every day but she'd gone home by then. She has a key, but… how do I say this? She's not young. And she wouldn't think of doing anything like… like that. Other than her… I really don't know. You've seen our house; it's big, and it's got a lot of doors. Any of them might have been open, I just can't tell you for sure.'

'Okay,' said Brass, rising. 'Thank you for your time, Mrs Marshall. You've been very helpful. I'll have an officer show you the way out of the building.'

'Just one thing,' said Sara. 'It's just a small thing. Can you remember what you and your husband ate for dinner that night? I mean what dishes you both had.'

'That's easy,' replied Sandra. 'We had the same thing every time we went there. Jonathan had tom yam goong - this hot and sour soup - to start, and then we both had green vegetable curry and rice. I try to stick to one course – you know, with the figure to watch and all that.'

Sara smiled and nodded, and Sandra Marshall was escorted from the room.

'Right then,' said Brass, exhaling. 'What are you thinking at the moment?'

'At the moment?' Sara sighed. 'I really don't know. There are too many loose ends to really allow us to make any kind of hypothesis at the moment. Any kind of viable hypothesis, anyway. I've got a couple of pieces of evidence that look interesting, but we'll have to wait for the results. How about you?'

'We've got some leads. The vic didn't seem to have any other living relatives, that I can tell you, but I'm still chasing up on the wife's background. As for the Marshalls' financial status – when we get hold of those figures, I think we'll have some interesting reading.'

'Great. Call me.' Sara started to gather up her notes from the table, when she felt a thrum at her hip. Twisting the pager from her belt, she squinted at the small LCD screen. She had a message from a 'DR WATSON', apparently, reading

MISSING ME? MEET ME IN TRACE. I HAVE SOMETHING YOU MIGHT LIKE.