"Thirty years."
"That long?"
"Yes."
"Can you describe your relationship with her?"
"We work together."
My ass, Quentin thinks. I'd bet my retirement pension you play together, too. "Do you ever see her outside the office in a nonprofessional capacity?"
It might not be noticeable to someone watching less closely than Quentin . . . but Patrick Ducharme's jaw tightens. "I know her family. We have lunch together every now and then."
"How did you feel when you heard this had happened to Nathaniel?"
"Objection," Carrington calls out.
The judge rubs a finger over his upper lip. "I'll allow it."
"I was concerned for the boy," the detective answers.
"How about Nina Frost? Were you concerned for her?"
"Of course. She's a colleague."
"Is that all?" Quentin accuses.
He is prepared for Ducharme's reaction-a face bleached completely of color. An added bonus: the way Nina Frost looks as if she's been molded of stone. Bingo, Quentin thinks.
"Objection!"
"Overruled," the judge says, narrowing his eyes at the detective.
"We've been friends for a long time." Ducharme picks through a minefield of words. "I knew Nina was upset, and I did what I could to make it easier."
"Such as ... help her kill the priest?"
Nina Frost shoots out of her seat at the defense table. "Objection!"
Her attorney shoves her back down. Patrick Ducharme looks ready to kill Quentin, which is fine by him, now that the jury thinks it's possible the detective could have been an accessory to one murder already. "How long have you been a policeman?"
"Three years."
"And before that, you were a detective in the military police?"
"Yes, for five years."
Quentin nods. "As an investigator and a detective and a police officer in both the United States military and the Biddeford Police Department, how often have you testified?"
"Dozens of times."
"You are aware that as a witness, you're under oath, Detective."
"Of course."
"You've told the court today that during the four hours you spent in a holding cell with the defendant, she sounded crazy."
"That's right."
