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"PROMINENT LAWYER FOUND MURDERED IN CHEESMAN PARK," blared the tabloid headline.

Two residents of the Mile High City read the Sunday, September 16 headlines with more than casual interest.

Greg Forman's square jaw tightened as he read the article through twice.

He thought, This is Marilyn's lover.

He went to the hall phone and dialed his friend's number. "Charlie, have you read this morning's Post?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Did you read about Dave Howell's murder? He got shot!"

"The same Dave Howell that we had under surveillance in your divorce case?"

"Yep, Marilyn's lover."

"My God, Greg. You better call Dick. The paper said a small-caliber pistol was found near the body. Where's your target pistol?"

Dick was the attorney from Apex, the company where Greg and Charlie worked. Greg couldn't believe that Charlie was suggesting that he'd need a lawyer.

"Is your pistol where you last left it, Greg?"

"I'm sure that it's in the hall closet." Greg knew his tone of voice left no questions, so he was surprised by Charlie's request that he check--just in case. Despite his frustration, Greg put down the phone and walked to the closet. The finely balanced .22 automatic was still in it's red velvet box on the top shelf, " I have it right here, exactly where I left it after shooting last Saturday."

"You do know, Greg, I was just checking."Charlie's voice carred an undertone of contrition. "Of course I don't believe you murdered anybody, but the police might. In my twenty-five years on the force, we always looked first at the family and close friends. Believe what I say; call Dick!"