On the left side of the jury box sat Edwin Ramos. Blue-collar, a true craftsman. A man like Ramos would bring common sense to the table.

And Nick Costa.

Nick would provide the perspective of a first-generation American, with the background of his Mediterranean immigrant parents.

Connie was very pleased with how Nick Costa and Edwin Ramos balanced his jury. They were the only men, but they'd certainly be able to hold their own in deliberations with the women. Though Susan McCarthy might give them a run for their money. She was a fighter.

The scene was almost perfect. The only thing missing was a judge on the bench and someone second-seating him at the prosecution table, an attractive woman, someone like Andi Norton. That would certainly help complete the scene. He would love to make those additions to his courtroom, but he couldn't risk it. Not right now. After all, the police thought that they had their killer.

Poor Mitch. Connie had no choice but to frame him-with the hairs he took from his stuff at the gym, the condom, wearing his sneakers at the McCarthy house-but he'd never imagined things would work out so neatly with Mitch killing himself. The shrine to his father in that locked room was the final puzzle piece. Connie felt bad for him. They were friends. But he couldn't allow feelings to interfere with the natural order of things. Mitch's sole purpose was to provide an escape for Richter, just like a rabbit's sole purpose in life was to provide food for the wolf.

Connie looked back at his jurors, seated in the jury box in his bas.e.m.e.nt courtroom, a mockup of the trial session in South Bay, which he'd built after killing Emily Knight. He continued his opening, knowing that he needed to connect with each of them in order to win a conviction. The real trial would begin in the morning. This was going to be a tough case. Jesse Wilc.o.x always seemed to find a way to avoid going to jail. This time, with the right preparation and with some help from his attentive audience, Connie would get his conviction.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

Thanks to Lin Haire-Sargeant, Peggy Walsh and Candice Rowe, the members of my writers' group, for their critical observations, encouragement and support; to Mark Meadows, always a hospitable host serving us delicious desserts at each of our meetings; to Paul Treseler, a prosecutor and a friend, who turned out to be a great editor as well; to MaryKay Mahoney who graciously read early drafts with a keen eye. members of my writers' group, for their critical observations, encouragement and support; to Mark Meadows, always a hospitable host serving us delicious desserts at each of our meetings; to Paul Treseler, a prosecutor and a friend, who turned out to be a great editor as well; to MaryKay Mahoney who graciously read early drafts with a keen eye.

Special thanks to Kevin Waggett, a Boston Police sergeant detective, lawyer and friend who had great pa.s.sion for the novel, spending many hours on the phone, day and night, imparting his police knowledge and critical insight.

Thanks, too, to my two favorite forensic scientists, Kevin Kosiorek and Amy Kraatz of the Boston Police Crime Lab, for lending me their expert advice; to Bob Lawler of the Lawler and Crosby Funeral Home in West Roxbury for ensuring that my details were accurate; to my good friends Paul Curran, Paul Leonard and Paul Toomey for answering my technical questions; to Jeremiah Healy for his support and expert editorial advice; to my father and my brothers and sisters for keeping me out of trouble; to Henry for his unconditional love; and, of course, to all of my friends in the Suffolk County District Attorney's Office, the Boston Police Department and in the Trial Court.

I am also fortunate to have an insightful and thoughtful editor at Ballantine in Mark Tavani and a brillliant agent in Simon Green at Pom, Inc.

Most important, this novel would never have been written if not for the love, support and encouragement of my wife, Candice Rowe. She has taught me to be a better writer and a better person.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

R RAFFI Y YESSAYAN spent eleven years as an a.s.sistant district attorney in Boston. Within two years of becoming a prosecutor he was named to the Gang Unit, ultimately becoming its chief. He recently left the DA's office to go into private practice. He and his wife live in Ma.s.sachusetts. This is his first novel. spent eleven years as an a.s.sistant district attorney in Boston. Within two years of becoming a prosecutor he was named to the Gang Unit, ultimately becoming its chief. He recently left the DA's office to go into private practice. He and his wife live in Ma.s.sachusetts. This is his first novel.

E EIGHT IN THE B BOX is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fict.i.tiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fict.i.tiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.