"No. Not at first. I just told him...what had really happened. But he kept after me. And I was so...sad and depressed. After a while, it seemed to all make sense to me. And now I've ruined a man's life. I'm so ashamed..."

She broke down then. The camera stayed on her sobbing face while they split the screen and showed clips of Brother Jacob doing the Perp Walk. Her new lawyer explained how Jennifer had been programmed, how she'd come under the spell of a "sincere but misguided" therapist. No, they weren't going to sue for malpractice. Hadn't there been enough lawsuits?

The reporter did a threeaminute rap about false allegations, his voice throbbing with selfaimportance. "Isn't it ironic," he concluded, "that in 1996, in these days of space travel and the Internet, the Salem witch hunts are still a fact of life. But this time, one of the soacalled victims has found the courage to come forward and speak the truth. And just in time to stop society, to stop all of us, from burning a man at the stake. Jennifer Dalton, a tortured young woman, lost in a life of sadness, sought some answers. And, as we have seen, some of those answers raise much larger questions indeed."

I didn't move from the set for hours. They finally located Kite. He spoke at a podium so loaded with microphones that only the top of his head was visible. He sounded lost. Distraught. "I assure everyone, and especially Brother Jacob and his counsel, that I personally investigated this matter thoroughly before the lawsuit was brought. I assure you that it was brought in good faith, and only after I was personally satisfied as to its validity. I am...shocked. I don't know another word for it. This makes me question...everything. Not just this case, but myself. And my profession. I apologize to Brother Jacob and his family, personally and professionally."

"Are you dropping the case?" one reporter shouted out.

"There is no case," Kite replied. "I'm sorry...I have nothing more to say."

A phalanx of bodyguards muscled Kite through the crowd of thrusting microphones. I couldn't see Heather anywhere in the crowd.

Every talk show in town vultured in, but Jennifer Dalton wasn't talking. Rumors flew that the tabloid TV magazine had paid her a hundred thousand dollars for the exclusive interview.

"This has nothing whatever to do with our case," the lawyer for two of the young girls told a newspaper reporter. "We are still suing Brother Jacob." When they printed that news, hostile letters to the editor flew like raindrops in a hurricane.

Brother Jacob was released from jail on his own recognizance.

Doreen Z. Landover announced her client was giving a deposition to Brother Jacob's counsel in the other lawsuits. She said Jennifer Dalton was sorry...and she was going to do everything in her power to make things right.

"She's out."

"Stay with her."

"White on rice," the Prof promised.

I used my key to let myself into Jennifer Dalton's apartment, moving as carefully as a minesweeper. I wasn't there to thieve- I wanted to leave something for her.

The back bedroom was the same filthy mess the Prof had described. I popped the portable video player out of the duffel bag I had carried over my shoulder. I was looking for an electrical outlet when the cellular buzzed in my pocket.

"She doubled back. Almost there. Just going into the lobby. Step quick!"

I moved over to the window. It was barred from the inside. No fire escape. I heard a key turn in the front door, snatched the video player and moved behind the bedroom door.

I heard her come in. She turned on the TV set, then the sound suddenly disappeared, like she hit the Mute. I heard the refrigerator open, the sound of some liquid being poured. The springs on the couch made a faint protest. The TV sound came on again, some talk show. She was flicking the remote, changing channels so fast it was a soundablur when a sharp series of raps sounded on the front door. She hit the Mute again. I heard her walking toward the door. Sound of the peephole cover being slid off. Harsh intake of breath.

Heard the door open. "What do you want?" Jennifer asked.

"I want to talk to you." Heather's voice, rage in it like a bubble ready to burst. Sound of a grunt, door closing.

"Sit down!" Heather said. "Right there."

Sound of someone hitting the chair. Springs sagging heavy- must be Heather on the couch.

"Why did you do it?" Heather asked, her voice thick. "How could you do that to him?"

"He was the one who did it to me," Jennifer whined. "It wasn't my fault."

"He never did...Wait- who do you mean?"

"The therapist. He was the one who- "

"Kite," Heather said. "How could you do it to him?. He believed in you. You know he did. How could you let him sacrifice his whole career, his whole life, for you when you knew it was all a lie?"

The room went so quiet I could hear Heather's harsh breathing.

"It wasn't a lie, Heather," I said, stepping into the silent living room.

Jennifer gasped, hand flying to her mouth. Heather whirled to face me. "You!"

I tossed the videotape cartridge at Heather. She didn't make a move to grab it out of the air- it landed against her chest. She didn't flinch, eyes only on Jennifer.

"It's all there," I said quietly. "Isn't it, Jennifer? Brother Jacob must have edited hours and hours of tape to make this one production, huh?"

"I don't know..."she said softly.