"Thank you, Brittany."

The cross was minimal. Terry tried to get Brittany to admit that Russell had continuously given her work because he felt sorry for her, not because of any deal Ian had brokered, but there wasn't much else Terry could do. She couldn't go on the attack with a witness this vulnerable, and there was no point to it in any event: Brittany's honesty was obvious, and there was no witness who could contradict her testimony. Trying to discredit her was hopeless.

I finished the case with those who had witnessed Brittany's downward spiral. Studio head Chuck Viener, who was devastated to find out he'd been lied to about Tommy, the other actors on Circle of Friends, and one of the few directors who'd worked on a film with her early in her career.

"She was unemployable," the director said. "No insurance company could afford to take a risk on her. So no one wanted to touch her with a ten-foot pole."

"Except Russell Antonovich."

"Right. She was in all of his films."

84.

I rested my case, and Terry had no further evidence to offer.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that will conclude the evidence portion of this trial. I'm going to excuse you for the day while the lawyers and I work out jury instructions. We'll begin closing arguments at nine o'clock sharp tomorrow morning. I again remind you of the admonition: do not discuss this case with anyone, do not listen to or read any reports or commentary about this case, and do not form any opinions until the case is finally submitted to you. Have a great night, and I'll see you tomorrow."

As the jury moved past us toward the door, I searched their faces for some sign, anything that would tell me what they'd made of all that testimony. But the jurors were more buttoned up than ever. I glanced at Terry, who, like me, was standing at attention, watching the jurors leave the courtroom. Now, even more since I knew Russell hadn't been covering for Ian, I wondered why she hadn't warned him of what was coming when we got out of chambers this morning. That at least would have given him a chance to leave in time to avoid being hounded by the press. As the last juror walked out, Terry turned back to counsel table and caught me looking at her. I raised an eyebrow. She tossed her legal pad into her briefcase. "Guess Ms. Brittany's about to clean up her act," she said. "And she won't be doing any more work for Russell Antonovich."

"Seems so."

"Good for her." She gave me the tiniest of conspiratorial smiles, snapped her briefcase closed, and walked off.

When Bailey and Declan and I got upstairs, I told them about my last exchange with Terry.

"Well, I'll be damned." Bailey smiled. "She did it on purpose."

I nodded. "Payback to Russell for screwing Brittany over all these years." Who knew? Terry had a human side after all.

We turned on the television in Eric's office. News programs on all channels were on fire with the story of how Ian and possibly Russell had muscled Brittany into making the false rape accusation.

"They're toast," Declan said. "No matter what happens with this trial, it's over for both of them."

"You think so?" I knew I sounded skeptical.

"I know what you think of Hollywood," Declan said. "But trust me, there're a whole lot of decent people in the industry who'll never do business with those two-or even speak to them-again."

It was good to hear, if true. But it wouldn't be enough. Not for the slaughter of two innocent children.

When I went down to court early the next morning, I again found Janice on the bench in the hallway. I'd asked Bailey to bring her up to my office when she arrived, but Janice had declined. "Too many windows, too high up," Bailey explained. Janice was in the same position as yesterday: sitting next to her agent, Elden, whom she held by the arm, and clutching in the other hand what appeared to be the same book. I told her I'd secured them a front-row seat for closing arguments.

"Ian Powers is guilty as sin," she said. "Do you think the jury will do the right thing?"

I sighed and told her I hoped so.

"Can you get that hideous Russell Antonovich for...anything?" she asked.

Elden intervened. "Janice, she's got a closing argument to give right now," he said. "Let her be."

"I'm so sorry." Janice squeezed her agent's arm. "You're right, Elden." She gave me a shaky smile. "Good luck, Rachel. Do they say break a leg in this context?"

"Not unless they really want you to," I joked. "I'll see you in there."

When we finished in chambers, I saw that the courtroom was packed tighter than ever. There wasn't even an inch between the bodies seated on the benches. The air was so thick with tension it was hard to breathe. The jurors had dressed up for the occasion; some of them were even wearing suits. It was impossible to tell if that was a good or bad sign. It might just be a sign of celebration, because one way or another, their travails would soon be over.

I gave my first argument-a meat-and-potatoes, no-fireworks description of the evidence.

Terry made a strong pitch for her conspiracy theory, pointing out that the threatening letters and calls Ian and Russell had gotten were "undeniably real" because "the prosecution would've been happy to show they were fake" if that had been the case. She was right about that. The only mention she made of the altered ransom e-mail was the brief statement that "Ian Powers is not on trial for tampering with e-mail-or for whatever Brittany Caren claims happened over ten years ago." She theorized that the henchmen sent by Angela's father somehow got hold of the original e-mail and showed up on Boney Mountain. How they might've done that, she didn't say. But the way Terry laid it all out, it didn't sound as preposterous as I would've liked. And the jury was soaking up every word. For conspiracy buffs, this argument was practically edible it was so delicious. Did I have any of those on the jury? No one had admitted to it during voir dire, but jurors seldom did. This case was far from won.

"Ms. Knight, your rebuttal argument?"

I thanked the judge, then I thanked the jury for their patience through what was a much more difficult case than we'd expected. I made sure to hit the points Terry had made, then I moved on to my conclusion.

"In the end, this is all about ambition. It started with a screenplay. A screenplay Ian Powers knew had 'blockbuster' written all over it. But then Tommy Maher surfaced, screaming to anyone who'd listen that Russell Antonovich had stolen the script from him. Suddenly, the dream was about to go up in smoke. Instead of going to the Oscars, they'd be going to court, maybe for years. And if Tommy could prove that Russell had stolen that screenplay, not only would they lose in court, they'd lose in Hollywood. They'd be branded as thieves and liars. Ian Powers had to make Tommy go away.

"His solution? Frame Tommy for the rape of their child star. Tommy would have to shut up or risk exposure for that heinous crime. And the studio head, Chuck Viener, would never talk. Everyone looks bad if it comes out that a pedophile has been allowed to work on a set with child actors.

"And then, Ian Powers got luckier still. Tommy committed suicide. For Ian, it was a dream come true. Because now, not only were they rid of his haranguing, but any suspicions Tommy might have raised would be dismissed as the ravings of an unbalanced, jealous mind.

"The defense wants you to remember that Ian Powers is not on trial for what he did to Brittany. That's true. Sad, but true. But what he did to her tells you so much about who this man is. Think about it: Ian Powers was himself a child actor. And as the defense was so proud to bring out, he was the sole support for his family at the tender age of eight. Who could know better the kind of pressures Brittany endured as sole support for her family? And yet, knowing full well the enormous stress of being a child forced to shoulder that weight, he willfully, unconscionably destroyed a child actress for his own personal gain."

I pointed to Ian Powers, who sat rigid in his chair, staring straight ahead. "That's who this man really is. Now, did Russell Antonovich and Ian Powers steal Tommy's screenplay? I think the answer must be yes. Just the fact that Ian Powers would go to such lengths to silence Tommy proves it."

At that, several jurors turned to look at Ian for a long few seconds. I waited until I had their full attention, then continued.

"The fact that this perfect 'solution' begat not only Tommy's suicide but also a lifetime of misery for young Brittany was of no concern to Ian Powers. Nor, I should mention, for Russell Antonovich, who got the ball rolling when he stole that screenplay. As far as they were concerned, it'd all worked out perfectly. Ian and Russell were making millions-the sequels, the merchandising, the video games. Everything was beautiful.

"Right up until Hayley and Brian threatened to expose both of them for the lie they'd perpetrated. And what did those kids ask for? Not money. Not a cut of Wonderland Warriors proceeds. All they asked was that Russell admit the truth. But Ian Powers couldn't let Russell admit he'd stolen that screenplay. It would undermine their credibility all over town. And beyond that, how could Ian be sure it would stop there? Even if Russell admitted he'd stolen the screenplay, Hayley and Brian had shown they had possession of an even bigger threat. They knew that he'd set Tommy up with the false rape charge. And if that ever got out, everyone would know he had Tommy's blood on his hands. Between lawsuits for the profits on Wonderland Warriors and the wrongful death suit for Tommy's suicide, he'd be ruined. Good-bye beautiful life.

"So Hayley and Brian had to be silenced. There wasn't much time to plan this out, but Ian wasn't dealing with a Mafia don. He was dealing with two innocent young kids. It wasn't hard to get the drop on them. Just leave a DVD in a bag by the side of the road, wait for Brian to come pick it up, and then put a gun to his head-a .44 Ruger gets anyone's attention-and force him up the mountain, to a remote spot where no one would find his shallow grave.

"As for Hayley, Ian Powers likely believed he could control her. With Brian gone, she had no ally. Brittany was still on the bottle and unable to cope with even a shooting schedule, let alone a pitched battle against two of the most powerful figures in Hollywood. If Hayley was isolated, she could be persuaded not to expose him and her father.

"But once again, Ian got 'lucky.' Hayley sent Brian texts that night. Texts that showed Hayley was right there, under Ian's nose. She made it so easy, that poor little girl. All he had to do was send her a text from Brian's phone, telling her to come out and meet him. Think for just a moment how cold-blooded this man has to be. This young girl had been like a daughter to him for most of her life. But that didn't matter. With cold, calculated deliberation, he lured this child out-deceived her so he could hunt her down like an animal, slit her throat, and dump her body into the trunk of a car."

I paused and turned to look at Ian Powers. His face was pinched with fury, but also fear. He met my eyes for just a second, then looked away. I turned back to the jury. This time, I noticed only one or two of them had been watching Ian.

"And I must say, the plan, as hastily made as it was, nearly worked. If it hadn't been for that freak storm, we might never have found Brian's body. We would have believed what Ian Powers wanted us to believe: that Brian killed Hayley and flew to Paris to live large on the ransom money."

I paused, taking a moment to let it all sink in, as much for myself as for the jury.

"Before I sit down, I want to leave you with one final thought.

"Pearl Bailey said that a man with ambition but no love is dead. In Ian Powers you have just such a man. A man whose overweening ambition left him with not a single shred of humanity. An ambition so all-consuming, he willfully, knowingly destroyed four lives. Not only the lives of Hayley and Brian, but also the life of a talented writer and a thirteen-year-old girl, whose remorse for what Ian Powers made her do sent her into a downward spiral that may yet prove to have ruined her for life. Ladies and gentlemen, it's too late to ask for justice for Tommy Maher, or for Brittany Caren, but it's not too late for Brian and Hayley. I ask you to do justice for them and convict their murderer, Ian Powers."

85.

The jury went out at three o'clock. With the whole country watching, there was no way they'd come back with a verdict before tomorrow, but I intended to stay in the office. I wasn't going to take any chances.

As I left the courtroom, I found Janice waiting for me.

"You did a magnificent job," she said.

I thanked her. "You're welcome to come up to the office with us."

"Thank you, but no. I'll just wait here, if that's all right."

"Of course, Janice." I noticed she was still carrying that same book. She never seemed to be without it. "Do you mind if I ask you about that book?" I gestured to the one in her hand.

Janice smiled sadly. "Tommy gave it to Brian when he was little." She held it out. It was a child's book, titled Fifty Famous Fairy Tales. Janice handed it to me, and it fell open to a well-worn page about halfway through. I noticed handwriting in the margin. "That's Tommy's writing," she said. "Brian never let it go. When I saw that he didn't take it with him to Los Angeles, I thought it meant he intended to come back." She looked away, then said softly, "Now I know he did. He just came out here on a mission."

"Janice, would you mind letting me hang on to this for just a day or so?" I asked.

Janice was reluctant. "I suppose so. But I will want it back."

"I promise. In fact, I'll bring it back to you tonight if you like-"

"No, tomorrow's fine." She looked down for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "I don't know whether I ever told you this, but Tommy loved Brian so much. I think Brian was one of the only bright spots in his life. That's why it never made sense to me that he'd...leave...over the theft of a screenplay. Now I understand it a little better. After all the hell he had been through over the script, this false claim about Brittany was just too much. Knowing Tommy, he felt doomed." She sighed and shook her head. "Anyway, I wanted you to know that Tommy really was a good father..."

I told her I believed her, and how sorry I was, for all of it. We spoke for a few more minutes and then she and Elden left.

Bailey and Declan and I headed upstairs.

"So what do you think?" Declan asked. "Did we get him?"

"We don't do that," answered Bailey.

"I never bet on a verdict," I said. "Bad luck."

Declan raised an eyebrow but said nothing. I pulled out bottles of water and sodas from my fridge and set them on the table. Bailey took a bottle, leaned back, and put her feet up on the table next to my desk.

"No doubt about it, Russell was in on the phony rape scheme," Bailey said.

"Had to be," Declan agreed. "Like that director said, no one risks a film budget on an actor as dicey as Brittany." He shook his head. "What a sleazy dick."

"True, that." Russell Antonovich was every bit as consumed with greed as Ian. The only difference was, he had his pit bull, Ian, to do the dirty work while he got to stay in the background and reap the benefits. It killed me to think he'd pay no price for his part in all this.

The justice our system metes out can be such an imperfect thing. We had no solid proof that he knew about the false rape claim. There was no legal way to go after Russell. But there's more than one way to skin a bottom-feeding, parasitic worm. And I intended to find it.

After the jury went home for the evening, we decided it was safe to take the night off.

"How about a drink at the Biltmore?" Bailey suggested.

I knew she'd been missing Drew. None of us had had any kind of life since this trial had started. I called Drew ahead of time just to make sure we wouldn't get ambushed by reporters.

"Coast is clear," Drew said. "And when you get here, I'll tell you why."

I'd told Bailey and Declan about Sunglasses, the jerkweed reporter who'd shown up in my hallway and then at the bar. Now, on the way over, I told them Drew had the rest of the story for us.

In spite of Drew's assurance, I entered the bar warily. But it was a quiet night and easy to see that there was no one there who looked like a reporter. Declan ordered a beer just to join us in a toast-he had to drive-but Bailey and I cut loose and ordered martinis. Drew poured himself a shot of Oban, a really nice sipping scotch.

"Here's to a job well done," Drew said, raising his glass.

We all clinked and sipped.

"Okay, I'm dying to hear it. What happened?" I asked.

Drew smiled. "I poured him a martini with about four shots in it-"

I nearly choked on my drink. "Four straight shots in one tiny little glass?"

"We have big beauties for special occasions," Drew said.

"Oh, man," Declan said. "I'd be in a puddle on the floor."

"That was the general idea," Drew said. "Dude drained it in two swallows. Who the hell does that with a martini, anyway?"

"A classless douche like that," Bailey said. "Go on."

"He started getting so loud and obnoxious, customers were complaining. Even his buddies were embarrassed. So I told him he'd have to leave. He stood up." Drew slammed his palm down on the bar. "Face plant. They had to carry him out and put him in a cab."

We all laughed.

"So much for the wannabe reporter," I said.

"Hang on for the finale," Drew said. He went to the register and came back with his cell phone. "Check it out."

And there it was in glorious Technicolor: guerrilla freelancer Sunglasses being hauled out between the two men-toes dragging along the floor, eyes at half-mast, mouth hanging open.

"Hey, what's that on his face?" Bailey asked, pointing to the photo.

"That's drool!" Declan said.