"You got her out of prison so you could show her to me, didn't you? What is she taking?"

"Actually," said Gillian, "in my case, it was what I stopped taking that made me better."

Encouraged by her success so far, Gillian had thought her remark would be helpful, but it proved a serious mistake. Susan for the first time became volatile, throwing her stubby hands through the air.

"I keep telling them that! If they'd just let me stop, I'd be back, I know I'd be back! She's back and she doesn't take anything."

"Susan, Gillian was in prison, not a hospital. She served her sentence. Now she's putting her life back together."

"Like you want me to do."

Arthur was stymied here. It did not seem much to concede, but apparently he'd learned over the years that granting any point would reinforce Susan.

"I would like that, Susan, but you have to do what makes sense to you."

"I want to get better, you know, Arthur."

"I know you do."

"Then you can bring her back."

"Gillian?"

"Whoever she is. Bring her on Tuesday. Three is better anyway."

Arthur, for the first time, appeared alarmed.

"I don't think she's available Tuesday night. You work then, don't you?"

Gillian watched Arthur for cues, but it seemed his question was genuine. She shook her head circ.u.mspectly.

"Now you don't want me to be around her," Susan said.

"Susan, ask yourself if you're making an effort to cooperate."

"Why won't you let her come on Tuesday? You don't really want to help me. You want me to keep getting this s.h.i.t and she doesn't want me to, and so you don't want me to talk to her."

"Susan, I really like it when you're not so provocative. Why don't you go home now with Valerie?"

Susan remained agitated, insisting that he was trying to keep her away from Gillian. And he was, of course"Gillian could see that, albeit for her sake, rather than to hurt Susan. She felt inclined to volunteer for whatever 'Tuesday' was, but hesitated because of the unpredictable results so far of her attempts to be helpful.

Instead, Arthur temporized, telling his sister that they would see. Susan quieted briefly, then refused, almost visibly, to move toward equilibrium.

"I know she won't come."

"Enough, Susan," said Arthur. "This is enough. You've had a cigarette. I've said we'll see about Gillian. Now go with Valerie."

It was several more minutes, but eventually Susan and Valerie were both in the white van from the Franz Center, as the group home was known. Susan departed, vowing to discover who Gillian really was. As soon as the vehicle pulled out of sight, Arthur fell over himself apologizing, first to the cop who'd stood by throughout, then to Gillian. He explained that whenever one thing went wrong with Susan"the cigarettes, today"the whole scaffolding was likely to collapse.

"Arthur, there is nothing to apologize for. But may I ask the significance of Tuesday?"

"Oh. She gets her shot. And then we go to the apartment. It was my father's apartment, but I'm there now, mostly for her sake. We make dinner. It's become a big deal, especially since my father died. I think that's what she meant when she said three is better."

"Ah. It would be no great difficulty for me to come, if it's really important to her."

"I won't ask that. And frankly, Susan wouldn't pay any attention to you, once you got there. I can tell you that from experience. There's no continuity. Except the paranoia."

Arthur insisted on driving Gillian the short distance to the mall. She briefly demurred, but it was close to five already. As they sped from the police station lot, Gillian asked if it was hopeful that Susan spoke of recovery.

"Every conversation with Susan is about recovery. That's been going on for nearly thirty years."

Thirty years. Contemplating the energy that Arthur's sister required, she felt another surge in her admiration for him. She would have been exhausted long ago.

"I know you won't believe it," he said, "but I think she really liked you. She usually acts as if strangers aren't even there. That business about getting out of prison"I don't have to explain. It's bound to interest her. But I'm sorry she was so insulting."

"She was far too accurate to be insulting."

Arthur did not seem to know what to make of that remark, and for an instant the car was full only of the radio's babble. With a moment to think about it, Gillian found herself vaguely amused. Despite Arthur's frequent declarations of common cause with Gillian, it was his sister, not he, who was the kindred soul, a woman blessed with uncommon looks and intelligence, torn down by mysterious inner impulses.

"Susan is every bit as smart as you said she is," Gillian told him. "She's quite penetrating."

"She certainly nailed me," said Arthur. He exhaled and actually touched the spot on his suit coat over his heart. There was no need to ask which comment had caught him. 'And none of them love you.' She felt yet again the vastly thwarted nature of Arthur Raven's life.

They had reached the mall. Arthur circled his sleek car around the drive in front of Morton's, but she hesitated to leave. It seemed more important than ever that she not cause him further distress, and that she utter some of the consolations she'd considered after their encounter in front of the Center City store yesterday.

"Arthur, not to prolong a sore subject, but I have to say one more word. What made me unhappy when we parted yesterday was that you seemed to feel refused. And I a.s.sure you, it isn't personal."

Arthur winced. "Of course it's personal. It's the most personal thing of all. What else could you possibly call it?"

"Arthur, you're not considering the realities."

"Look," he said to her. "You're ent.i.tled to say no. So don't feel bad about it. The world is full of women who've preferred not to be seen with me."

"Arthur! That is surely not the issue." She said this with more conviction that she might have predicted. No, Arthur was not Prince Charming, but she held to old-fashioned convictions that beauty was a female prerogative. Truth be told, his looks did not bother her so much as his height, four to five inches below hers, even in low heels. Yet she enjoyed his company. As she always recognized, he was entirely in the grasp of his own compulsions. He could no more cease steering his peas into a pile on his plate than breathing. But he knew it. It was his vision, even acceptance, of himself that rang the chimes of something appealing"that and his ability to soldier on doing what was right. In fact, his steadiness and his refusal to be rebuffed by his sister's lunacy had added significantly to her impression of him. It was not Arthur but she who was the problem.

"Arthur, frankly, you shouldn't want to be seen with me."

"Because of your role in this case?"

"Because it will taint you in an entire community whose respect is essential in your professional life." She stared at him. "What would you envision, Arthur? Dinner and dancing? Why not a law firm c.o.c.ktail party? I'm sure your partners will be impressed that you're keeping company with an aging ex-convict who disgraced your profession."

"A movie?" he asked. "It's dark. n.o.body will see." He was smiling, of course, but it was soon clear he had tired of the conversation. "Gillian, you've told me ten times that I've been kind to you, and you're returning the favor. But look, we both know this is mostly a matter of instinct. And I can see very well what instinct is telling you."

"No, Arthur, for the last time, that is not the point. You are kind. And kindness is in rather short supply in my world. But I would be taking advantage of you, Arthur. You wouldn't get what you deserve. No one ever has."

"I'll take that as no. Without hard feelings. The subject never even came up. We're friends." He used a b.u.t.ton beside him to unlock the car door and did his utmost to smile brightly. Once again, he offered his hand. She felt entirely infuriated and refused to take hold. He wouldn't see this in any light but the most hurtful to him.

"So dinner on Tuesday?" she asked. "What time? Where do we meet?"

His soft mouth parted a bit.

"That's not necessary, Gillian. Susan will get by. Anyway, it's bad to let her tantrums prevail. And I can't impose that way."

"Nonsense," she told him as she stepped to the curb. She leaned down into the darkness of the car, where Arthur looked out, befuddled. "We're friends," she said and took some pleasure in slamming the door.

Chapter 21.

June 15-19, 2001 Collins JACKSON AIRES, the lawyer Erno had hired for his nephew, Collins, was difficult. Privately, he was apt to refer to his clients as 'thugs,' but he thought even less of cops and prosecutors. The only thing he liked about them was the compet.i.tion. For Aires, there really was a single issue in the law anyway"race. Everything in his world came down to white versus black. A few years ago, during a trial, he had referred to Muriel, in front of a jury, as 'the slavemaster.' She could not say the outburst had worsened their relationship. It had always been terrible.

Jackson sat in Muriel's office listening to her pitch, with his slender fingers steepled. Jackson was well past seventy now, but spry and lean and still at the top of his game. He had a sponge of white hair like Mandela's, a resemblance that was probably not inadvertent. Like all defense lawyers, he was unaccustomed to holding an advantage, and when he had one, as he did now, he was completely insufferable. Tommy Molto, dark and disheveled, sat beside Jackson on the other side of Muriel's huge desk, making no effort to hide his dyspeptic reactions as Aires carried on.

"Immunity," Aires answered, when Muriel told him they wanted a word with Collins.

"Immunity?" Muriel asked. "Why does he need immunity? The statute of limitations ran out a long time ago, even if he did lie to us in 1991."

"'Why' is between him and me, Muriel. No immunity, and he'll a.s.sert his const.i.tutional rights under the Fifth Amendment."

"How about a proffer?" Muriel asked, meaning a prediction from Aires of what Collins would say.

"Now why would I want to do that? That man is down there in Atlanta, Georgia, having a completely wonderful life. He has no need to talk to you, Muriel."

"Jackson, why do I have the feeling you've been chatting with Arthur? I just answered his motion, asking Judge Harlow to force me to give your guy immunity." Both Arthur and Jackson knew that the power to bestow immunity was strictly the prosecutor's, and that she would never do it without the a.s.surance that it was required to make her case.

"That's what Arthur wants, Muriel. For my sake, you can just forget you ever heard Collins's name. But my man's not talking to Arthur or you without full protection under the law."

"He can take the nickel, Jackson," Muriel said, "but I want it on the record, so the judge knows we made the effort to find out what he had to say. Will you accept service of the deposition subpoena?"

"And what good would that be doing my client?"

"Free trip home?"

"Lady, he's a travel agent. He gets a free trip home whenever he wants. Besides, habeas proceeding is civil discovery. You want to depose him, you gotta go to him. And I don't think Mr. John Q. Public is gonna think much of you making two trips to Georgia at his expense, just so you can listen to this man say he's not answering any of your d.a.m.n questions."

"Two trips?" asked Molto. Muriel wouldn't have given Jackson the satisfaction of asking, although she hadn't understood, either. There was a rulebook at play here"the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure"that literally was not on her shelf.

With the chance to gloat, Jackson did, smiling hugely. His teeth were smoke-stained and snaggled and seldom seen in court, where his only expression was a mask of indignation. In order to subpoena Collins, Aires said, they would have to go first to federal court in Atlanta to get a subpoena that could be enforced there.

"Maybe we'll do that," said Muriel. "Maybe we can ride the same plane down for the deposition. I'll send you a notice."

"You think I don't know a d.a.m.n bluff when I see one? Muriel, that license on my wall is so old that the sheep they made it from rode on the Ark with Noah. Did you know that? I'm too old to bluff, Muriel."

Molto walked Jackson out. She talked a moment with Tommy when he returned, then left a message for Larry. A little after five, he arrived on her threshold, rapping politely on the open door. She was impressed as always by Larry's size as he stood there, the way he imposed himself on s.p.a.ce. Big people had it all.

"Busy?"

"Never for you, Lar."

In the large reception area outside her door, the a.s.sistants were all gone for the day, and the phones, routed to voice mail, had fallen silent. Larry's fingers still rested on the door frame. She'd stopped him cold with that little trick in her voice. She'd heard it herself. Someone listening in now, or in the witness room the other day, might say she was flirting. Force of habit, she supposed. Old self over the new. He was a paunchy middle-aged guy but the linings of the cells still recollected his appeal. It was fun, of course, to feel younger and more vital"the sap of youth rising. But it was stupid, too.

She recounted her meeting with Jackson. Larry couldn't understand why Collins would demand immunity.

"Probably," said Muriel, "because he knows I won't give it to him. My guess is that Collins and his uncle aren't on the same page. By taking five, he stays out of the middle. Which is why we're making a trip to Atlanta."

"We are?"

"Yes, we are. I'm going to get a subpoena and you're going to serve Collins as soon as it's issued."

"Can I talk to Collins if his lawyer says not to?"

"I can't speak to a represented party. But Jackson won't accept service. So some law-enforcement officer has to pay Collins a visit, explain the subpoena and the nature of the case. If he chooses to speak to you against his attorney's advice, that's not our fault." Muriel enjoyed the thought of Jackson's reaction. He always screamed loudest over his own blunders.

On Tuesday morning, Larry was at the gate at the Tri-Cities Airport, looking distraught when she dashed up. For Muriel, making planes, like so many other things in her life, was a contest. If the gate agent wasn't swinging the door closed when she arrived, she felt she'd wasted irretrievable minutes.

"How the h.e.l.l can you stand that?" Larry wanted to know as they struggled to their seats. "Flying's bad enough as it is." They each had brought an overnight bag, but the baggage compartments were full. The Georgia Department of Law, which was a.s.sisting them, said it would take no more than an hour for the subpoena to be issued, but it would be late in the day by the time Larry caught up with Collins. With rush hour traffic, there was the prospect of having to stay over. Larry jammed his bag under the seat in front of him, complaining that he'd ride the entire way to Atlanta feeling as if he'd taken a chair in a dollhouse.

"Sorry, Lar. I still hadn't connected with Claire"Talmadge's daughter? I was supposed to have our grandson tonight."

"Hope you take it as a compliment, but when I hear 'Over the River and Through the Woods,' it's not your face in the picture."

"I'm good, Larry. This is the best chance I'll get, and I'm taking it." Even talking about that little boy, she felt some of the delirium and longing that often accompanied his presence and his absence. Her face apparently betrayed that.

"Adopt?" asked Larry.

"Huh?"

"Did you think of that?"

"Oh." She paused to girdle her heart. "We nearly adopted a boy about three years ago. African-American. Crack mom. The whole deal. And it fell apart. It just about killed me. But you know the saying"maybe it's for the best. Neither of Talmadge's daughters give him better than a C as a father. Even so, every now and then I think about one more try."

"Talmadge is reluctant?"

"There's not a lot of enthusiasm. The way he travels"I'd pretty much be flying solo. It's complicated."

"And does he do better with his daughters now that they're grown?"

"They accept him. Besides, they like me." She pressed a finger into her own belly and they both laughed. Talmadge's unavailability was, in fact, part of Muriel's bond with the young women. They all understood that Talmadge belonged to the world, not merely to them. For her part, Muriel tolerated this, even respected it, not only out of admiration but because, at the end of the day, the terms of her own life were not all that different. That was where she and Talmadge were at their best, rocketing along on each other's jet stream, but the mundane intimacies other couples looked forward to"walks in the park, picking wallpaper, or even s.e.x"were rarer for them. Nor did Muriel have a companion in those moments when her striving took her inward, instead of out into the world.

These thoughts, not happy ones, were unwelcome, much like the entire conversation. The rush of the airplane gave them only minimal privacy. And she felt recalled to an ancient reaction that there was something fundamentally wrong in speaking with Larry about Talmadge. She went back to work.

"Okay," he said. "I'll give it a rest."

Without looking up from her tray table, where she'd laid several draft indictments, she said, "I wish you would."