"I don't want to hear any more of this s.h.i.t about making mistakes," he said.

"I'm not saying it's a mistake. I just want to be able to say I actually discharged a professional obligation to consider the prospect."

"Look, I worked this case. On my own. The whole Force hit the pause b.u.t.ton once the headlines faded. I'm the one who kept pressing. I made this case. And I made it with you. And for you, if you want to know the truth. So don't say it's any frigging mistake."

"For me."

Fury throbbed through him. It enlarged his eyes"all of him really.

"Don't pretend like you don't get it, G.o.dd.a.m.n it. It's one thing, Muriel, isn't it? This case. You becoming P.A. You deciding to be great. You deciding to marry Talmadge. You deciding to march down the path of history. You deciding not to take me. So don't tell me it's a f.u.c.king mistake. It's too late for any f.u.c.king mistakes. I've had my p.i.s.s-poor little life, and you've gone ramping up to stardom. Don't pretend like you don't know what the game is, because you made all the f.u.c.king rules." With that, he hurled his green cloth napkin down on his plate, and stalked off fast enough to bowl someone over had anybody gotten in his way. The small duffel he'd carried from home bounced on his shoulder as if it were as insubstantial as a scarf.

In his wake, she felt her Adam's apple bobbing about. Something huge had happened. At first, she thought she was shocked by the force of his outburst. But after a second she realized the true news was that even a decade later, Larry's wounds remained tender. She thought he was one person very much as he chose to present himself"too self-sufficient to be vulnerable to any lasting injury. That was more or less the way she tried to think of herself.

One of her friends liked to say that in junior high school you learned everything there was to know about the way love starts and ends. The vast region in between, the dark jungle of sustained relationships, was penetrated only in adulthood. But the nuclear flash when love began and concluded was the same, no matter what stage of life. And what they would have said about Larry's outrage in the junior-high girls' room was probably true: it meant he still cared. a.s.saying all of this, she felt herself in some danger.

He'd left his sport coat slung over the chair. She looked at it a moment, then picked it up and went into the bar, thinking he'd escaped there. There was no sign of him. Upstairs, she knocked lightly on the door to his room.

"Larry, open up. I have your coat."

He already had his shirt unb.u.t.toned over the mound of his belly, and he held a dwarf bottle of Dewar's from the minibar. Half of it was gone. He took the coat from her and threw it behind him to the bed without ever quite mustering the courage to look her way.

"Larry, how about if we get un-p.i.s.sed off? We have a long way to go on this case."

"You're not p.i.s.sed off. I'm the one who's p.i.s.sed off." He glanced down at the little bottle, screwed the cap on, and tossed it several feet into the trash can, which rocked from the impact. "And now I'm less p.i.s.sed off than embarra.s.sed."

"Maybe we should talk."

"For what?"

"Don't make me stand here, Larry." She had bags in both hands, her swollen briefcase in one and the small overnight pouch in the other. He considered her situation and motioned her in, turning from her. The bald spot on his crown had grown bright pink from the liquor.

"Muriel, I don't even know where that came from."

"h.e.l.l, Larry."

"No, I won't say I didn't mean it. But the thing that bothered me was at the end. What I said about myself. I don't think my life is anything to complain about. It's good. Better than good. It's just that I'm like everybody else, you know. n.o.body ever gets what they want when it comes to love."

The statement"the exactness of it"struck her dumb momentarily, because she knew he had expressed her deepest conviction, one that she seldom had the wherewithal to say to herself. She was drawn back for a second to that howitzer sh.e.l.l he'd lobbed at her on the plane: the notion that she'd chased the same improbable dream in both her marriages. The idea had been with her all day, like a bad meal whose taste kept returning. She'd think it through on Sunday. Because love, most often, was what she was praying for in those precious moments in church, believing and not believing. Now she pondered love's quest, the way it led us to persistent unhappiness and blithe moments when, however chimerically, love seemed to have been found. Everything else in life"professional attainment, art, and ideas"was just the feathers and hide on the foraging animal of love.

"This meant a lot to me," he said. He circled a finger between them. "Afterwards, I had Kevorkian on speed-dial for a while. That's all. I just, you know, react."

Men like Larry, like Talmadge, did everything possible to avoid appearing fragile. But they were all fragile, and the moments when that was revealed were an unending crisis. It was never going away. That's what he was telling her.

"I don't want you to tell Arthur," he said then. "About Collins."

"Larry."

"You said yourself it's not legal that you have to tell him. I don't want to be charitable just so he has these bulls.h.i.t opportunities to throw up smoke."

Even after all of this, she was disinclined to actually say yes. She took a seat in a desk chair near the doorway while she deliberated. He grew frustrated watching her.

"Christ," he said. "Just do me a f.u.c.king favor, will you? Will you?" He'd reignited, heard himself, and flared out in a matter of seconds. He fell to the bed several feet from her, exhausted by himself. Next door, the ice machine thumped a full load of cubes into its belly.

Sooner or later, she'd inform Arthur, but that could wait until Larry settled down. He felt too defeated at her hands to absorb another blow now.

"Well, this is a moment of auld lang syne, isn't it?" she said, at last. "You and me and a hotel room and an argument?"

"The arguments never meant anything, Muriel."

"Really? You mean I was just wasting my breath?"

"It was all foreplay."

She lacked the daring to answer that.

"You just liked s.e.x to be a form of rivalry," he said.

"Thank you, Dr. Ruth."

"It worked, Muriel. It always worked. Don't tell me you don't remember." He'd found the stamina to look at her one more time. For him, she realized, the story of what had happened between them was inscribed like law on tablets, often revisited, fully pa.r.s.ed and understood. Denial of any element was an affront.

"My Alzheimer's is only early stage, Larry. I remember."

With that acknowledgment, the past, its pa.s.sion and pleasure, lay before them, like a corpse at a wake. Only this body was not quite dead. The longing that had always consumed them was suddenly present. She could feel Larry, intent as he measured her response. With his persistent directness about Talmadge, she knew what he wanted to ask, but even Larry recognized that boundary as unapproachable. Nor was there any point in comparisons"a marriage wasn't a fling, the world knew that. She was person one zillion who enjoyed s.e.x more before marriage than after, although she honestly would never have guessed. Going to bed with someone had never seemed challenging. Important. Fun. But not difficult. She had always a.s.sumed Talmadge and she would find a rhythm. But they hadn't. She never thought she was someone who could live without it, but whether it was exhaustion or age, it was less and less a preoccupation. When she woke to yearning, as she did a few times each month, it came as a surprise.

And she was surprised now.

"I remember, Larry," she said again softly. She glanced up, thinking only to acknowledge him, but her desire was insistent enough that she could feel it beaconed from her. It was less than an invitation. Yet he had to sense that if he moved toward her, she'd find it hard to say no. But she could not go first. She'd made so many choices that Larry regarded as against him. There would be something vaguely imperial were she the one. Instead, she was left feeling like some breathless coquette, shy and powerless, as he pondered, a sensation she'd lived her life to avoid. She listened for movement, so she could rise to him. But his bitterness probably constrained him. The moment prolonged itself. And then the possibility of some rash grasping after all that former glory slipped beyond them, departing with the same slyness with which it had arrived.

"I'm beat," he said.

"Yeah, sure," she answered. From the threshold, she said she'd see him in the lobby at 6:30. Then she walked along the hall, an endless arcade of closed doors and low light, where she would eventually find the solitary room that was hers for the night. She carried her bags with her, wondering as she peered at every number, how hard it would be to go forward from here with the rest of her life.

Chapter 24.

June 25-28, 2001 The Deposition of Genevieve Carriere IN THE MAIL, which always seemed to contain bad news on Monday mornings, Arthur found a form notice from Muriel Wynn. Three days from now, on Thursday, the state proposed to take the deposition of a woman named Genevieve Carriere at the offices of the lawyers she had hired, Sandy and Marta Stern.

"So who's the mystery guest?" asked Arthur when he succeeded after several attempts to get Muriel on the line. On the few occasions over the years when Arthur had dealt with Muriel, they had engaged in the good-natured badinage appropriate to former colleagues. But the adversity of the current proceedings had left Muriel's manner with him no better than crisp. Arthur, who suffered from the loss of anyone's affections, had prepared himself for more of the same, but he found Muriel in good cheer. He suspected immediately she felt she'd renewed some advantage.

"Arthur," she answered, "let me say two words to you: Erno Erdai." Muriel, like many prosecutors in Arthur's experience, lived by a simple watchword in dealing with defense lawyers: don't get angry, get even.

"I had to do that, Muriel."

"Because you didn't want to give us a fair chance to investigate."

"Because I didn't want you guys to blackjack Erno down at Rudyard. Or string things out until he was dead or incompetent. He's telling the truth and you know it, Muriel."

"Hardly. Your guy confessed, Arthur."

"My guy has an IQ of 73. He knows other people are smarter than he is. He's accustomed to not understanding things and accepting what he's told. And don't think Larry didn't provide some incentives. Most of the time when a grown man c.r.a.ps his trousers, it's because something's scared him to death"not because he has a guilty conscience. You don't live in Shangri-la, Muriel, and neither do I."

The reference to Shangri-la, which had been such a zinger from Erno in court, was too much of a dig. Muriel's voice took on more heat.

"Arthur, I was there. There wasn't a mark on your guy. And he looked me in the eye and said he'd been treated fine."

"Because he was too bewildered to say anything else. Rommy has no history of violence. Erno's shot two other people, not even counting these murders. Who does the collar fit, Muriel?"

Oddly, Arthur felt he had the upper hand in this argument. He had more points. His only problem was that Rommy had never explained his confession in terms that made any sense. He did not really claim the statements were coerced, nor had any of his earlier lawyers, with whom Arthur still had had only minimal communication.

As usual, when she was falling behind, Muriel cut the conversation short and said simply, 'Thursday.' Arthur tried his luck next with Mrs. Carriere's lawyers. Sandy, always courtly, took a moment to praise Arthur's work in this case.

"I'm following your progress in the press, Arthur. Most notable." Stern, the dignified dean of the criminal defense bar in Kindle County, understood the value of his compliments. Having dispensed them, he transferred the call to his daughter Marta, with whom he'd practiced for nearly a decade now. She was representing Mrs. Carriere.

Arthur had still been a deputy P.A. when Marta had started here. In those days, she offered a studied contrast to her father, sc.r.a.ppy even when it was unnecessary, socially awkward, and less than tidy in her appearance. But she was devilishly bright and people said Sandy'd had a moderating influence on her over the years. Usually, criminal defense lawyers were collaborative. They had a common enemy in the state and a joint cause in limiting intrusions on their clients' rights. But over the phone, Marta seemed stiff, probably due to her skirmishes with Arthur years ago. She would disclose virtually nothing, beyond the fact that Genevieve was a close friend and co-worker of Luisa Remardi's.

"Genevieve has directed us not to give previews to either side," said Marta. "She wants no part of this. She has to interrupt the family vacation to come down here for the dep, as it is."

"Is she going to hurt me?"

Marta deliberated. The protocol among defenders required at least fair warning.

"If Muriel sticks to her announced agenda, there will be wounds, but nothing fatal. But make sure you walk in Muriel's footprints on cross. Don't try to break new ground."

After the call, Arthur pondered the value of this advice. The Sterns both played straight, but if their client was a reluctant witness, it was very much in her interest to discourage prolonged questioning.

On Thursday, a little before 2 p.m., Arthur walked over to the Morgan Towers, the city's tallest building. Sandy Stern was an immigrant, but his office was furnished as if someone in the family had been around to fight the Revolution. In the reception area where Arthur was required to wait, there were Chippendale pieces, decorated with china figures and sterling silver implements. Eventually Muriel arrived her standard ten minutes late, with Larry in tow. Marta then led them back to an interior conference room. Mrs. Carriere sat tensely beside an oval walnut table with a gla.s.s top. She was dressed formally, in a dark suit with a collarless jacket, and looked very much the physician's wife, a bit plump, rather pretty, with soup-spoon eyes. Her hair, white decades early, lent her a forthright air. Muriel greeted Mrs. Carriere, but received a bare h.e.l.lo in return.

The court reporter, who'd set up his steno machine beside the witness, asked Mrs. Carriere to raise her right hand and applied the oath. To start, Muriel's questioning went no further than Arthur had antic.i.p.ated based on Pamela's usually thorough research. Mrs. Carriere was at home now, after working for years for Trans-National Air as a ticket agent. Her husband, Matthew, was an internist in the suburbs in Greenwood County, and they had four kids. Genevieve answered with pained exactness. Marta had schooled her well. Her client considered the questions and responded as briefly as possible. She was going to get an A+ in Witness 101.

When Muriel finally mentioned Erno, Genevieve acknowledged knowing him as the TN Security Supervisor at DuSable Field.

"Did Luisa Remardi ever discuss Mr. Erdai with you?" asked Muriel.

Arthur objected immediately that the question called for hearsay. Muriel and he fenced for a moment, making arguments for the record, but in a deposition under the federal procedure, a judge would only rule later. For the time being, Mrs. Carriere was required to answer, and Marta reinforced that with a slight nod toward her client. As the years had slid by, Marta had grown somewhat stout, but she also had cleaned up her act. She'd a.s.sumed a coiffed look, and wore a wedding ring, too, Arthur noticed. The parade went on. Everybody but him.

"Yes," said Genevieve.

"Did she ever discuss the nature of her relationship with Erno Erdai?"

Genevieve said she did not understand the question.

"Did she ever express negative sentiments about Mr. Erdai?"

"Yes."

"And were there occasions when she made these expressions and appeared to be in a highly excited or emotional state?"

"I suppose you could say that."

The rule excluding hearsay had an exception allowing so-called excited utterances to be admitted, on the theory that when people were overwrought, they were unlikely to speak calculated untruths. The exception, like many rules of evidence, had been around for centuries and took no account of contemporary learning about the soundness of what people said or observed under stress, but with that foundation, Arthur knew Genevieve Carriere's testimony, whatever it was, would be received in court.

"Mrs. Carriere," said Muriel, "I would like you to think back to the occasion when Ms. Remardi was most excited and spoke to you about Erno Erdai. Can you remember that time?"

"I remember a time. I don't know if it was when she was most upset, but she was upset."

"All right. When did this conversation occur?"

"About six weeks before Luisa was killed."

"Where were you?"

"Probably at the ticket counter at DuSable Field. We shared a drawer. Our shifts overlapped. Things were usually very quiet then and we'd count out the drawer and spend a lot of time gabbing."

"And do you know of your own independent knowledge what had taken place to upset Ms. Remardi?"

"If you mean did I see what had happened, the answer is no."

"Did Luisa describe the event?"

Arthur asked for a continuing hearsay objection. He could tell that Muriel realized he was just attempting to break her flow, because she did not even look in his direction as she called on Mrs. Carriere to answer.

"Luisa said she'd been searched for drugs. A pat-down search."

"Did she explain what was upsetting about the search?"

"She didn't need to explain. It's obviously upsetting to come to work and get frisked. But she was especially angry with the way they went about it. She put it in pretty crude terms."

"What exactly did she say?"

Genevieve darted a resentful look at Muriel and permitted herself a sigh.

"She said they searched her through her clothing, but it was pretty thorough"she made some remark to the effect that she'd had s.e.x with men who hadn't touched her in all those places."

The court reporter, whose job description required him to remain as uncommunicative as statuary, broke code and laughed out loud. Around the table, the lawyers smiled, but Mrs. Carriere did not relax her tense expression.

"And when after this search did she speak to you about it?"

"Within an hour. They'd done it right before I came on."

"And what did she say about Erno Erdai?"

"Verbatim, again?"