He had given Suzanne several pieces of jewelry. Fine jewelry. But then she had started accepting other pieces from other men, and demanding that he lie for her.

Smith felt the glow from being with Barbara ooze away. A moment later he realized that for the second time the cabbie's impatient voice was saying, "Hey, mister, you asleep? You're home."

Geoff did not stay long after Kerry had called Kinellen. "Bob agrees with me," she told him as she sipped the coffee.

"No other suggestions?" "No, of course not. Sort of his usual, 'You handle it, Kerry. Anything you decide is fine.'"

She put down the cup. "I'm not being fair. Bob honestly did seem concerned, and I don't know what else he could suggest."

They were sitting in the kitchen. She had turned off the overhead light, thinking they would carry their coffee into the living room. Now the only illumination in the room came from the dim light in a wall fixture.

Geoff studied the grave face across the table from him, aware of the hint of sadness in Kerry's hazel eyes, the determination in the set of her generous mouth and finely sculpted chin, the vulnerability in her overall posture. He wanted to put his arms around her, to tell her to lean on him.

But he knew she didn't want that. Kerry McGrath did not expect or want to lean on anyone. He tried again to apologize for his dismissive remark to her the other night, suggesting that she was being self-serving, and for Deidre Reardon's intrusive visit to her office. "I had a h.e.l.l of a nerve," he said. "I know that if you believed in your heart that Skip Reardon was innocent, you of all people would not hesitate in trying to help him. You're a stand-up guy, McGrath."

Am I? Kerry wondered. It was not the moment to share with Geoff the information she had found in the prosecutor's file about Jimmy Weeks. She would tell him, but first she wanted to see Dr. Smith again. He had angrily denied that he had touched Suzanne surgically, but he had never said that he hadn't sent her to someone else. That meant that technically he wasn't a liar.

As Geoff left a few minutes later, they stood for a moment in the foyer. "I like being with you," he told her, "and that has nothing to do with the Reardon case. How about our going out to dinner on Sat.u.r.day night and bringing Robin with us?"

"She'd like that."

As Geoff opened the door he leaned down and brushed her cheek with his lips. "I know it's unnecessary to tell you to double lock the door and to turn on the alarm, but I will suggest you don't do any heavy thinking about that picture after you go to bed."

When he was gone, Kerry went upstairs to check on Robin. She was working on her science report and did not hear her mother come in. From the doorway Kerry studied her child. Robin's back was to her, her long dark brown hair spilling over her shoulders, her head bent in concentration, her legs wrapped around the rungs of the chair.

She is the innocent victim of whoever took that picture, Kerry thought. Robin is like me. Independent. She's going to hate having to be driven to and picked up from school, hate not being able to walk over to Ca.s.sie's by herself.

And then in her mind she heard again Deidre Reardon's pleading voice begging her to ask herself how she would like to see her child caged for ten years for a crime she didn't commit.

... Friday, November 3rd

The plea bargaining was not going well for Barney Haskell. At 7:00 P.M. on Friday morning he met attorney Mark Young in his handsome law office in Summit, half an hour and a world away from the federal courthouse in downtown Newark.

Young, head of Barney's defense team, was about the same age he was, fifty-five, but there the resemblance ended, Barney thought sourly. Young was smoothly elegant even at this early hour, dressed in his lawyer's pin-striped suit that seemed to fit like a second skin. But Barney knew that when the jacket came off, those impressive shoulders disappeared. Recently the Star-Ledger had done a write-up on the high-profile lawyer, including the fact that he wore one-thousand-dollar suits.

Barney bought his suits off the rack. Jimmy Weeks had never paid him enough to allow him to do otherwise. Now he was facing years in prison if he stuck with Jimmy. So far the Feds were hanging tough. They would only talk reduced sentence, not a free ride, if he handed Jimmy over to them. They thought they could convict Weeks without Barney.

Maybe. But maybe not, Barney thought. He figured they were bluffing. He had seen Jimmy's lawyers get him off before. Kinellen and Bartlett were good, and they had always managed to get him through those past investigations without any real damage.

This time, though, judging from the U.S. attorney's opening statement, the Feds had plenty of hard evidence. Still, they had to be scared that Jimmy would pull another rabbit out of his hat.

Barney rubbed his hand over his fleshy cheek. He knew he had the innocent look of a dumb bank clerk, an aspect that had always been helpful. People tended not to notice or remember him. Even the guys closest to Weeks never paid much attention to him. They thought of him as a gofer. None of them had realized he was the one who converted the under-the-table cash into investments and took care of bank accounts all over the world.

"We can get you into the witness protection program," Young was saying. "But only after you've served a minimum of five years." "Too much," Barney grunted.

"Look, you've been hinting you can tie Jimmy to a murder," Young said as he examined a ragged edge on his thumbnail. "Barney, I've milked that as far as I can. You've got to either put up or shut up. They'd love to hang a murder on Weeks. That way they'll never have to deal with him again. If he's in for life, his organization probably would collapse. That's what they're gunning for."

"I can tie him to one. Then they'll have to prove he did it. Isn't there talk that the U.S. attorney on this case is thinking about running for governor against Frank Green?"

"If each gets his party's nomination," Young commented as he reached in his desk drawer for a nail file. "Barney, I'm afraid you'll have to stop talking in circles. You'd better trust me with whatever it is you're hinting about. Otherwise I won't be able to help you make an intelligent choice."

A frown momentarily crossed Barney's cherubic face. Then his forehead cleared and he said, "All right. I'll tell you. Remember the Sweetheart Murder Case, the one involving that s.e.xy young wife who was found dead with roses scattered all over her? It was ten years ago, but it was the case that Frank Green made his name on."

Young nodded. "I remember. He got a conviction on the husband. Actually it wasn't that hard, but the case got a lot of publicity and sold a lot of newspapers." His eyes narrowed. "What about it? You're not saying Weeks was connected to that case, are you?"

"You remember how the husband claimed he didn't give his wife those roses, that they must have been sent by some man she was involved with?" At Young's nod, Haskell continued, "Jimmy Weeks sent those roses to Suzanne Reardon. I should know. I delivered them to her house at twenty of six the night she died. There was a card with them that he wrote himself. I'll show you what was on it. Give me a piece of paper."

Young shoved the telephone message pad at him. Barney reached for his pen. A moment later he handed back the pad. "Jimmy called Suzanne 'Sweetheart,'" he explained. "He had made a date with her for that night. He filled out the card like this."

Young examined the paper Barney pushed back to him. It held six notes of music in the key of C, with five words written underneath: "I'm in love with you." It was signed "J."

Young hummed the notes, then looked at Jimmy. "The opening phrase of the song 'Let Me Call You Sweetheart,' "he said.

"Uh-huh. Followed by the rest of the first line of the song, 'I'm in love with you.'" "Where is this card?"

"That's the point. n.o.body mentioned it being in the house when the body was found. And the roses were scattered over her body. I only delivered them, then I kept going. I was on my way to Pennsylvania for Jimmy. But afterwards I heard the others talking. Jimmy was crazy about that woman, and it drove him nuts that she was always playing up to other guys. When he sent her those flowers he had already given her an ultimatum that she had to get a divorce--and stay away from other men."

"What was her reaction?"

"Oh, she liked to make him jealous. It seemed to make her feel good. I know one of our guys tried to warn her that Jimmy could be dangerous, but she just laughed. My guess is that that night she went too far. Throwing those roses over her body is just the kind of thing Jimmy would do."

"And the card was missing?"

Barney shrugged. "You didn't hear nothing about it at the trial. I was ordered to keep my mouth shut about her. I do know that she kept Jimmy waiting or stood him up that night. A couple of the guys told me he exploded and said he'd kill her. You know Jimmy's temper. And there was one other thing. Jimmy had bought her some expensive jewelry. I know, because I paid for it and kept a copy of the receipts. There was a lot of talk about jewelry at the trial, stuff the husband claimed he hadn't given her, but anything they found, the father swore he gave her."

Young tore the sheet of paper Barney had used off the pad, folded it and put it in his breast pocket. "Barney, I think you're going to be able to enjoy a wonderful new life in Ohio. You realize that you've not only delivered the U.S. attorney a chance to nail Jimmy for murder but also to annihilate Frank Green for prosecuting an innocent man."

They smiled across the desk at each other. "Tell them I don't want to live in Ohio," Barney joked.

They left the office together and walked down the corridor to the bank of elevators. When one arrived and the doors started to part, Barney sensed immediately that something was wrong. There was no light on inside it. Gut instinct made him turn to run.

He was too late. He died immediately, moments before Mark Young felt the first bullet shred the lapel of his thousand-dollar suit.

Kerry heard about the double homicide on WCBS Radio as she was driving to work. The bodies were discovered by Mark Young's private secretary. The report stated that Young and his client Barney Haskell had been scheduled to meet in the parking lot at 7:00 A.M., and it was surmised that Young had disengaged the alarm system when he opened the downstairs door of the small building. The security guard did not come on duty until eight o'clock.

The outside door was unlocked when the secretary arrived at 7:45, but she thought Young had simply forgotten to relock it, as she reported he often had in the past. Then she had taken the elevator upstairs and made the discovery.

The report concluded with a statement from Mike Murkowski, the prosecutor of Ess.e.x County. He said it appeared both men had been robbed. They might have been followed into the building by potential muggers and then lost their lives when they tried to resist. Barney Haskell had been shot in the back of his head and neck.

The CBS reporter asked if the fact that Barney Haskell reportedly had been in the process of plea bargaining in the Jimmy Weeks case, and was rumored to be about to connect Weeks to a murder, was being considered as a possible motive for the double slaying. The prosecutor's sharp answer was, "No comment."

It sounds like a mob hit, Kerry thought as she snapped off the radio. And Bob represents Jimmy Weeks. Wow, what a mess!

As she had expected, there was a message from Frank Green waiting on her desk. It was very short. "See me." She tossed off her coat and went across the main hall to his private office.

He did not waste words. "What was Reardon's mother doing coming in here and demanding to see you?"

Kerry chose her words carefully. "She came because I went down to the prison to see Skip Reardon and he received from me the correct impression that I didn't see anything new that would be grounds for an appeal."

She could see the lines around Green's mouth relax, but it was clear he was angry. "I could have told you that. Kerry, ten years ago if I had thought there was one shred of evidence to suggest Skip Reardon's innocence, I'd have run it into the ground. There wasn't. Do you know what kind of hay the media would make of this if they thought my office was investigating that case now? They'd love to portray Skip Reardon as a victim. It sells papers --and it's the kind of negative publicity they love to print about political candidates."

His eyes narrowed, and he thudded his fingers on the desk for emphasis. "I'm d.a.m.n sorry you weren't in the office when we were investigating that murder. I'm d.a.m.n sorry you didn't see that beautiful woman strangled so viciously that her eyes had almost popped out. Skip Reardon had shouted at her so loudly in the morning that the meter reader who overheard them wasn't sure whether he should call the cops before something happened. That was his statement under oath on the stand. I happen to think you'll make a good judge, Kerry, if you get the chance, but a good judge exercises judgment. And right now I think yours is lousy."

If you get the chance.

Was that a warning? she wondered. "Frank, I'm sorry if I've upset you. If you don't mind, let's move on to something else." She took Robin's picture from the pocket of her jacket and handed it to him. "This came in a plain white envelope in yesterday's mail. Robin is wearing the outfit she had on Tuesday morning when she said she saw that unfamiliar car parked across the street and thought someone might be after her. She was right."

The anger vanished from Green's face. "Let's talk about protecting her."

He agreed with Kerry's plan to notify the school, and to drop Robin off and have her picked up. "I'll find out if we have any convicted s.e.x offenders recently released or moved into the area. I still think that sleaze you convicted last week may have friends who want to get back at you. We'll request that the Hohokus police keep an eye on your house. Do you have a fire extinguisher?"

"A sprinkler system."

"Get a couple of extinguishers just in case."

"You mean in case of a firebomb?"

"It's been known to happen. I don't want to frighten you, but precautions have to be taken."

It was only as she turned to leave that he mentioned the murder in Summit.

"Jimmy Weeks worked fast, but your ex is still going to have a h.e.l.l of a time getting him off, even without Haskell's plea bargain."

"Frank, you talk as though it's a foregone conclusion that this was a hit!"

"Everybody knows it was, Kerry. The wonder is that Jimmy waited this long to get Haskell. Be glad you got rid of Weeks' mouthpiece when you did."

Bob Kinellen did not hear the news about Barney Haskell and Mark Young until he entered the courthouse at ten of nine and the media pounced on him. As soon as he heard what had happened, he realized that he had been expecting it.

How could Haskell have been so stupid as to think Jimmy would let him live to testify against him?

He managed to appear appropriately shocked, and to sound convincing when, in answer to a question, he said that Haskell's death would in no way change Mr. Weeks' defense strategy. "James Forrest Weeks is innocent of all charges," he said. "Whatever deal Mr. Haskell was trying to make with the U.S. attorney would have been exposed in court as self-serving and dishonest. I deeply regret the death of Mr. Haskell and my fellow attorney and friend Mark Young."

He managed to escape into an elevator and brush past other media representatives on the second floor. Jimmy was already in the courtroom. "Heard about Haskell?"

"Yes, I did, Jimmy."

"n.o.body's safe. These muggers are everywhere."

"I guess they are, Jimmy."

"It does kind of level the playing field though, doesn't it, Bobby?"

"Yes, I would say so."

"But I don't like a level playing field."

"I know that, Jimmy."

"Just so you know."

Bob spoke carefully. "Jimmy, someone sent my ex-wife a picture of our little girl, Robin. It was taken as she was leaving for school on Tuesday by the same person who was in a car that made a last-minute U-turn right in front of her. Robin thought he was going to come up on the sidewalk and run her over."

"They always joke about New Jersey drivers, Bobby."

"Jimmy, nothing had better happen to my daughter."

"Bobby, I don't know what you're talking about. When are they going to make your ex-wife a judge and get her out of the prosecutor's office? She shouldn't be.poking around in other people's business."

Bob knew that his question had been asked and answered. One of Jimmy's people had taken the picture of Robin. He, Bob, would have to get Kerry to back off investigating the Reardon case. And he had better see to it that Jimmy was acquitted in this one.

"Good morning, Jimmy. Morning, Bob."

Bob looked up to see his father-in-law, Anthony Bartlett, slip into the chair next to Jimmy.

"Very sad about Haskell and Young," Bartlett murmured.

"Tragic," Jimmy said.

At that moment the sheriff's officer motioned to the prosecutor and Bob and Bartlett to step inside the judge's chambers. A somber Judge Benton looked up from his desk. "I a.s.sume you have all been made aware of the tragedy involving Mr. Haskell and Mr. Young." The attorneys nodded quietly.

"As difficult as it will be, I believe that, given the two months already invested in this trial, it should continue. Fortunately, the jury is sequestered and won't be exposed to this news, including the speculation that Mr. Weeks may be involved. I will simply tell them that the absence of Mr. Haskell and Mr. Young means that Mr. Haskell's case is no longer before them.

"I will instruct them not to speculate on what happened and not to let it affect their consideration of Mr. Weeks' case in any way.

"Okay--let's continue."

The jury filed in and settled in their seats. Bob could see the quizzical looks on their faces as they looked over to Haskell's and Young's empty chairs. As the judge instructed them not to speculate on what had happened, Bob knew d.a.m.n well that that was exactly what they were doing. They think he pled guilty, Bob thought. That's not going to help us.

As Bob pondered how badly this would hurt Weeks, his eyes rested on juror number 10, Lillian Wagner. He knew that Wagner, prominent in the community, so proud of her Ivy League husband and sons, so aware of her position and social status, was a problem. There had to be a reason Jimmy demanded he accept her.

What Bob did not know was that an "a.s.sociate" of Jimmy Weeks had quietly approached Alfred Wight, juror number 2, just before the jury had been sequestered. Weeks had learned that Wight had a terminally ill wife and was nearly bankrupt from the medical expenses. The desperate Mr. Wight had agreed to accept $100,000 in exchange for a guarantee that his vote would be Not Guilty.

Kerry looked with dismay at the stack of files on the worktable beside her desk. She knew she had to get to them soon; it was time to a.s.sign new cases. In addition, there were some plea bargains she had to discuss with Frank or Carmen, the first a.s.sistant. There was so much to be done there, and she should be focusing her attention.

Instead she asked her secretary to try to reach Dr. Craig Riker, the psychiatrist she sometimes used as a prosecution witness in murder trials. Riker was an experienced, no-nonsense doctor whose philosophy she shared. He believed that, while life does deal some pretty tough blows, a person just has to lick his wounds and then get on with it. Most important, he had a way of defusing the obfuscating psychiatric jargon spouted by the shrinks the defense attorneys lined up.

She especially loved him when, asked if he considered a defendant insane, he answered, "I think he's nuts, but not insane. He knew exactly what he was doing when he went into his aunt's home and killed her. He'd read the will."

"Dr. Riker is with a patient," Kerry's secretary reported. "He'll call you back at ten of eleven."

And true to his word, at exactly ten of eleven Janet called in that Dr. Riker was on the phone. "What's up, Kerry?"

She told him about Dr. Smith giving other women his daughter's face. "He denied in so many words that he did any work on Suzanne," she explained, "which could be true. He may have referred her to a colleague. But is making other women look like Suzanne a form of grieving?"