"Jimmy Weeks has made sure his public image as basic good guy has been carefully nurtured," Kerry told her. "You're not the only one who thinks he's a victim of government hara.s.sment. But trust me--nothing could be further from the truth." She turned to Skip. "I want you to describe the jewelry that you believe Suzanne had received from another man."

"One piece was a gold bracelet with zodiac figures engraved in silver, except for the Capricorn symbol. That was the centerpiece, and all encrusted with diamonds. Suzanne was a Capricorn. It was obviously a very expensive piece. When I asked about it, she told me her father had given it to her. The next time I saw him, I thanked him for his generosity to her, and, just as I expected, he didn't know what I was talking about." "That's the kind of item we might be able to trace. We can put out a flyer to jewelers in New Jersey and Manhattan for openers," Kerry said. "It's surprising how many of them can either identify a piece they've sold years before, or recognize someone's style when it's a one-of-a-kind design."

Skip told her about an emerald-and-diamond ring that looked like a wedding band. The diamonds alternated with the emeralds and were set in a delicate pink-gold band.

"Another one she claimed her father gave her?"

"Yes. Her story was that he was making up for the years he hadn't given her anything. She said that some of the pieces were family jewelry from his mother. That was easier to believe. She also had a flower-shaped pin that was obviously very old."

"I remember that one," Deidre Reardon said. "It had a smaller bud-shaped pin attached to it by a silver chain. I still have a picture I cut out of one of the local papers showing Suzanne wearing it at some sort of fund-raiser. Another heirloom-type piece was the diamond bracelet Suzanne was wearing when she died, Skip."

"Where was Suzanne's jewelry that night?" Kerry asked.

"Except for what she was wearing, in her jewelry case on top of her dressing table," Skip said. "She was supposed to put it in the lockbox in her dressing room, but she usually didn't bother."

"Skip, according to your testimony at the trial several items were missing from your bedroom that night."

"There were two things missing that I'm positive of. One was the flower pin. The problem is that I can't swear it was in the jewelry box that day. But I can swear that a miniature frame that was on the night table was gone."

"Describe it to me," Kerry said.

"Let me, Skip," Deidre Reardon interrupted. "You see, Kerry, that little frame was exquisite. It was reputed to have been made by an a.s.sistant to the jeweler Faberg. My husband was in the army of occupation after the war and bought it in Germany. It was a blue enamel oval with a gold border that was encrusted with pearls. It was my wedding present to Skip and Suzanne."

"Suzanne put a picture of herself in it," Skip explained.

Kerry saw the guard at the door look at the wall clock. "We've only got a few minutes," she said hurriedly. "When did you last see that frame, Skip?"

"It was there that last morning when I got dressed. I remember particularly, because I looked at it when I was changing the stuff in my pockets to the suit I'd just put on. That night, when the detectives told me they were taking me in for questioning, one of them came up to the bedroom with me while I got a sweater. The frame was gone."

"If Suzanne was involved with someone else, is it possible she gave that picture of herself to someone that day?"

"No. It was one of her best pictures, and she liked looking at it. And I don't think even she would have had the guts to give my mother's wedding present away."

"And it never showed up?" Kerry asked.

"Never. But when I tried to say it might have been stolen, the prosecutor argued that if a thief had been there, all that jewelry would have been gone."

The bell signaled the end of visiting hours. This time when Skip got up, he put one arm around his mother, the other around Beth, and drew them to him. Over their heads, he looked at Kerry and Geoff. His smile made him seem ten years younger. "Kerry, you find a way to get me out of this place and I'll build a house for you that you'll never want to leave for the rest of your life." Then he suddenly laughed. "My G.o.d," he said, "In this place, I can't believe I said that."

Across the room, convict Will Toth was sitting with his girlfriend, but he gave most of his attention to the group with Skip Reardon. He had seen Skip's mother, the lawyer and the girlfriend here any number of times. Then last week he had recognized Kerry McGrath when she visited Skip. He would know her anywhere--McGrath was the reason he would spend the next fifteen years in this h.e.l.lhole. She had been the prosecutor at his trial. It was clear that today she was being very cozy with Reardon; he had noticed that she spent the whole time writing down what he was telling her.

Will and his girlfriend stood up when the signal came that visiting hours were over. As he kissed her good-bye, he whispered, "Call your brother as soon as you get home and tell him to pa.s.s the word that McGrath was down here again today and taking lots and lots of notes."

Si Morgan, senior FBI agent in charge of investigating the Hamilton theft, was in his office at Quantico on Sat.u.r.day afternoon, going over computer printouts concerning that case and the others believed to be related.

They had asked the Hamiltons, along with burglary victims in similar cases, to furnish names of all guests who attended any gathering or party at their homes during the several months before they were victimized. The computer had created a master file and then a separate list of the names that appeared frequently.

The trouble, Si thought, is that so many of these people travel in the same circles that it's not uncommon to see certain people included regularly, especially at the big functions.

Nevertheless there were about a dozen names that turned up consistently. Si studied that alphabetized list.

The first one was Arnott, Jason.

Nothing there, Si thought. Arnott had been quietly investigated a couple of years ago and pa.s.sed as clean. He had a healthy stock portfolio, and his personal accounts didn't show the sudden infusions of cash a.s.sociated with burglary. His interest income was also consistent with his lifestyle. His income tax statement accurately reflected his stock market transactions. He was well respected as an art and antiques expert. He entertained frequently and was well liked.

If there was a red flag in his profile, it was that Arnott was perhaps a little too perfect. That and the fact that his in- depth knowledge of antiques and fine art was consistent with the selective first-rate-only approach the thief took to the victims' possessions. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to run a check on him again if nothing else shows up, Si thought. But he was much more interested in another name on the frequent list, Sheldon Landi, a man who had his own public relations firm.

Landi certainly seems to rub shoulders with the beautiful people, Si mused. He doesn't make much money, yet he lives high. Landi also fit the general profile of the man the computer told them to look for: middle-aged; unmarried; college educated; self- employed.

They had sent out six hundred flyers with the security-camera photo to the names culled from the guest lists. So far they had received thirty tips. One of them came from a woman who had phoned to say she thought the culprit might be her ex-husband. "He robbed me blind the whole time we were married and lied his way into a big settlement when we were divorced, and he has that kind of pointy chin I see in the picture," she'd explained eagerly. "I'd check on him if I were you."

Now, as he leaned back in his desk chair, Si thought about that call and smiled. The ex-husband the woman was talking about was a United States senator.

... Sunday, November 5th

Jonathan and Grace Hoover were expecting Kerry and Robin round one o'clock. They both believed that a leisurely Sunday afternoon meal was a civilized and restful custom.

Unfortunately, the brightness of Sat.u.r.day had not lasted. Sunday had dawned gray and chilly, but by noon the house was pleasantly filled with the succulent aroma of roasting lamb. The fire was blazing in their favorite room, the library, and they were contentedly settled there as they awaited their guests.

Grace was absorbed in the Times crossword puzzle, and Jonathan was deep in the paper's "Arts and Leisure" section. He looked up when he heard Grace murmur in annoyance and saw that the pen had slipped from her fingers onto the carpet. He watched her laboriously begin the process of bending over to retrieve it.

"Grace," he said reprovingly, as he sprang up to get it for her.

She sighed as she accepted the pen from him. "Honestly, Jonathan, what would I ever do without you?"

"You'll never have to try, dear. And may I say that the sentiment is mutual."

For a moment she held his hand to her face. "I know it is, dear. And believe me, it is one of the things that gives me the strength to carry on."

On the way over to the Hoovers', Kerry and Robin talked about the previous evening. "It was much more fun staying at the Dorsos' house for dinner than going to a restaurant," Robin exulted. "Mom,! like them."

"I do too," Kerry admitted without reluctance.

"Mrs. Dorso told me that it isn't that hard to be a good cook."

"I agree. I'm afraid I let you down."

"Oh, Mom." Robin's tone was reproachful. She folded her arms and stared straight ahead at the narrowing road that indicated they were approaching Riverdale. "You make good pasta," she said defensively.

"I do, but that's about it."

Robin changed the subject. "Mom, Geoff's mother thinks he likes you. So do I. We talked about it." "You what?"

"Mrs. Dorso said that Geoff never, ever brings a date home. She told me you're the first since his prom days. She said that was because his little sisters used to play tricks on his dates and that now he's gun shy."

"Probably," Kerry said offhandedly. She turned her mind from the realization that coming back from the prison, she had been so weary that she had closed her eyes for just a minute awakened later, resting against Geoff's shoulder. And that it had felt so natural, so right.

The visit with Grace and Jonathan Hoover was, as expected, thoroughly agreeable. Kerry did know that at some point would get around to discussing the Reardon case, but it wouldn't be before coffee was served. That was when Robin was free to leave the table to read or try one of the new computer games Jonathan always had waiting for her.

As they ate, Jonathan entertained them with talk about the legislative sessions and the budget the governor was trying to get through. "You see, Robin," he explained, "politics is like a football game. The governor is the coach who sends in the plays, and the leaders of his party in the senate and the a.s.sembly are the quarterbacks."

"That's you, isn't it?" Robin interrupted.

"In the senate, yes, I guess you could call me that," Jonathan agreed. "The rest of our team protects whoever is carrying the ball."

"And the others?"

"Those from the other team do their d.a.m.nedest to break up the game."

"Jonathan," Grace said quietly.

"Sorry, my dear. But there have been more attempts at pork- barreling this week than I've seen in many years."

"What's that?" Robin asked.

"Pork-barreling is an ancient but not necessarily honorable custom wherein legislators add unnecessary expenses to the budget in order to win favor with the voters in their district. Some people carry it to a fine art."

Kerry smiled. "Robin, I hope you realize how lucky you are to be learning the workings of government from someone like Uncle Jonathan."

"All very selfish," Jonathan a.s.sured them. "By the time Kerry is sworn in for the Supreme Court in Washington, we'll be getting Robin elected to the legislature and have her on her way too."

Here it comes, Kerry thought. "Rob, if you're finished, you can see what's up with the computer."

"There's something there you'll like, Robin," Jonathan told her. "I guarantee it."

The housekeeper was going around with the coffeepot. Kerry was sure she would need the second cup. From here on it's all going downhill, she thought.

She did not wait for Jonathan to ask about the Reardon case. Instead she presented everything to him and Grace exactly as she knew it, and concluded by saying, "It's clear Dr. Smith was lying. The question is how much was he lying? It's also clear that Jimmy Weeks has some very important reason not to want that case reopened. Otherwise why would he or his people be involving Robin?"

"Kinellen actually threatened that something could happen to Robin?" Grace's tone was icy with contempt.

"Warned is the better word, I think." Kerry turned, appealing to Jonathan. "Look, you must understand that I don't want to upset anything for Frank Green. He would make a good governor, and I know you were talking to me as well as explaining to Robin what goes on in the legislature. He would carry out Governor Marshall's policies. And Jonathan, dammit, I want to be a judge. I know I can be a good one. I know I can be fair without being a pushover or a bleeding heart. But what kind of judge would I make if, as a prosecutor, I turned my back on something that more and more appears to be a flagrant miscarriage of justice?"

She realized her voice had gone up slightly. "Sorry," she said. "I'm getting carried away."

"I suppose we do what we must," Grace said quietly.

"My thought is that I'm not trying to ride a horse down Main Street and wave to the crowd. If something is wrong I'd like to find out what it is and then let Geoff Dorso carry the ball. I'm going to see Dr. Smith tomorrow afternoon. The key is to discredit his testimony. I frankly think he's on the verge of a breakdown. Stalking someone is a crime. If I can push him enough to get him to break down and admit that he lied on the stand, that he didn't give Suzanne that jewelry, that someone else may well have been involved, then we've got a new ball game. Geoff Dorso could take over and file a motion for a new trial. It will take a few months for it to be properly filed and heard. By then Frank could be governor."

"But you, my dear, may not be a member of the judiciary." Jonathan shook his head. "You're very persuasive, Kerry, and I admire you even while I worry about what this may cost you. First and foremost, though, is Robin. The threat may be just that, a threat, but you must take it seriously."

"I do take it seriously, Jonathan. Except when she was with Geoff Dorso's family, she hasn't been out of my sight all weekend. She won't be left alone for a minute."

"Kerry, anytime you feel your house isn't safe, leave her here," Grace urged. "Our security is excellent, and we'll keep the outside gate closed. It's alarmed, so we'll know if anyone tries to come in. We'll find a retired cop to drive her back and forth from school."

Kerry put her hand over Grace's fingers and gave them a hint of a squeeze. "I love you two," she said simply. "Jonathan, please don't be disappointed that I have to do this."

"I'm proud of you, I guess," Jonathan said. "I'll do my best to keep your name in for the appointment but..."

"But don't count on it. I know," Kerry said slowly. "Goodness, choices can be pretty tough, can't they?"

"I think we'd better change the subject," Jonathan said briskly.

"But keep me posted, Kerry."

"Of course."

"On a happier note, Grace felt well enough to go out to dinner the other night," he said.

"Oh, Grace, I'm so glad," Kerry said sincerely.

"We met someone there who's been on my mind ever since, purely because I can't remember where I've met him before," Grace said. "A Jason Arnott."

Kerry had not thought it necessary to talk about Jason Arnott. For the moment she decided to say nothing except, "Why do you think you know him?"

"I don't know," Grace said. "But I'm sure that either I've met him before, or I've seen his picture in the paper." She shrugged. "It will come to me eventually. It always does."

... Monday, November 6th

The sequestered jury in the Jimmy Weeks trial did not know about the a.s.sa.s.sination of Barney Haskell and Mark Young, but the media were making sure that everyone else did. Over the weekend many newspaper columns had been dedicated to the investigation, and every television news program featured seemingly endless scene- of-the-crime coverage.

A frightened witness, whose ident.i.ty was not revealed, had finally phoned the police. He had been on his way to withdraw cash from an ATM and had seen a dark blue Toyota pull into the parking lot of the small building that housed Mark Young's law office. That was at ten after seven. The front right tire of the witness's car had felt wobbly, and he had pulled over to the curb to examine it. He was crouched beside it when he saw the door of the office building open again and a man in his thirties run back to the Toyota. His face was obscured, but he was carrying what appeared to be an oversized gun.

The witness got part of the Toyota's out-of-state license number. Good police work tracked the car down and identified it as one that had been stolen Thursday night in Philadelphia. Late Friday, its burned-out frame was found in Newark.

Even the slight possibility that Haskell and Young had been the victims of a random mugging disappeared in light of that evidence. It was obviously a mob hit, and there was no doubt it had been ordered by Jimmy Weeks. But the police were unsure as to how to prove it. The witness would not be able to identify the gunman. The car was gone. The bullets that had killed the victims were undoubtedly from an unlicensed gun that was now at the bottom of a river, or would be exchanged for a toy at Christmas with no questions asked.

On Monday, Geoff Dorso once again spent a few hours at the Jimmy Weeks trial. The government was building its case brick by brick, with solid, seemingly irrefutable evidence. Royce, the U.S. attorney who seemed intent on being the candidate for governor opposite Frank Green, was resisting the impulse to grandstand. A scholarly-looking man with thinning hair and steel-framed gla.s.ses, his strategy was to be utterly plausible, to close off any alternate explanations for the outrageously complicated business affairs and money transfers of Weeks Enterprises.

He had charts that he referred to with the help of a long pointer, the kind Geoff remembered the nuns using when he was in grammar school. Geoff decided that Royce was a master at making Weeks' affairs easy for the jurors to grasp. One did not have to be a mathematical whiz or a CPA to follow his explanations.

Royce got the pilot of Jimmy Weeks' private plane on the stand and hammered at him. "How often did you fill out the appropriate paperwork for the corporate jet?... How often did Mr. Weeks use it solely for his private parties?... How often did he lend it to friends for their private entertainment?... Wasn't it billed to the company every single time the engines were turned on in that jet?... All those tax deductions he took for so-called business expenses were really for his personal joyrides, weren't they?"

When it was Bob Kinellen's turn to cross-examine, Geoff saw that he turned on all his charm, trying to make the pilot trip himself up, trying to confuse him on dates, on the purpose of the trips. Once again, Geoff thought that Kinellen was good, but probably not good enough. He knew that there was no way of being sure what was going on in the jurors' minds, but Geoff didn't think they were buying it.