"I will."

I make the elevator minutes later and hammer the down b.u.t.ton, praying that it closes before Ngo comes...o...b..ard. The door whooshes closed and I ride down to the lobby, alone. I am shaken and shaking when I step out of the elevator. I look behind me, half-expecting him to be there. But he is not.

Then I am outside and Marcel is waiting with my car.

We are gone.

37.

A third student death. This time a basketball game.

What I am able to piece together about last night, after we are all home and having dinner and spending the evening with our families, is that Wendover High hosted the Triton basketball team at the Superior Field House on the Wendover High campus. The game began at seven o'clock. Security and CPD uniforms were everywhere: at the entrance, at the exit, at the restrooms, in the stands around the basketball court proper-everywhere. So how it could have happened is unknown. But it did happen.

A high school soph.o.m.ore girl, who had spent the last three years of her life in a wheelchair following a tragic auto accident, was somehow murdered inside the girls' restroom. Even with security posted at the door leading in and out. The extant theory is that the a.s.sailant, dressed and made up to look like a woman, entered the restroom during the third quarter of the game and strangled the young student, again with some thin wire that severed her right carotid artery so that she bled out in the handicap stall and was found slumped sideways in her wheelchair inside the stall. It was only when her brother found she hadn't returned to her parking spot on the basketball floor that a hue and cry arose and a search quickly located the victim. Her name was Scarlett Newson and she had just turned fifteen.

A stylish dress and plain black flats were found stuffed inside the wall-mounted paper towel receptacle in the men's room of the visitors' dressing room shortly after the discovery of Scarlett's body. Evidently-the courtroom deputies are postulating this morning before court-the a.s.sailant, after murdering Scarlett, then dodged around to the visitors' dressing room of the field house, changed back into men's clothing, washed away the eye makeup and lipstick, and left the gymnasium.

To say that I am astonished would be to understate how I'm feeling this morning. I have stepped outside the courtroom bar and told Danny. She is equally shocked and has rushed back to the office to see what else can be learned. She is doing this because, of course, the death of another young female student at Wendover High tends to exonerate Jana Emerich from the death of Amy Tanenbaum because Jana, last night, spent the evening with his father, the priest, at a movie at the Cineplex. There could be no better alibi witness in all of Chicagoland than Father Frederic Bjorn. The cops contacted Jana and attempted to question him but he referred them to Father Bjorn, who swiftly dampened their enthusiasm for considering Jana as the perp by confirming the time they spent together last night and even going so far as offering to produce two admission tickets validated for last night's seven o'clock showing.

I arrive at court to find Judge Lancer-Burgess has vacated the trial today and continued us until Monday. When I stop by her office, her secretary tells me on the DL that the judge wanted to avoid any prejudice or inflamed emotions from the murder last night. Evidently the entire courthouse-the entire city-is shocked and Wendover has closed its doors, as have all other schools in the Chicago Public Schools System. A three-day weekend will be taken. Funeral services for Scarlett Newson will be held tomorrow afternoon at Petson's Funeral Home. Danny and I agree to attend if for no other reason than to see who else might turn up. Granted, our reason for attending is the wrong reason, but Jana's life is in my hands and I can't shirk my responsibility to him. I must go to see and learn as much as I can.

38.

Marcel tracks me down just as I am exiting Judge Lancer-Burgess's chambers. He wants to go straight over to Rudy's house and question the boy about last night. I consider whether this might be considered interfering with an official police investigation-a crime-but again fall back on the excuse that I am doing whatever I can to defend Jana. It's not unreasonable for us to follow up on the boy who has admitted being present when Franny Arlington died. We've heard there's a plea pending in that case to voluntary manslaughter and we also know he's out on bail and has been attending school at Wendover as if nothing has happened. Not so dissimilar from our own Jana's continued matriculation.

We walk back along the sidewalk to the parking lot and agree we'll take Marcel's Ram truck. It's freezing this morning, snow flurries blowing bursts of white flakes across the asphalt and snow-covered sidewalks of this part of Chicago. I walk with my head down, against the wind, my hands stuffed inside my overcoat's large, warm pockets. Marcel easily outpaces me and I feel him holding back his gait to enable me to stay beside him.

"So," he says as we make our way. "What the h.e.l.l is going on at Wendover?"

"All I know is that it wasn't Jana. He was with Father Bjorn last night."

"Well, thank G.o.d for that."

"Agree. And this Rudy Gomez kid: I can't imagine him pulling off another. I mean, why would he even want to? He's made it to his senior year and all of a sudden a switch gets thrown inside his brain and he starts killing cla.s.smates? I'm sorry, but that doesn't stack up for me."

"Maybe it's a conspiracy."

"How would we ever know?"

"So where does that leave us? There's a third killer on the loose? Or just a second, the same one who murdered Amy Tanenbaum?"

"Bingo. I think that's our argument. The phantom killer. We argue that Rudy was a copycat or just an aberration and that there's a serial killer on the loose that has now killed twice."

Marcel turns to me as we walk. "What about we put Rudy on the stand too, just to give the jury the possibility that he might be a suspect in all three cases?"

"I like that, too. We can suggest a two-and-one by two a.s.sailants or a three-victim by one a.s.sailant. Either one holds water."

"And the two-and-one allows for the possibility of a serial killer if it turns out Rudy's got a strong alibi for last night."

I like what I'm hearing. As horrible as it is, the death of Scarlett Newson gives rise to the possibility of a serial killer being on the loose. The fact that Jana has an airtight alibi takes him out of the running for those honors. So we get a new phantom plus we get a suggestion it's Rudy on all three. Nice and neat. It's terrible for a person to have to think this way. And it's even more terrible for a defendant's attorneys to have a happier day because yet another young girl has died. But that's the way of the lawyer game. And it is just that, a huge frigging game. With the losers attending their own funerals and the judicial system culling out who goes to jail. It's not pretty, but it's what I do. It's where I spend my days. No wonder my alone times are troubled and conflicted. It's time for a couple of days on my boat. Lake Michigan can't thaw out soon enough to suit me.

Rudy's father is a top-flight oral surgeon and in the OR today. His mother is at yoga cla.s.s, Rudy tells us when he answers the door. He doesn't want us to come inside: the cops have already been there and his lawyer has told him not to speak with anyone. He starts to close the door.

"One more thing," I interject, "about your snake."

The door hesitates.

"What about my snake?"

"Is it true he's friends with Leonard?"

"Jana's snake? Yeah, they've met."

"You guys trade mice back and forth sometimes too, isn't that right?"

He rubs his eyes. He looks beyond us, then says, "Why are you asking me about my snake? Is that really why you're here?"

"Actually it is," I tell him.

"We'd like to see your setup," Marcel tells him, all innocence. "I'm thinking of getting my kid a snake. Do you mind if we have a look at what you've got?"

The door opens a couple of inches.

"I guess. I mean, if you want. But don't ask me any questions about last night. My lawyer says I'm not to discuss my whereabouts last night."

"Sure, sure," Marcel says. "I just want to see the snake setup. My kid is bugging me no end for a snake."

"What kind's he want?"

"She. She's a freshman at St. Elizabeth's."

"What's her name? I know some kids over there."

"Mary Ellen. She's small, about five-one, dark hair, still wearing braces. But she gets those off next summer."

"Doesn't ring a bell," says Rudy. He pushes the door wide open. "I guess you can come in and look. But not you," he says, meaning me. I stand back.

"Fine, fine, I don't like snakes. I'll wait in the truck."

"Fine," says Rudy, and he steps aside so Marcel can enter.

I turn, walk back across the circular drive, and climb back inside the Ram. The key has been removed, so I stuff my hands in my pockets and shiver in the cold. Meanwhile, I can only imagine what Marcel is doing inside. Ten minutes drag past. Then fifteen.

Finally Marcel emerges. He shakes Rudy's hand and gives him a big smile then turns and heads for the truck. He is keeping his right hand tight against his North Face parka pocket. When he climbs inside and turns the key, I understand why.

"In my pocket, sir, is a half a pound of bedding."

"Out of the snake's container?"

"Nope. Out of the mouse cage."

"What! That's beautiful!"

"So I'm driving over to the lab. Let's get this tested and compared to the hair from Amy's mouth."

"Drive on, genius," I say. I'm warming with antic.i.p.ation way before the heater kicks in.

"Let's think this through," he says. "We've got the sample of mouse hair from her mouth."

"And we know from the reports that that hair matches hair from Jana's mouse cage."

"But what about DNA? Can they compare animal DNA to animal DNA?"

"What would that prove? That the same mouse was in both places? I highly doubt we're going to get that. Way too much time has pa.s.sed by."

"Did you have the DNA tested between the Amy mouse and Jana's mouse?"

"Yes. Inconclusive."

"Okay, so we've ruled out Jana."

"Well, let's say the state can't rule him in. According to microscope study, it's the same type. But so are a million other mice in Chicago alone."

"Agree. So maybe we're still close enough in time to last night's murder. Do we know if there was a mouse?"

"Too soon to hear. That news hasn't hit the street yet."

"Okay, so we need to subpoena the lead detective on that case."

I nod. "And have him testify about a new mouse in the Newson girl's mouth-we'll use him if there was one."

"We should use him in either case."

"Agree. Whether there was or wasn't one."

"I'll give him a call. But I know he won't talk to me."

"No, he won't. Especially not with our trial still underway."

"What's his name?"

"You know how that works; no need for me to tell you. Marce."

Meaning, Marcel can simply call the CPD Tipline and get connected to one of the detectives working up the new case. Then he hits him or her with a subpoena. Simple.

"Did you get anything else out of Rudy?"

"Nope. He listens to his lawyer."

"Too bad for us."

We drive over to the lab and submit our samples for testing. DNA, hair type-the whole nine yards. It's expensive but must be done.

It's all in the name of my priest. No skimping there.

39.

Dr. Samuel-"Sammy"-Tsung was called to the stand by SA d.i.c.kinson as his first witness Monday morning. The medical examiner looked calm and sounded smooth as he went through the standard foundational questions including education, training, licenses and certificates, work experience, teaching experience, published writings, professional organizations, and previous times and cases where he qualified as an expert witness in a Chicago court: state or federal.

Then the SA gets down to our case.

"You have previously examined victims of strangulation?"

"Yes, thousands."

"Are you familiar with the signs and symptoms of strangulation?"

"Yes."

"Please tell us about strangulation. For example, are there types of strangulation?"

"Yes. Strangulation is defined as a form of asphyxia or lack of oxygen. Strangulation is characterized by closure of the blood vessels and air pa.s.sages of the neck."

"Why would those be closed?"

"Well, as a result of external pressure on the neck. The three forms of strangulation are hanging, ligature, and manual. Ten percent of violent deaths in the U.S. each year are due to strangulation, six females to every male. Ligature strangulation is strangulation with a cord-like object (also referred to as garroting), and may include anything from a telephone cord to articles of clothing."

"Is Amy's death a ligature strangulation death?"

"Yes and no. I say yes and no because her carotid arteries were also severed. Severing of even one carotid artery always causes death if untreated."