Jennifer suddenly realized she was hungry, for she had had no time for lunch. But she visualized sitting opposite Connie Garrett while she was being fed by hand, and she could not bear the thought.

"No, thanks," Jennifer lied. "I just had lunch."

All Jennifer wanted to do was get out of there as quickly as possible. She tried to think of some cheering note she could leave on, but there was nothing. d.a.m.n Father Ryan! d.a.m.n Father Ryan!

"I-I'm really sorry. I wish I-"

Connie Garrett smiled and said, "Please don't worry about it."

It was the smile that did it. Jennifer was sure if she had been in Connie Garrett's place she would never have been able to smile.

"Who was your lawyer?" Jennifer heard herself asking.

"Melvin Hutcherson. Do you know him?"

"No, but I'll look him up." She went on, without meaning to, "I'll have a talk with him."

"That would be so nice of you." There was warm appreciation in Connie Garrett's voice.

Jennifer thought of what the girl's life must be like, sitting there totally helpless, day after day, month after month, year after year, unable to do anything for herself.

"I can't promise anything, I'm afraid."

"Of course not. But do you know something, Jennifer? I feel better just because you came."

Jennifer rose to her feet. It was a moment to shake hands, but there was no hand to shake.

She said awkwardly, "It was nice meeting you, Connie. You'll hear from me."

On the way back to her office, Jennifer thought about Father Ryan and resolved that she would never succ.u.mb to his blandishments again. There was nothing anyone could do for that poor crippled girl, and to offer her any kind of hope was indecent. But she would keep her promise. She would talk to Melvin Hutcherson.

When Jennifer returned to her office there was a long list of messages for her. She looked through them quickly, looking for a message from Adam Warner. There was none.

12.

Melvin Hutcherson was a short, balding man with a tiny b.u.t.ton nose and washed-out pale blue eyes. He had a shabby suite of offices on the West Side that reeked of poverty. The receptionist's desk was empty.

"Gone to lunch," Melvin Hutcherson explained.

Jennifer wondered if he had a secretary. He ushered her into his private office, which was no larger than the reception office.

"You told me over the phone you wanted to talk about Connie Garrett."

"That's right."

He shrugged. "There's not that much to talk about. We sued and we lost. Believe me, I did a bang-up job for her."

"Did you handle the appeal?"

"Yep. We lost that, too. I'm afraid you're spinning your wheels." He regarded her a moment. "Why do you want to waste your time on something like this? You're hot. You could be working on big money cases."

"I'm doing a friend a favor. Would you mind if I looked at the transcripts?"

"Help yourself," Hutcherson shrugged. "They're public property."

Jennifer spent the evening going over the transcripts of Connie Garrett's lawsuit. To Jennifer's surprise, Melvin Hutcherson had told the truth: He had done a good job. He had named both the city and the Nationwide Motors Corporation as co-defendants, and had demanded a trial by jury. The jury had exonerated both defendants.

The Department of Sanitation had done its best to cope with the snowstorm that had swept the city that December; all its equipment had been in use. The city had argued that the storm was an act of G.o.d, and that if there was any negligence, it was on the part of Connie Garrett.

Jennifer turned to the charges against the truck company. Three eyewitnesses had testified that the driver had tried to stop the truck to avoid hitting the victim, but that he had been unable to brake in time, and the truck had gone into an unavoidable spin and had hit her. The verdict in favor of the defendant had been upheld by the Appellate Division and the case had been closed.

Jennifer finished reading the transcripts at three o'clock in the morning. She turned off the lights, unable to sleep. On paper, justice had been done. But the image of Connie Garrett kept coming into her mind. A girl in her twenties, without arms or legs. Jennifer visualized the truck hitting the young girl, the awful agony she must have suffered, the series of terrible operations that had been performed, each one cutting away parts of her limbs. Jennifer turned on the light and sat up in bed. She dialed Melvin Hutcherson's home number.

"There's nothing in the transcripts about the doctors," Jennifer said into the telephone. "Did you look into the possibility of malpractice?"

A groggy voice said, "Who the f.u.c.k is this?"

"Jennifer Parker. Did you-"

"For Christ's sake! It's-it's four o'clock in the morning! Don't you have a watch?"

"This is important. The hospital wasn't named in the suit. What about those operations that were performed on Connie Garrett? Did you check into them?"

There was a pause while Melvin Hutcherson tried to gather his thoughts. "I talked to the heads of neurology and orthopedics at the hospital that took care of her. The operations were necessary to save her life. They were performed by the top men there and were done properly. That's why the hospital wasn't named in the suit."

Jennifer felt a sharp sense of frustration. "I see."

"Look, I told you before, you're wasting your time on this one. Now why don't we both get some sleep?"

And the receiver clicked in Jennifer's ear. She turned out the light and lay back again. But sleep was farther away than ever. After a while, Jennifer gave up the struggle, arose and made herself a pot of coffee. She sat on her sofa drinking it, watching the rising sun paint the Manhattan skyline, the faint pink gradually turning into a bright, explosive red.

Jennifer was disturbed. For every injustice there was supposed to be a remedy at law. Had justice been done in Connie Garrett's case? She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was six-thirty. Jennifer picked up the telephone again and dialed Melvin Hutcherson's number.

"Did you check out the record of the truck driver?" Jennifer asked.

A sleepy voice said, "Jesus Christ! Are you some kind of crazy? When do you sleep?"

"The driver of the utility truck. Did you check out his record?"

"Lady, you're beginning to insult me."

"I'm sorry," Jennifer insisted, "but I have to know."

"The answer is yes. He had a perfect record. This was his first accident."

So that avenue was closed. "I see." Jennifer was thinking hard.

"Miss Parker," Melvin Hutcherson said, "do me a big favor, will you? If you have any more questions, call me during office hours."

"Sorry," Jennifer said absently. "Go back to sleep."

"Thanks a lot!"

Jennifer replaced the receiver. It was time to get dressed and go to work.

13.

It had been three weeks since Jennifer had had dinner with Adam at Lutece. She tried to put him out of her mind, but everything reminded her of Adam: A chance phrase, the back of a stranger's head, a tie similar to the one he had worn. There were many men who tried to date her. She was propositioned by clients, by attorneys she had opposed in court and by a night-court judge, but Jennifer wanted none of them. Lawyers invited her out for what was cynically referred to as "funch," but she was not interested. There was an independence about her that was a challenge to men.

Ken Bailey was always there, but that fact did nothing to a.s.suage Jennifer's loneliness. There was only one person who could do that, d.a.m.n him!

He telephoned on a Monday morning. "I thought I'd take a chance and see if you happened to be free for lunch today."

She was not. She said, "Of course I am."

Jennifer had sworn to herself that if Adam ever called her again she would be friendly yet distant, and courteous but definitely not available.

The moment she heard Adam's voice she forgot all those things and said, Of course I am. Of course I am.

The last thing in the world she should have said.

They had lunch at a small restaurant in Chinatown, and they talked steadily for two hours that seemed like two minutes. They talked about law and politics and the theater, and solved all the complex problems of the world. Adam was brilliant and incisive and fascinating. He was genuinely interested in what Jennifer was doing, and took a joyous pride in her successes. He has a right to He has a right to, Jennifer thought. If not for him, I'd be back in Kelso, Washington. If not for him, I'd be back in Kelso, Washington.

When Jennifer returned to the office, Ken Bailey was waiting for her.

"Have a good lunch?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Is Adam Warner going to become a client?" His tone was too casual.

"No, Ken. We're just friends."

And it was true.

The following week, Adam invited Jennifer to have lunch in the private dining room of his law firm. Jennifer was impressed with the huge, modern complex of offices. Adam introduced her to various members of the firm, and Jennifer felt like a minor celebrity, for they seemed to know all about her. She met Stewart Needham, the senior partner. He was distantly polite to Jennifer, and she remembered that Adam was married to his niece.

Adam and Jennifer had lunch in the walnut-paneled dining room run by a chef and two waiters.

"This is where the partners bring their problems."

Jennifer wondered whether he was referring to her. It was hard for her to concentrate on the meal.

Jennifer thought about Adam all that afternoon. She knew she had to forget about him, had to stop seeing him. He belonged to another woman.

That night, Jennifer went with Ken Bailey to see Two by Two, Two by Two, the new Richard Rodgers show. the new Richard Rodgers show.

As they stepped into the lobby there was an excited buzz from the crowd, and Jennifer turned to see what was happening. A long, black limousine had pulled up to the curb and a man and woman were stepping out of the car.

"It's him!" a woman exclaimed, and people began to gather around the car. The burly chauffeur stepped aside and Jennifer saw Michael Moretti and his wife. It was Michael that the crowd focused on. He was a folk hero, handsome enough to be a movie star, daring enough to have captured everyone's imagination. Jennifer stood in the lobby watching as Michael Moretti and his wife made their way through the crowd. Michael pa.s.sed within three feet of Jennifer, and for an instant their eyes met. Jennifer noticed that his eyes were so black that she could not see his pupils. A moment later he disappeared into the theater.

Jennifer was unable to enjoy the show. The sight of Michael Moretti had brought back a flood of fiercely humiliating memories. Jennifer asked Ken to take her home after the first act.

Adam telephoned Jennifer the next day and Jennifer steeled herself to refuse his invitation. Thank you, Adam, but I'm really very busy. Thank you, Adam, but I'm really very busy.

But all Adam said was, "I have to go out of the country for a while."

It was like a blow to the stomach. "How-how long will you be gone?"