Jennifer asked quietly, "Your daughter?"

Mrs. Cooper's eyes saddened. "I don't blame Dorothy. It's her husband. He's not a very attractive man, not morally, at least. I'm afraid my daughter is not very attractive physically. Herbert married Dorothy for her money and found out that the estate was entirely in my hands. He didn't like that."

"Did he say that to you?"

"Oh, yes indeed. My son-in-law was quite open about it. He thought I should give my daughter the estate then, instead of making her wait until I died. I would have, except that I didn't trust him. I knew what would happen if he ever got his hands on all that money."

"Have you ever had any history of mental illness, Mrs. Cooper?"

Helen Cooper looked at Jennifer and said wryly, "According to the doctors, I'm suffering from schizophrenia and paranoia."

Jennifer had the feeling that she had never spoken to a more sane person in her life.

"You are aware that three doctors testified that you were incompetent?"

"The Cooper estate is valued at four million dollars, Miss Parker. You can influence a lot of doctors for that kind of money. I'm afraid you're wasting your time. My son-in-law controls the estate now. He'll never let me leave here."

"I'd like to meet your son-in-law."

The Plaza Towers was on East 72nd Street, in one of the most beautiful residential areas of New York. Helen Cooper had her own penthouse there. Now the name plate on the door read Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Hawthorne. Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Hawthorne.

Jennifer had telephoned ahead to the daughter, Dorothy, and when Jennifer arrived at the apartment, both Dorothy and her husband were waiting for her. Helen Cooper had been right about her daughter. She was not attractive. She was thin and mousy-looking, with no chin, and her right eye had a cast in it. Her husband, Herbert, looked like a clone of Archie Bunker. He was at least twenty years older than Dorothy.

"Come on in," he grunted.

He escorted Jennifer from the reception hall into an enormous living room, the walls of which were covered with paintings by French and Dutch masters.

Hawthorne said to Jennifer bluntly, "Now, suppose you tell me what the h.e.l.l this is all about."

Jennifer turned to the girl. "It's about your mother."

"What about her?"

"When did she first start showing signs of insanity?"

"She-"

Herbert Hawthorne interrupted. "Right after Dorothy and me got married. The old lady couldn't stand me."

That's certainly one proof of sanity, Jennifer thought. Jennifer thought.

"I read the doctors' reports," Jennifer said. "They seemed biased."

"What do you mean, biased?" His tone was truculent.

"What I mean is that the reports indicated that they were dealing in gray areas where there were no clear-cut criteria for establishing what society calls sanity. Their decision was shaped, in part, by what you and your wife told them about Mrs. Cooper's behavior."

"What are you tryin' to say?"

"I'm saying that the evidence is not clear-cut. Three other doctors could have come up with an entirely different conclusion."

"Hey, look," Herbert Hawthorne said, "I dunno what you think you're tryin' to pull, but the old lady's a looney. The doctors said so and the court said so."

"I read the court transcript," Jennifer replied. "The court also suggested that her case be periodically reviewed."

There was consternation on Herbert Hawthorne's face. "You mean they might let her out?"

"They're going going to let her out," Jennifer promised. "I'm going to see to it." to let her out," Jennifer promised. "I'm going to see to it."

"Wait a minute! What the h.e.l.l is goin' on here?"

"That's what I intend to find out." Jennifer turned to the girl. "I checked out your mother's previous medical history. There has never been anything wrong with her, mentally or emotionally. She-"

Herbert Hawthorne interrupted. "That don't mean a d.a.m.n thing! These things can come on fast. She-"

"In addition," Jennifer continued to Dorothy, "I checked on your mother's social activities before you had her put away. She lived a completely normal life."

"I don't care what you or anybody else says. She's crazy!" Herbert Hawthorne shouted.

Jennifer turned to him and studied him a moment. "Did you ask Mrs. Cooper to give the estate to you?"

"That's none of your G.o.dd.a.m.ned business!"

"I'm making it my business. I think that's all for now." Jennifer moved toward the door.

Herbert Hawthorne stepped in front of her, blocking her way. "Wait a minute. You're b.u.t.tin' in where you're not wanted. You're lookin' to make a little cash for yourself, right? Okay, I understand that, honey. Tell you what I'll do. Why don't I give you a check right now for a thousand dollars for services rendered and you just drop this whole thing. Huh?"

"Sorry," Jennifer replied. "No deal."

"You think you're gonna get more from the old lady?"

"No," Jennifer said. She looked him in the eye. "Only one of us is in this for the money."

It took six weeks of hearings and psychiatric consultations and conferences with four different state agencies. Jennifer brought in her own psychiatrists and when they were finished with their examinations and Jennifer had laid out all the facts at her disposal, the judge reversed his earlier decision and Helen Cooper was released and her estate restored to her control.

The morning of Mrs. Cooper's release she telephoned Jennifer.

"I want to take you to lunch at Twenty-One."

Jennifer looked at her calendar. She had a crowded morning, a luncheon date and a busy afternoon in court, but she knew how much this meant to the elderly woman. "I'll be there," Jennifer said.

Helen Cooper's voice was pleased. "We'll have a little celebration."

The luncheon went beautifully. Mrs. Cooper was a thoughtful hostess, and obviously they knew her well at 21.

Jerry Berns escorted them to a table upstairs, where they were surrounded by beautiful antiques and Georgian silver. The food and service were superb.

Helen Cooper waited until they were having their coffee. Then she said to Jennifer, "I'm very grateful to you, my dear. I don't know how large a fee you were planning to charge, but I want to give you something more."

"My fees are high enough."

Mrs. Cooper shook her head. "It doesn't matter." She leaned forward, took Jennifer's hands in hers and dropped her voice to a whisper.

"I'm going to give you Wyoming."

17.

The front page of The New York Times The New York Times carried two stories of interest, side by side. One was an announcement that Jennifer Parker had obtained an acquittal for a woman accused of slaying her husband. The other was an article about Adam Warner running for the United States Senate. carried two stories of interest, side by side. One was an announcement that Jennifer Parker had obtained an acquittal for a woman accused of slaying her husband. The other was an article about Adam Warner running for the United States Senate.

Jennifer read the story about Adam again and again. It gave his background, told about his service as a pilot in the Viet Nam War, and gave an account of his receiving the Distinguished Flying Cross for bravery. It was highly laudatory, and a number of prominent people were quoted as saying that Adam Warner would be a credit to the United States Senate and to the nation. At the end of the article, there was a strong hint that if Adam were successful in his campaign, it could easily be a stepping-stone to his running for the presidency of the United States.

In New Jersey, at Antonio Granelli's farmhouse, Michael Moretti and Antonio Granelli were finishing breakfast. Michael was reading the article about Jennifer Parker.

He looked up at his father-in-law and said, "She's done it again, Tony."

Antonio Granelli spooned up a piece of poached egg. "Who done what again?"

"That lawyer. Jennifer Parker. She's a natural."

Antonio Granelli grunted. "I don' like the idea of no woman lawyer workin' for us. Women are weak. You never know what the h.e.l.l they gonna do."

Michael said cautiously, "You're right, a lot of them are, Tony."

It would not pay for him to antagonize his father-in-law. As long as Antonio Granelli was alive, he was dangerous; but watching him now, Michael knew he would not have to wait much longer. The old man had had a series of small strokes and his hands trembled. It was difficult for him to talk, and he walked with a cane. His skin was like dry, yellowed parchment. All the juices had been sucked out of him. This man, who was at the head of the federal crime list, was a toothless tiger. His name had struck terror into the hearts of countless mafiosi mafiosi and hatred in the hearts of their widows. Now, very few people got to see Antonio Granelli. He hid behind Michael, Thomas Colfax, and a few others he trusted. and hatred in the hearts of their widows. Now, very few people got to see Antonio Granelli. He hid behind Michael, Thomas Colfax, and a few others he trusted.

Michael had not been raised raised-made the head of the Family-yet, but it was just a question of time. "Three-Finger Brown" Lucchese had been the strongest of the five eastern Mafia chieftains, then Antonio Granelli, and soon...Michael could afford to be patient. He had come a long, long way from the time when, as a c.o.c.ky, fresh-faced kid, he had stood in front of the major dons in New York and held a flaming sc.r.a.p of paper in his hand and sworn: "This is the way I will burn if I betray the secrets of Cosa Nostra."

Now, sitting at breakfast with the old man, Michael said, "Maybe we could use the Parker woman for small stuff. Just to see how she does."

Granelli shrugged. "Just be careful, Mike. I don' wan' no strangers in on Family secrets."

"Let me handle her."

Michael made the telephone call that afternoon.

When Cynthia announced that Michael Moretti was calling, it brought an instant spate of memories, all of them unpleasant. Jennifer could not imagine why Michael Moretti would be calling her.

Out of curiosity, she picked up the telephone. "What is it you want?"

The sharpness of her tone took Michael Moretti aback. "I want to see you. I think you and I should have a little talk."

"What about, Mr. Moretti?"

"It's nothing I'd care to discuss on the telephone. I can tell you this, Miss Parker-it's something that would be very much in your interest."

Jennifer said evenly, "I can tell you this, Mr. Moretti. Nothing you could ever do or say could be of the slightest interest to me," and she slammed down the receiver.

Michael Moretti sat at his desk staring at the dead phone in his hand. He felt a stirring within him, but it was not anger. He was not sure what it was, and he was not sure he liked it. He had used women all his life and his dark good looks and innate ruthlessness had gotten him more eager bed partners than he could remember.

Basically, Michael Moretti despised women. They were too soft. They had no spirit. Rosa, for example. She's like a little pet dog who does everything she's told, Rosa, for example. She's like a little pet dog who does everything she's told, Michael thought. Michael thought. She keeps my house, cooks for me, f.u.c.ks me when I want to be f.u.c.ked, shuts up when I tell her to shut up. She keeps my house, cooks for me, f.u.c.ks me when I want to be f.u.c.ked, shuts up when I tell her to shut up.

Michael had never known a woman of spirit, a woman who had the courage to defy him. Jennifer Parker had had the nerve to hang up on him. What was it she had said? Nothing Nothing you could ever do or say could be of the slightest interest to me. you could ever do or say could be of the slightest interest to me. Michael Moretti thought about that and smiled to himself. She was wrong. He was going to show her how wrong she was. Michael Moretti thought about that and smiled to himself. She was wrong. He was going to show her how wrong she was.

He sat back, remembering what she had looked like in court, remembering her face and her body. He suddenly wondered what she would be like in bed. A wildcat, probably. He started thinking about her nude body under his, fighting him. He picked up the telephone and dialed a number.

When a girl's voice answered he said, "Get naked. I'm on my way over."

On her way back to the office after lunch, as Jennifer was crossing Third Avenue she was almost run down by a truck. The driver slammed on his brakes and the rear end of the truck skidded sideways, barely missing her.

"Jesus Christ, lady!" the driver yelled. "Why don't you watch where the h.e.l.l you're goin'!"