Sixteen.

Jumper, the courtroom deputy who took the note from Marlee thirteen days earlier and handed it to Fitch, was approached during lunch and offered five thousand dollars cash to call in sick with stomach cramps or diarrhea or some such affliction, and travel in plain clothes with Pang to New Orleans for a night of food, fun, perhaps a call girl if Jumper was so inclined. Pang needed only a few hours of light work from him. Jumper needed the money.

They left Biloxi around twelve-thirty in a rented van. By the time they arrived in New Orleans two hours later, Jumper had been convinced to temporarily retire his uniform and work for Arlington West a.s.sociates for a while. Pang offered him twenty-five thousand dollars for six months' work, nine thousand more than he was presently earning for an entire year.

They checked into their rooms at the St. Regis, two single rooms on each side of Fitch, who'd been able to extort only four from the hotel. Holly's room was down the hall. Dubaz, Joe Boy, and Dante were four blocks away in the Royal Sonesta. Jumper was first parked on a bar stool in the lounge, where he had a view of the front entrance of the hotel.

The waiting began. There was no sign of her as the afternoon dragged toward dark, and no one was surprised. Jumper was moved four times, and swiftly tired of shadow work.

Fitch left his room a few minutes before seven and rode the elevator to the roof. His table was in a corner with a nice view of the Quarter. Holly and Dubaz were at a table ten feet away, both well dressed and seemingly oblivious to everyone. Dante and a hired escort in a black mini-skirt had another table. Joe Boy would take the pictures.

At seven-thirty, she appeared from nowhere. Neither Jumper nor Pang reported seeing her anywhere near the front lobby. She simply emerged through the open French doors on the roof and was at Fitch's table in an instant. He later speculated that she did what they had done-got a room at the hotel under another name and used the stairs. She was dressed in slacks and jacket, and very pretty-dark short hair, brown eyes, strong chin and cheeks, very little makeup but then little was needed. He guessed her age to be between twenty-eight and thirty-two. She sat quickly, so fast in fact that Fitch didn't get the chance to offer her a chair. She sat directly across from him with her back to the other tables.

"A pleasure to meet you," he said softly, glancing around at the other tables to see if anyone was listening.

"Yes, a real pleasure," she replied, leaning on her elbows.

The waiter appeared with rapid efficiency and asked if she wanted something to drink. No, she did not. The waiter had been bribed with hard cash to carefully remove anything she touched with her fingers-gla.s.ses, plates, silver, ashtrays, anything. He would not get the chance.

"Are you hungry?" Fitch asked, sipping a mineral water.

"No. I'm in a hurry."

"Why?"

"Because the longer I sit here the more photos your goons can take."

"I came alone."

"Of course you did. How'd you like the red socks?" A jazz band began across the roof, but she ignored it. Her eyes never left Fitch's.

Fitch rolled his head back and offered a snort. It was still difficult to believe he was chatting with the lover of one of his jurors. He'd had indirect contact with jurors before, several times in different forms, but never this close.

And she came to him!

"Where's he from?" Fitch asked.

"What difference does it make? He's here."

"Is he your husband?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"You present a lot of questions, young lady. And you expect me to ask them."

"He's an acquaintance."

"When did he a.s.sume the name Nicholas Easter?"

"What difference does it make? That's his legal name. He's a legal resident of Mississippi, a registered voter. He can change his name once a month if he wants."

She kept her hands tucked together under her chin. He knew she would not make the mistake of leaving prints. "What about you?" Fitch asked.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you're not registered to vote in Mississippi."

"How do you know?"

"Because we checked. a.s.suming, of course, your real name is Marlee, and that it's spelled properly."

"You're a.s.suming too much."

"It's my job. Are you from the Coast?"

"No."

Joe Boy leaned down low between two plastic boxwoods just long enough to take six shots of the side of her face. A decent view would require a tightrope act on top of the brick banister, eighteen floors above Ca.n.a.l. He'd stay in the greenery and hope for something better when she left.

Fitch rattled the ice in his gla.s.s. "So why are we here?" he asked.

"One meeting leads to another."

"And where do all the meetings lead us?"

"To the verdict."

"For a fee, I'm sure."

"Fee has an awfully small ring to it. Are you recording this?" She knew perfectly well Fitch was recording every sound.

"Of course not."

He could play the tape in his sleep for all she cared. He had nothing to gain by sharing it with anyone. He carried too much baggage to run to the cops or to the Judge, and that didn't fit into his modus operandi anyway. The thought of blackmailing her with the authorities never occurred to Fitch, and she knew this too.

He could take all the photos he wanted, and he and his thugs scattered around the hotel could follow and watch and listen. She'd play along for a while, dodging and darting and making them work for their money. They'd find nothing.

"Let's not talk about money now, okay, Fitch?"

"We'll talk about whatever you want to talk about. This is your show."

"Why'd you break into his apartment?"

"That's just what we do."

"How do you read Herman Grimes?" she asked.

"Why do you ask me? You know exactly what's happening in the jury room."

"I want to see how smart you are. I'm interested in knowing if you're getting your money's worth from all those jury experts and lawyers."

"I've never lost, so I always get my money's worth."

"So what about Herman?"

Fitch thought for a second and motioned for another gla.s.s of water. "He'll have a lot to do with the verdict because he is a man of strong opinions. Right now, he's open-minded. He absorbs every word in court and probably knows more than every other juror, with the exception, of course, of your friend. Am I right?"

"You're pretty close."

"That's good to hear. How often do you chat with your friend?"

"Occasionally. Herman objected to the strike this morning, did you know that?"

"No."

"He was the only one of the fourteen."

"Why'd they strike?"

"Conditions. Phones, TV, beer, s.e.x, church, the usual yearnings of mankind."

"Who led the strike?"

"Same one who's been leading from day one."

"I see."

"That's why I'm here, Fitch. If my friend was not in control, I'd have nothing to offer."

"And what are you offering?"

"I said we wouldn't talk about money now."

The waiter set the fresh gla.s.s in front of Fitch and again asked Marlee if she wanted something to drink. "Yes, a diet cola in a plastic cup, please."

"We, uh, well, we don't have any plastic cups," the waiter said with a puzzled look at Fitch.

"Then forget it," she said, grinning at Fitch.

Fitch decided to press on. "What's the mood of the jury right now?"

"Getting bored. Herrera's a big fan. Thinks trial lawyers are dirt and severe restrictions should be placed on frivolous lawsuits."

"My hero. Can he convince his pals?"

"No. He has no pals. He is despised by all, definitely the most disliked member of the panel."

"Who's the friendliest girl?"

"Millie is everybody's mother, but she won't be a factor. Rikki is cute and popular, and very health conscious. She's trouble for you."

"That's no surprise."

"Do you want a surprise, Fitch?"

"Yeah, surprise me."

"Which juror has actually started smoking cigarettes since the trial started?"

Fitch squinted and c.o.c.ked his head a little to the left. Did he hear her correctly? "Started smoking?"

"Yep."

"I give up."

"Easter. Surprised?"

"Your friend."

"Yeah. Look, Fitch, gotta run. Ill call you tomorrow." She was on her feet and gone, disappearing as quickly as she'd come.

Dante with the hired woman reacted before Fitch, who was stunned for a second with the speed of her departure. Dante radioed Pang in the lobby, who saw her exit the elevator and leave the hotel. Jumper tracked her on foot for two blocks before losing her in a crowded alley.

For an hour they watched the streets and parking garages and hotel lobbies and bars but did not see her. Fitch was in his room at the St. Regis when the call came from Dubaz, who'd been dispatched to the airport. She was waiting for a commuter flight that left in an hour and a half and landed in Mobile at ten-fifty. Don't follow her, Fitch instructed him, then called two standbys in Biloxi, who raced to the airport in Mobile.

Marlee lived in a rented condo facing the Back Bay of Biloxi. When she was twenty minutes from home, she called the Biloxi police by dialing 911 on her cellphone and explained to the dispatcher that a Ford Taurus with two thugs in it was following her, had been in fact since she left Mobile, that they were stalkers of some odious variety and she was fearful for her life. With the dispatcher coordinating movements, Marlee did a series of turns through a quiet subdivision and abruptly stopped at an all-night gas station. As she filled her tank, a police car pulled behind the Taurus, which was trying to hide around the corner of a closed dry cleaner. The two thugs were ordered out, then marched across the parking lot to face the woman they'd been stalking.

Marlee performed superbly as the terrified victim. The cops got angrier the more she cried. Fitch's goons were hauled away to jail.

AT TEN, Chuck, the large deputy with a sullen att.i.tude, unfolded a chair at the end of the hallway near his room, and set up watch for the night. It was Wednesday, the second night of sequestration, and time to breach security. As planned, Nicholas phoned Chuck's room at eleven-fifteen. The instant he left his post to answer it, Jerry and Nicholas slipped from their rooms and walked casually through the exit door near Lou Dell's room. Lou Dell was in bed sound asleep. And though Willis had slept most of the day in court, he too was under the covers, snoring furiously.

Avoiding the front lobby, they eased through the shadows and found the taxi waiting precisely as instructed. Fifteen minutes later they entered the Nugget Casino on Biloxi Beach. They drank three beers in the sports bar as Jerry lost a hundred dollars on a hockey game. They flirted with two married women whose husbands were either winning or losing a fortune at the c.r.a.p tables. The flirting took a turn toward serious, and at 1 A.M A.M. Nicholas left the bar to play five-dollar blackjack and drink decaf coffee. He played and waited and watched as the crowd dwindled.

Marlee slipped into the chair next to him and said nothing. Nicholas pushed a short stack of chips in front of her. A drunk college boy was the only other player. "Upstairs," she whispered between hands as the dealer turned to talk to the pit boss.

They met on an outdoor mezzanine with a view of the parking lot and the ocean in the distance. November had arrived and the air was light and cool. There was no one else around. They kissed and huddled together on a bench. She replayed her trip to New Orleans; every detail, every word. They laughed at the two boys from Mobile who were now in the county jail. She'd call Fitch after daybreak and get his men released.

They talked business briefly because Nicholas wanted to return to the bar and collect Jerry before he drank too much and lost all his money or got caught with somebody's wife.