After Dark

"I don't know," Deems said with a marked lack of interest.

"Maybe she moved it."

Reynolds left the pictures and returned to the defense table.

He picked up a manila envelope and walked back to Deems.

"I believe you said that you were tempted by Mrs. Griffen's offer of fifty thousand dollars because you could use the money?"

"Yes,"

"I assume you were broke when you left prison?"

"You assume right."

"Have you gotten a job yet?"

"No."

"Any savings?"

"No."

"Did someone hire you to blow up Justice Griffen and frame Mrs. Griffen for the murder?"

Deems laughed. "That's nonsense."

"Then how do you explain this?" Reynolds said as he withdrew a sheaf of papers from the envelope and handed them to Charlie Deems. Deems completely lost his cool and his mouth gaped open. He looked at the bank records, then at Reynolds.

"What the hell is this?"

"A bank account at Washington Mutual in your name with a hundred thousand dollars in it."

"I don't know anything about this," Deems shouted.

"I see. Then I have no further questions."

"Any redirect, Mr. Geddes?" Judge Baldwin asked.

"May I have a moment, Your Honor?"

Baldwin nodded and Geddes continued the intense conversation he had been having with Neil Christenson since Matthew Reynolds announced the contents of the manila envelope. After a moment, Geddes stood. He had learned how to look composed in the worst situations from years of courtroom combat and he appeared to be unconcerned about the destruction of his key witness.

"Nothing further," Geddes said. "And the state rests."

"I imagine you have some motions, Mr. Reynolds?" Judge Baldwin said.

"Yes, sir."

"How many witnesses do you have?" the judge asked Matthew.

"Twenty-seven."

"Can you put any of them on this afternoon?"

"I'd prefer to start tomorrow."

"Why don't we take our morning recess now. I'll send the jury home. We can take up your motions after the recess, then take witnesses in the ' morning.

The jurors filed out. As soon as the judge left the bench, Charlie Deems left the witness box. Chuck Geddes and Nell Christenson hustled Deems out of the courtroom and up the stairs to the sixth floor.

"Where did you get that money?" Geddes demanded as soon as they were in his office.

"That's not my account," Deems said.

"It's in your name."

"But I don't know anything about it. That fucker Reynolds set me up."

"And I suppose he took the pictures of the shed, too?"

"I don't know anything about those pictures. There was dynamite in the shed when I was at the cabin."

Geddes swiveled his chair toward the window. The picture of the shed and the bank account were devastating. There had to be an explanation.

He hoped it did not have something to do with being duped by Charlie Deems.

"Wait outside," Geddes told Deems. Deems seemed only too happy to leave the room.

"What the fuck is happening, Neil?" the prosecutor demanded when they were alone.

"Either Deems was paid off to pin Justice Griffen's murder on Abbie Griffen or someone set him up."

"Damn it. Reynolds is making me look like a fool."

"What do you want to do with Deems?"

"Keep him at the farm until we figure out what's going on. If that son of a bitch lied to me, I'll have his balls."

Raoul Otero was staring at the gray roiling clouds and sheets of rain that obscured the view from his penthouse apartment in downtown Portland when Bobby Cruz sat down across from him. Raoul's mood was as black as the weather and the fifth of scotch he'd been working on all afternoon had only stoked his rage.

"You want some?" Otero asked, holding up the bottle.

"No, gracias," Cruz answered politely. Otero was not surprised. Except for violence, Bobby Cruz had novices. "Well?"

"It don' look good, Raoul. Deems testified for the DA."

Otero stared at the Willamette River. No ships were moving on its turbulent waters. It was so dark the cars crossing the Hawthorne Bridge were using their headlights even though it was only four o'clock.

"Why is Charlie doing this? He beat his case. The cops don't have no leverage on him."

"What I think is, he's doin' it to get even with the Griffen woman for putting him on the row."

Raoul nodded in agreement. "That piece of shit was always big on revenge. Remember how happy he was when I let him do Shoe?"

"Yea," Raoul. He could barely contain his joy. Our problem is that Griffen isn't the only one Charlie's mad at."

"How can he be stupid enough to talk to the cops about me?"

Raoul asked incredulously.

"Charlie isn't stupid, but he's mean. He's also loco. Charlie does what Charlii wants to do. That's why I told you not to have no dealings with him in the first place. Remember I said you can't control Charlie, because Charlie is always out of control?"

"And you were right. Jos called from Tijuana while you were at the courthouse. The feds busted the two border guards we had on the payroll. Charlie knew about them, just like he knew about Lee Terrace and the rest area on I-5."

"There's only one thing to do," Cruz said calmly.

Otero knocked down what was left of the scotch in his glass.

He did not like being in this position, but that fuck Deems had put him in it. Killing someone always hurt business, because the cops had to work hard on a murder case. Still, normally the risk was small with someone like Charlie, because the cops wouldn't spend too much time looking into the murder of a dealer who'd offed a kid. But "normally" might not apply anymore. Charlie was on the side of the angels. The cops were going to work overtime if someone took out the key witness in the murder of a Supreme Court justice. But that shit-for-brains, loco son of a bitch gave him no choice.

"Do you know where the cops have Charlie?"

"They're hiding him at a farmhouse. I followed them from the courthouse."

"Can you do it?"

"It won't be easy. He has two cops guarding him."

"You need help?"

Cruz smiled. "No, gracias. I think I will handle this myself."

Raoul nodded. A red mist clouded his eyes. He wanted to smash something. He wanted to smash Charlie Deems. If the situation wasn't desperate, if they had not lost three shipments already, he would wait and personally carve up Charlie Deems like a fucking turkey. But there would be no more shipments until Charlie was dead, so he would have to let Bobby Cruz have the honor.

Neil Christenson arrived home at ten o'clock Monday night, after spending all evening listening to Chuck Geddes scream at Charlie Deems.

Christenson changed into jeans and an OSU sweatshirt, then he settled into his favorite armchair and tried to get into a sitcom his wife, Robin, was watching.

At a commercial, Christenson went into the kitchen to fix himself a Snack and Robin put on some water for tea. It was quiet in the house because the kids were asleep. "Are you okay?" Robin asked.

"I'm just tired, but I'm thankful for a chance to forget about the Griffen case for a few hours."

Robin gave him a sympathetic smile. "Is it that bad?"

"Worse. Geddes has been driving me crazy ever since Reynolds took apart Deems this morning."

Robin put her arms around her husband and gave him a compassionate kiss.

"The trial will be over soon," she said. "Maybe we can get away for a few days."

Christenson held his wife and kissed the top of her head.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know," she answered coyly. "Maybe we could shack up in a motel on the coast for a weekend. Mom can watch the kids."

Christenson froze. "That's it," he muttered to himself.

Robin pulled back and looked at her husband. He was staring into space.

Christenson gave her a tremendous hug and kissed her on the cheek.

"I've got to go," he said.

"What? You just got home."

"It was the receipts, Robin. You're a lifesaver."

"What did I do?"

"You may have won the Griffen case."

Christenson walked back into the living room and put on his shoes.

"You're not going out?"

"I'm sorry. I have to check something to see if I'm right. If I don't do it now, I won't be able to sleep."

Robin sighed. She had been married to Neil for twelve years and she was used to his odd hours.

As he laced up his shoes, Christenson thought about the afternoon he had watched Tracy Cavanaugh and Barry Frame sift through the state's evidence. He had never figured out what piece of evidence had intrigued Tracy so much that she had felt it necessary to hide it from his view.

Now he thought he knew what she had been looking at. Some of the credit card receipts in the box of evidence from the bottom right drawer in Justice Griffen's den had been from the Overlook Motel. Christenson knew that motel. Three years ago, there had been a murder there and he had visited it during the investigation. The Overlook was a dive.

What was a Supreme Court justice doing there on three occasions? Robin had given him the answer. He was shacking up. But with who? Geddes's guess was Laura Rizzatti, and Christenson was going to see if Geddes was right.

Charlie Deems paced back and forth across his small bedroom on the second floor of the farmhouse. The rain had trapped him inside and he was going stir crazy.

Not even the game shows made this dump bearable anymore. To make matters worse, that asshole Geddes and his flunky Christenson had grilled him all evening.

"Why wasn't there dynamite in the photo of the shed? Where did the money in the bank account come from? Did he kill Justice Griffen and frame Abigail Griffen?" And on and on, over and over again.

Deems was certain he knew what had happened, but he wasn't going to tell Geddes. What he was going to do was take care of this himself. He'd been set up by that bitch Griffen. How else could Reynolds have made a fool out of him? According to Geddes, the whole case was in the toilet and that smirking whore was going to walk. Well, she might walk away from this case, but she was never going to walk away from Charlie Deems.

When he was through with her, Abigail Griffen was going to wish she had been convicted and sentenced to death, because what he had planned for her would make dying seem like a fucking picnic.

Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

"As ," our first witness Matthew said on Tuesday morning, "the defense calls Tracy Cavanaugh."

Tracy could not remember being this nervous since the finals of the NCAA cross-country championships. She knew that she was only a chain-of-custody witness, but being under oath was nerve-racking.

"his. Cavanaugh, what is your profession?"

"I'm an attorney, Mr. Reynolds."

"What is your current position?"

"I'm an attorney in your office."

"Have you assisted me in defending Mrs. Griffen since she retained my firm?"

"Yes, sir."

"On September thirteenth, did I ask you to do something?"

"Yes."

"Please tell the jury what I asked you to do."

"You asked me to go to Mrs. Griffen's home and pick up a Pentax camera and film from her."

"Where was the film?"

"In the camera."

"What did you do with the film?"

"It was late evening when I picked up the camera, so I waited until morning and took it to FotoFast, a commercial developer.

The clerk took the film out of the camera and signed a receipt stating that he had done so. Then I brought you the camera."

Matthew handed Tracy a slip of paper. "Is this the receipt you received from the clerk?"

"Yes, sir."

"Later, did you go to FotoFast to pick up the developed film?"

"Yes. And I had the clerk sign a second statement."

Reynolds picked up the envelope with the photographs and Abbie's camera and walked over to Tracy.

"I am handing you what has been marked as Defense Exhibit 222. Is this the camera you picked up from Mrs. Griffen?"

"Yes," Tracy said after examining the small black Pentax.

"I hand you Defense Exhibit 223. Is this the envelope you picked up from FotoFast?"

"Yes."

"Did you give this envelope to me?"

"Yes."

"Did you review the photographs?"

"No, sir."

"Thank you."

Tracy handed the envelope back to Reynolds. As she did, she noticed that the photographs Matthew had shown to Deems were still on the ledge in the witness box where witnesses place exhibits they are viewing. She picked them up and gave them to Reynolds to put with the other photographs.

Just before Reynolds took the photo of the shed from her, Tracy frowned.

She was certain there was something odd about the picture, but she could not figure out what it was in the brief moment she had to view the photograph.

"Nothing further," Reynolds said as he placed the photographs in the envelope and walked to his seat. "Mr. Geddes?"

Tracy looked at the prosecutor. He was sitting alone this morning and Tracy wondered why Neil Christenson was missing.

"No questions," Geddes said, and Tracy was relieved to return to her seat at counsel table.

"The defense calls Dr. Alexander Shirov," Matthew said.

Tracy wanted to look at the photograph of the shed, but Reynolds had placed the envelope with the pictures under a stack of exhibits by the time she was back at the counsel table.

When Dr. Shirov entered the courtroom, Tracy turned to look at him. She had questioned Reynolds about the identity of his expert and the results of the tests on the metal strips, because she was dying to know what he could possibly do about this seemingly incontrovertible evidence, but Reynolds just smiled and declined to name his witness or discuss the results.

Dr. Shirov walked with a slight limp and carried his notes in both hands. He was tall and heavy, a man in his mid-fifties with a slight paunch, salt-and-pepper hair and a full beard. He looked relaxed when he took the oath and he smiled warmly at the jury when he took his seat in the witness box.

"What is your profession?" Matthew Reynolds asked.

"I'm a professor of chemistry at Reed College in Portland."

"Do you hold any other positions at Reed?"

"Yes. I'm also the director of the nuclear reactor facility."

"What does that job entail?"

"I'm responsible for the maintenance, operation and use of the research reactor and its licensing."

"What is your educational background?"

"I obtained a BS in chemistry from the University of California at Berkeley in 1965. In 1970, I received a doctor of science degree from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology with a specialty in the area of nuclear chemistry."

"Do you have any special expertise in the use of neutron activation analysis?"

"I do."

"Would you please explain neutron activation analysis to the jury?"

"Certainly," Dr. Shirov said, turning toward the jury box. His smile was light and easy and his thick glasses magnified the St. Nick's twinkle in his blue eyes. Some of the jurors smiled back.

"If we take a sample of any material and place it in a source of neutronsatomic particlesthe material will absorb the neutrons and become radioactive. There are ninety-two basic elements and fourteen man-made elements. More than fifty of the basic elements emit gamma rays when they become radioactive.

We have instruments that measure how many gamma rays are given off by the material and their specific energy.

"A nuclear reactor is a source of neutrons. If I have material I want to analyze, I place it in the reactor. Once the substance is radioactive it is removed from the reactor and taken to a gamma ray analyzer, a machine that detects gamma rays and measures their energy.

The information obtained from the analyzer is printed on a magnetic disk and stored so we can analyze the data and determine what elements are present and how much of each element is present."

"Dr. Shirov," Matthew said, "if you were asked to compare two items which appeared to come from the same source, what could you tell about their similarities and differences by using neutron activation analysis?"

"I could tell a great deal. You see, materials in nature contain traces of other materials. Sometimes there are large amounts of one material in the other, but other times there may only be a small amount. Neutron activation analysis is a very sensitive technique for determining the amount of minor elements that exist in a particular object.

"For example, if you filled a thimble with arsenic and thoroughly mixed it with four railroad tank cars of water, neutron activation analysis would be able to determine the amount of arsenic in a one-ounce sample of the water.

"Now, getting back to the comparison of our two samples, if the trace elements in the two are greatly different, it is possible to reach a conclusion with a high degree of certainty that they came from different sources.

"On the other hand, if we see no differences between the two samples, we can say that there is no scientific evidence to support an assertion that they are from different sources."

"Dr. Shirov, I'm handing you what has previously been marked as State's Exhibits 36 and 37. Do you recognize them?"

Dr. Shirov took from Reynolds Exhibit 36, the charred and twisted metal strip with the notch that had been part of the bomb that killed Justice Griffen, and Exhibit 37, the clean metal strip with the point that had been found in Abbie's garage.

"You brought these two items to the college this weekend."

"What did I tell you I needed to know?"

"You told me that you wanted to know if the two pieces of steel plate were attached at one time."

"What did you do to find out.")"

"There was no need to irradiate both exhibits in their entirety, so I took samples of each. This presented a small problem. How to cut a sample without contaminating it. Most of the usual ways of cutting steel involve the possibility of contamination. For example, the steel of'a hacksaw blade might transfer elements to the samples that would give off gamma rays when irradiated. I chose a silicon carbide saw because these elements do not give off gamma rays.

"You explained the importance of the two pieces of steel plate, so I took my samples from the middle of one side so as not to affect the end with the tool markings. I placed each exhibit in a vise and made a vee-notch cut that allowed me to obtain two one-hundred-milligram-size samples."

"How big is that, Dr. Shirov?"

"Oh, say the size of a sunflower seed."

"And that was enough for an accurate test?"

"Yes."

"What did you do after you obtained the samples?"

"I put each sample in a pre-cleaned vial and washed it in distilled water to remove adhering material. Then I dried the samples overnight.

"The next day, I placed each sample in a pre-cleaned polyethylene vial and heat-sealed the vials. The sealed vials were the-' placed inside a polyethylene irradiation container, called a 'rabbit,' for irradiation in the nuclear reactor's pneumatic tube facility. This is similar to the pneumatic tube system used in drive-in banks, but ours ends up in the core of the reactor."

Reynolds returned to the counsel table and picked up two lead containers, approximately two inches in diameter and four inches tall and handed them to Dr. Shirov.

"Dr. Shirov, I am handing you what have been marked as Defense Exhibits 201 and 202. Can you identify these exhibits?"

"Certainly. These are what we call lead pigs and they are used for housing radioactive samples."

"Are the samples dangerous?"

"No. Not at this time."

"What is in these lead pigs?"

"The samples I took from Exhibits 36 and 37."

"If the state wished, could its own scientists retest these samples?"

"Yes, but they would probably want to use fresh samples from the steel plates."

"Thank you. Go on with your explanation, Doctor."

"I performed a five-minute irradiation on each sample. Then I retrieved the samples. Next I punctured the vials with a hypodermic needle and flushed out the radioactive argon gas produced when argon, which occurs naturally in air, is irradiated in a reactor. The vials were then placed in a clear plastic bag and put in front of a high-resolution gamma ray analyzer."

"Explain what you did next."

"When a substance is exposed to neutrons some of the atoms may absorb a neutron and become radioactive. These atoms decay differently depending on the identity of the original atom. No two radioactive nuclides decay with the same half-life and energy.

Therefore, by measuring the energy of the gamma rays emitted during decay at known times after these samples were removed from the reactor, I was able to identify many of the elements in the samples by analyzing the data from the gamma ray detector. I counted the gamma rays emitted at one, five, ten and thirty minutes after the end of the irradiation. I counted the sample again at two and twenty-four hours after the end of the irradiation. The data for each gamma ray count was stored on a disk for later analysis. After the data was on the disk, I used a computer program to identify the energies of the gamma rays."

"Dr. Shirov, what conclusions did you draw from the test data?"

"Mr. Reynolds, I have concluded, after reviewing the information obtained from the analysis, that there is no evidence to support a conclusion that the sample from Exhibit 36 and the sample from Exhibit 37 could have come from the same piece of steel plate. Furthermore, they could not have a common source of origin."

Tracy was stunned and she could tell by the look on Chuck Geddes's face that she was not alone. The two metal pieces so obviously fit that she had assumed they were joined once. Now it looked like she was wrong and the state's case was in shambles.

"Are you saying that Exhibit 36 and Exhibit 37 were never connected?"

Reynolds asked Dr. Shirov." "I am."

"What is the basis for your conclusion?"

"The fragments from Exhibit 37, the clean piece of steel plate, contained observable arsenic, antimony, manganese and vanadium. Exhibit 36, the sample that is charred and twisted, contains manganese, vanadium and aluminum, but no arsenic or antimony. It would not be possible for one piece of steel from a common plate to contain arsenic and antimony and another piece of steel from the same plate to be missing these elements."

"Exhibit 36 was in an explosion. Could that account for the missing elements?"

"Mr. Reynolds, it is not possible that the explosion changed the composition of the steel by removing two elements. It would be more likely that an explosion would add material."

"Dr. Shirov, did you conduct any more tests on the samples?"

"No. Since the observations were conclusive at this point, there was no purpose in further analysis."

"Thank you, Doctor. I have no further questions."

Chuck Geddes stood up. He was obviously fighting to control his emotions in front of the jury.

"May we approach the bench, Your Honor?"

Judge Baldwin motioned Geddes and Reynolds forward.

"Mr. Reynolds gave me Dr. Shirov's test results this morning . . ,"

Geddes whispered angrily.

"No need to go any further, Mr. Geddes," Judge Baldwin said.

"I assumed you'd want to reserve cross. Any objection, Mr. Reynolds?"

"No, Your Honor," Reynolds said graciously.

"Then let's take our morning recess."

As soon as the jurors filed out, Tracy grabbed Reynolds's arm.

"How did you know the two pieces of steel were different?" she asked, unable to keep the awestruck tone out of her voice.

Reynolds smiled. "I had no idea they were different, Tracy.

When I'm dealing with the state's evidence, I follow a simple rule.

I never assume any of it is what it appears to be. I thought I was wasting my time when I hired Dr. Shirov this weekend, but I couldn't think of anything else to do. Fortunately, whoever is trying to frame Abbie didn't know there was a foolproof method of telling if the two metal strips were once joined."

Reynolds turned his attention to Dr. Shirov, who had walked over to the defense table as soon as Judge Baldwin left the bench.

Tracy shook her head. Reynolds was astonishing. Now she understood why so many people, especially other lawyers, spoke of him with such reverence. And why so many clients literally owed him their lives.

Tracy saw Chuck Geddes rushing out of the courtroom and away from the humiliating events of the morning. Just as he reached the door, Neil Christenson came in with a big smile on his face. The investigator said something that made Geddes stop.

The two men conferred. Geddes's back was to Tracy, so she could not see his face, but she could see Christenson gesturing animatedly and Geddes nodding vigorously. Then Christenson stopped talking and Geddes turned and stared at Reynolds and Abbie Griffen. There was a cruel smile on his face, an expression that was hard to reconcile with the stunning blow that had been dealt to his case moments ago.

BarryFrame lived in the Pearl District, an area of northwest Portland once filled with decaying warehouses that had been rejuvenated by an infusion of art galleries and an influx of young professionals and artists who lived in the renovated lofts. Some of the bare brick walls in Barry's loft were decorated with Matthew Reynolds's nature photography. A poster from the Mount Hood Jazz Festival showing a piano floating on a pristine lake with Mount Hood in the background hung above a low white sofa.

Across from the sofa, a metal bookcase stood next to a twenty-seven-inch TV set and a state-of-the-art stereo system. Barry was listening to a CD of Stan Getz blowing a mellow sax when Tracy knocked on his door. She had called from the courthouse as soon as court ended. Barry had been in the field interviewing witnesses during the day and was anxious to be brought up to date on what had happened in the courtroom.

As soon as the door opened, Tracy threw her arms around Barry's neck and kissed him. Then she broke free and grabbed Barry by the shoulders.

"Matthew Reynolds is unreal. I mean, I'd heard he was a grade A genius, but I didn't really believe it until I saw him this afternoon."

"Slow down," Barry said with a laugh.

"I can't. I'm on a fantastic high. You should have seen Geddes. He's such a pompous ass. God, the look on his face as soon as the jurors were out of the room. He went ballistic. It was priceless."

"What happened?"

Tracy grinned wickedly. "What are you willing to do to find out?"

Tracy was loaded with energy and wanted to expend it the same way they had when they missed the last half of Casablanca on Friday night.

"Jesus, I'm involved with a sex maniac. Is this the only way I can get information out of you?"

"Yup."

"I feel like I'm being used."

"Yup."

"And here I thought it was my mind that attracted you."

"Nope," Tracy said as she started taking off her dress.

"Tell me what happened in the goddamn courtroom while I still have the strength to listen," Barry said.

They were lying naked on Barry's king-size bed. Tracy rolled over on her side.

"I guess you've earned the information," she said, smiling impishly.

Then she told Barry about Dr. Shirov's testimony.

"Man, I wish I'd been there," Barry said when she was finished.

"Didn't you know about Shirov?"

"No. This was Matt's baby. He's pulled stuff like this before.

He gets in this zone only he can get to and comes up with these ideas.

If there's a better lawyer in the country, I haven't heard of him."

"Or her," Tracy said, nestling against Barry's chest.

"Excuse me for being politically incorrect," Barry answered as he kissed Tracy's forehead.

"It's all over but the shouting," she said. "Matt destroyed Deems and Dr. Shirov has wiped out Geddes's key evidence. The jury has to have at least a reasonable doubt."

"I never like to get overconfident, Barry said, "but I have to agree with you. It looks like Matt has this one in the bag."

Chapter TWENTY-FIVE

On Wednesday morning, Tracy noticed that no one was sitting at the prosecution counsel table when the defense team entered the courtroom.

The judge's bailiff hurried over to Reynolds as soon as he spotted him.

"The judge wants you in chambers with your client. Mr. Geddes and Mr.

Christenson are already there."

"Any idea what's going on, George?" Reynolds asked.

"Not a clue."

Brock Folmer, the judge whose chambers Judge Baldwin was using, was a Civil War buff. A bookcase with volumes about the great conflict stood next to the door to the courtroom and a table covered with miniature blue and gray soldiers reenacting the Battle of Bull Run sat against the wall under the window. Judge Baldwin seemed lost behind a huge oak desk that stood in the center of the room. In back of him was a complete set of the Oregon Court of Appeals and Supreme Court reporters and the Oregon Revised Statutes. The court reporter was sitting at Judge Baldwin's elbow.

There were three high-backed, brown leather, upholstered chairs in front of the judge's desk. One was empty and Reynolds took it. The other two were occupied by Chuck Geddes and Neil Christenson. Christenson looked nervous, but Geddes looked like he had just won the lottery.

"Good morning, Matt," Judge Baldwin said. "Miss Cavanaugh and Mrs.

Griffen, why don't you have a seat on that couch over by the wall, and we'll get started."

"What's going on, Judge?" Reynolds asked.

"Let's go on the record and Mr. Geddes can tell us. He asked for this meeting this morning."

Geddes lounged in his chair. There was a smug smile on his face. "I want to reopen the state's case," he said.

Judge Baldwin looked a little put out. "That's highly unusual, Mr.

Geddes. We're well into the defense case."

"I'm aware that my request is unusual, Your Honor, but Mr. Christenson has discovered new evidence that changes the complexion of our case."

"And what evidence is that?" the judge asked.

"Evidence that Abigail Griffen also murdered her husband's lover, Laura Rizzatti."

Tracy was stunned and Abbie bolted out of her seat.

"You sick bastard," she started, but Reynolds was up, blocking the judge's view and holding out a hand to his client. "Please, Mrs.

Griffen," he said forcefully.

Abbie caught herself and sank down onto the couch. She was clearly shaken by the accusation. And so, to Tracy's surprise, was Matthew Reynolds.

"Let's everyone calm down so we can sort this out," Judge Baldwin commanded. Geddes had not moved during Abbie's outburst. Reynolds made certain that Abbie was under control, then he turned back to the judge.

"I object to Mr. Geddes's motion to reopen," Reynolds said forcefully.

"The state has rested. Mr. Geddes had months to uncover evidence of this sort, if it exists. The introduction now of evidence of another murder would be untimely. I also believe it would require a mistrial or a lengthy continuance so the defense could prepare to meet this evidence. Both actions would be highly prejudicial to the defense case, which, as the court knows, is in an excellent posture at this point."

Reynolds paused and cast a cutting look at Geddes.

"Frankly, Your Honor, I'm a bit skeptical of the timing of this motion, coming, as it does, right after Mr. Geddes's key witness and key evidence have been discredited."

"Mr. Reynolds's points are well taken, Mr. Geddes," Judge Baldwin said, "but I suppose I have to hear the evidence you want to introduce before I can make a ruling. Why don't you enlighten US."

"Certainly, Your Honor. That's why Mr. Christenson is here.

Neil, please tell the judge what you discovered."

Christenson shifted uncomfortably in his chair and faced the judge.

"Laura Rizzatti was Justice Griffen's clerk at the Supreme Court, Your Honor. She was murdered a little less than a month before Justice Griffen was killed. Mr. Geddes thought it was suspicious that the two murders had been committed so close to one another, but we had no evidence that they were connected, so we assumed that we were probably just dealing with a coincidence.

"Then, Monday night, I remembered that I had seen several credit card receipts to the Overlook Motel in evidence we had taken during a search of Justice Griffen's home office."

Tracy's stomach tightened at the mention of the Overlook.

She saw exactly where Christenson was going and she could not believe it. Until now, the defense was convinced that the prosecutors knew nothing about Justice Griffen's extramarital affairs.

But it was clear that not only did they know about Griffen's trysts at the Overlook, they had drawn an unexpected inference.

"Initially, the receipts meant nothing to me," Christenson continued.

"Then I recalled that the Overlook was a very seedy motel. Not a place where someone like Justice Griffen would normally go. On a hunch, I brought a photograph of Laura Rizzatti to the Overlook and showed it to Annie Hardesty, who is a clerk at the motel. Mrs. Hardesty confirmed that Justice Griffen used rooms at the motel on several occasions to meet women.

She also told me that she had seen Laura Rizzatti with the judge more than once."

Christenson paused to let the implications sink in.

"Then she told me two other facts that I considered important. First, she told me that Miss Cavanaugh and Barry Frame, Mr. Reynolds's investigator, came to the motel well before the trial and learned that the judge was using the motel as a love nest."

"Which will make it difficult for Mr. Reynolds to claim surprise, Your, Honor," Geddes interjected.

"Let's hold off on your argument until I've heard all of Mr.

Christenson's statement," the judge said sternly. "Mr. Christenson, you said there was something else Mrs. Hardesty related."

"Yes, sir. She said she started watching the news about the case after Miss Cavanaugh's visit because she thought she might be a witness, and she recognized the defendant, Mrs. Griffen, as someone she'd seen at the Overlook. She remembered the incident quite clearly because Mrs.

Griffen and her husband were arguing so loudly that one of the other guests complained.

"Mrs. Hardesty told me that she went over to the room the judge .was renting to get them to quiet down when the door burst open and Mrs.

Griffen came flying out. Before the door opened, though, she heard part of the argument and she is willing to testify that Mrs. Griffen threatened to kill her husband if she Caught him cheating again."

"When did you discover this information, Mr. Christenson?"

Judge Baldwin asked.

"Yesterday and the day before, Your Honor."

Geddes leaned forward. "I believe this evidence lays a strong foundation for our theory that Mrs. Griffen learned that Laura Rizzatti and the judge were lovers and that she killed them both when the judge did not heed her warning to stop his affair with Miss Rizzatti."

"What do you have to say, Mr. Reynolds?" the judge asked.

Reynolds had carried a paperback copy of the Oregon Rules of Evidence into chambers. As he was flipping through the pages, looking for the section he wanted, the book slipped from his hand and fell to the floor.

The pages crumpled and the cardboard cover bent. Reynolds leaned over to retrieve the book and Tracy saw his hand tremble as he smoothed out the pages. When he spoke, there was an uncharacteristic quiver in his voice.

"Rule 404 (3) states that evidence of other crimes is not admissible to prove that a defendant is likely to have committed the crime for which she is on trial simply because she committed another, similar crime before."

"Yes, Mr. Reynolds," the judge interrupted. "But the rule also states that proof of prior crimes is admissible for other purposes, such as proof of motive or to show a plan involving both crimes. If there is proof that Mrs. Griffen had a plan to kill both victims or that she killed her husband because he and Miss Rizzatti were lovers, wouldn't the evidence of Miss Rizzatti's murder be admissible?"

"It's possible, Your Honor, but you've forgotten a step the Supreme Court set out in State v. Johns, the case that set up the procedure a judge must use to decide if prior crime evidence is admissible. First, you must decide if the evidence is relevant to an issue in the case, such as proving motive. Then you must decide if the relevance of the evidence is outweighed by the prejudice to the defendant that inevitably occurs if proof of another crime committed by the defendant is introduced at trial.

"In deciding the relevance versus prejudice issue, a judge must consider four factors, one of which is the certainty that the defendant committed the other crime. The burden of convincing the court on that point rests on the state and I haven't heard a single piece of evidence that connects Mrs. Griffen to the Rizzatti murder."

"Does Mr. Geddes have to convince me beyond a reasonable doubt that Mrs. Griffen killed Miss Rizzatti before I can let in the evidence of the Rizzatti murder?"

"No, Your Honor. If I remember correctly, the cases hold that you must be 'certain' Mrs. Griffen killed Miss Rizzatti, but that is still a high burden. There is a case, Tucker v. State, from Nevada that I would like to call to your attention.

"In the spring of 1957, Horace Tucker called the police to his home in Las Vegas. Tucker was unshaven, he looked tired and he had been drinking. A detective found a dead man on the floor of Tucker's dining room. The man had been shot several times, but Tucker said he found the body when he woke up and had no idea what happened. A grand jury conducted an extensive investigation, but did not indict Tucker because it deemed the evidence of Tucker's guilt to be inconclusive.

"Roughly six years later, in late 1963, Tucker phoned the police again.

This time they found a dead man on the couch in Tucker's living room.

The man had been shot to death. Tucker looked like he had been drinking. He said he awakened to find the dead man and had no idea how he got into his house or how he was killed.

"This time, Tucker was charged with murder. At his trial, the prosecutor introduced evidence of the first murder over a defense objection. Tucker was found guilty of murder, but the Nevada Supreme Court reversed because it found nothing in the record that proved that Tucker killed the first man. The court held that evidence of a prior crime is inadmissible unless there is proof that the defendant committed the uncharged crime."

"That case is absurd," Geddes said. "I don't care what they do in Nevada. A Nevada case isn't precedent here. I don't think Oregon law requires me to jump through all these hurdles to get this evidence before a jury."

"Calm down, Mr. Geddes. I'm not that impressed by that Nevada case myself. But it's clear that this issue is too complex for me to decide today. I'm going to dismiss the jury until we clear this up. I want briefs on the prior-crime issue from both of you by Friday."

Judge Baldwin looked worried. "One matter greatly concerns me, gentlemen. If I allow your motion, Mr. Geddes, I may also have to grant a defense motion for mistrial or a continuance because of the prejudice to the defense of reopening at this stage.

I'm deeply troubled that the defense may not have the ability to investigate these new allegations against Mrs. Griffen during trial. I want this prejudice issue thoroughly briefed. This is a death penalty case and I am going to make absolutely certain that both sides have a fair trial."

"Why didn't you tell me that a witness heard you threaten to kill Justice Griffen when we discussed the Overlook?" Matthew asked Abbie as she paced back and forth across her living room.

"I don't, remember seeing her. I was upset. I just stormed out of the motel room. I was so mad, I don't even remember what I said to Robert."

Matthew walked over to the French windows and stared out at the back lawn.

"I don't know if we can avoid asking for a mistrial if the judge let's Geddes reopen the case," he said grimly.

"We've got to go on," Abbie said, turning toward Matthew with a look of desperation. "I couldn't go through another trial.

I'd be trapped in this house again."

"You've got to consider the possibility. If the jury starts thinking that you may have murdered Laura Rizzatti, they'll forget everything else they've heard. And the judge is right. How can we possibly investigate the Rizzatti murder while we're in trial?"

"But we're winning. If the case went to the jury now, I'd be acquitted."

"Geddes knows that. It's one of the reasons he wants Judge Baldwin to rule that he can introduce the evidence. It would force us to move for a mistrial and save him from losing the case."

"That bastard. I hate him."

Abbie stopped in front of Matthew. Her shoulders sagged and she began to sob. The pressure she had been under since her arrest was suddenly more than she could bear. Matthew took her in his arms. Tears streaked her face. She was so forlorn Matthew would have done anything to make her smile. Without saying a word, he stroked her hair and held her.

Finally, Abbie stopped crying. She rested her head against Matthew's shoulder for a moment. She felt as light as a feather, as if her tears had carried away all her emotions and left her hollow. Then she slowly tilted her head back and kissed him. The kiss ended. Abbie rested her cheek against his and he thought he heard her say, "I love you."

It was the voice of someone who had given up everything but one basic truth.

Matthew felt dizzy. He pulled back and felt pressure on his hand. Abbie kept hold of it, turned her back to him and led him toward the stairs.

He followed behind her and walked into Abbie's bedroom in a trance, his heart beating so fast he was having trouble breathing. Abbie turned toward him. She unbuttoned her blouse and stepped out of her skirt. She was wearing a white lace bra and silk bikini panties. Matthew marveled at her smooth, olive skin, the hard muscle, the curves and flat places.

The mysteries of a woman's body. Compared to Abbie, he was pathetic.

Abbie moved into Matthew's arms. He could feel the warmth and texture of her satin-smooth skin. She unbuttoned his shirt, then knelt as she slipped off his pants. Matthew kissed the top of her head and smelled her hair. There was a fragrance of flowers.

Abbie stood up and unhooked her bra. Her breasts were full and high.

Her nipples were erect.

"Take off my panties," Abbie whispered. Her desire paralyzed Matthew.

How could a woman like Abbie want him? She read the confusion on his face and touched the tips of her fingers to his lips. Matthew began to shake. He had never felt such desire, had barely allowed himself to dream of it. Abbie's hand strayed to his penis and the fingers that had traced along his lips performed a different kind of magic. Then Abbie pushed him gently and he fell back onto the bed and into his dreams.

Matthew reached across the bed until he found Abbie's hand. As soon as his fingers touched hers, they entwined. They lay side by side without speaking. Matthew had never felt such peace. If this was all he could ever have out of this life, it would be enough, but he believed now that it was possible for him to have more than this single night with Abbie.

"If we win, will you go back to the district attorney's office?"

Matthew asked.

While Abbie thought about his question, Matthew stared at the ceiling.

With the lights off, the moonlight cast shadow patterns of the limbs of a giant elm on the white surface. The silhouette swayed gently in perfect rhythm with the calm pulse of Matthew's heart.

"It would be hard to go back, Matt. Jack and Dennis stood by me, but I don't know how I'd feel working there after being a defendant."

"Have you ever thought about defending cases?"

Abbie turned her head and studied Matthew.

"Why are you asking?"

Matthew kept his eyes on the ceiling. There was a tremor in his voice when he spoke.

"I love you, Abbie, and I respect you, more than you can imagine. You're an excellent lawyer. Together,' we would be the best."

Abbie realized what he was asking her. Matthew Reynolds had never had a partner and his law practice was his life. She squeezed his hand.

"You're already the best, Matthew."

"Will you consider what I've said?"

Abbie rolled over and stroked his cheek.

"Yes," she whispered. Then she kissed him softly, then harder, then harder still.

Tracy went directly from the courtroom to the Multnomah County law library and started researching the law governing the admissibility of prior-crime evidence. The words on the page were starting to blur when Tracy began reading State v. Zamora, an Oregon Supreme Court decision that discussed the prior-crime issue. For some reason the case sounded familiar, but she did not know why. It had been decided two years before she started clerking, so it wasn't a case she'd worked on, and she did not recall reading it before. Then the names of the cases on Laura's yellow legal pad flashed in her head and she recognized Zamora as one of them.

Tracy skimmed the case. The defendant had murdered a clerk and a customer in a convenience store in Portland. A 5-2 majority reversed the conviction because the trial judge admitted evidence of a prior, unconnected robbery in violation of the rule excluding evilence of prior crimes. Justice Lefcourt had written for the court with Justices Pope, Griffen, Kelly and Arriaga joining him. The public defender had handled Zamora's appeal.

Out of curiosity, Tracy pulled the volumes holding the other cases that Laura had listed on the sheet from the yellow legal pad that Tracy had found in Volume XI of the Deems transcript. State v. Cardona had originated in Medford, a small city in southern Oregon five hours' drive down I-5 from Portland. Tracy did not recognize the name of the attorney who argued the case. Justices Kelly, Griffen and Pope had joined in Justice Arriaga's majority opinion reversing Cardona's conviction for distributing cocaine.

Justices Lefcourt, Sherzer and Forbes had dissented.

The majority interpreted the search and seizure provisions of the Oregon constitution as forbidding the procedures the police had used when searching Cardona's apartment, even though the same procedures would not have violated the search and seizure provisions of the United States Constitution. There was nothing unusual about this. The United States Supreme Court had become increasingly conservative. Some state courts could not stomach its ideologically motivated opinions and had begun fashioning a jurisprudence based on interpretations of state constitutions that were frequently at odds with federal law.

In State v. Galarraga, Roseburg police stopped the defendant for speeding. After writing a ticket, they asked for permission to search Galarraga's car. According to the police, Galarraga consented to a search that revealed automatic weapons, money and cocaine. Justice Kelly reversed the conviction on the grounds that the search violated the provisions of the Oregon constitution.

Justices Arriaga, Pope and Griffen had joined in Justice Kelly's opinion. Bob Packard represented Galarraga.

Tracy skimmed the cases again, but could not see a connection between them, other than the fact that all three cases had been reversed. One was a murder case and two were drug cases.

They were from three different parts of the state. Two involved state constitutional law issues, but Zamora was reversed because of a violation of Oregon's evidence code. Different lawyers had represented the defendants.

The librarian told Tracy she was closing up. Tracy reshelved her books and drove to the office, where she dictated a memo on prior-crime evidence for Reynolds. She placed the cassette on his secretary's desk with a note asking her to type it first thing in the morning. Barry was cooking her dinner at his apartment. Tracy called to let him know she was on her way and turned out the lights.

Barry served her spaghetti with meat sauce, garlic bread and a salad, but all Tracy could do was peck at her food. Barry saw how exhausted she was and insisted that Tracy sleep at his place.

Tracy didn't argue. She staggered out of her clothes, collapsed on the bed and fell into a deep sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Soon she was lost in a dark forest. The trees were so high and the foliage so thick that only stray rays of sunlight were able to fight their way through the black-green canopy. In the distance, Tracy heard a muffled sound, strong and constant, like whispered conversation in another room.

The dark woods terrified her. She felt trapped and her breathing was labored. Tracy struggled toward the sound until she broke into a clearing and found herself on the shore of a river that raged and swirled downstream toward an unknown destination.

As often occurs in dreams, the landscape shifted. The trees were gone and the land around the river was flat and barren.

Someone called to her from the opposite shore. It was a man. She could not hear what he was saying because of the roar of the river. She strained to see him clearly, but his features were blurred by the reflected sunlight. To reach him, she would have to swim the river, and suddenly she was fighting a current that swept her downstream.

Tracy panicked. She sank below the surface, then bobbed up again. She was drowning, dying, when she splashed into a calm section of the river.

She gasped for air, still unable to swim to shore, but no longer in immediate danger. The current spun her toward the far shore, where the man miraculously appeared. He shouted to her, but the water roared in her ears, baffling the sound. Then she saw that he was holding something. She watched his arms fly upward. The object sailed toward her. Tracy reached up to catch it and saw a ball rotating slowly through the air. The minute the ball touched her hands, Tracy bolted upright in bed, jerked out of sleep by a truth that frightened her more than any nightmare she'd ever had.

The offices were dark except for the reception area, where the lights were kept on all night. Tracy let them in with her key and Barry punched in the alarm code.

"It's in here," Tracy said, leading Barry to the small room next to Matthew's office where they were keeping the defense evidence.

"I hope you're wrong about this," Barry said.

"I hope I am, too."

The evidence was arranged on a table. Tracy looked through it until she found the photographs and negatives in the FotoFast envelope. She set the negatives aside and shuffled through the photographs. There were shots of Abigail Griffen, pictures of the beach and the ocean, exteriors and interiors of the cabin and the photo of the shed Matthew had used on cross-examination to destroy Charlie Deems. Tracy checked the dates stamped on the negatives. Some of the early pictures on the roll had been taken in June, but the bulk of the negatives, including the photo of the shed, were dated August 12, the day Deems testified that he had met Abbie at the cabin and the day Abbie claimed she had been attacked.

Tracy studied the photograph of the shed. Barry looked over her shoulder. The photograph showed the interior of the shed.

Tracy could see the volleyball net, the tools and the space where a box of dynamite could have sat. In the middle of the space was the volleyball.

"I'm right," she said dispiritedly.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. While you were looking around, I walked over to the edge of the bluff and sat on the stairs. On my way, I looked in the shed. The volleyball was resting on the volleyball net. You had the ball when you found me sitting on the stairs, and we played with it on the beach. On the way back to the car, you tossed the ball into the shed. I have a very clear mental picture of the ball coming to rest in the empty space.

"We were at the cabin in September, Barry. The ball was on the net when I opened the shed door. If the ball was in the empty space on August 12, how did it get onto the net? And how can the ball be in the exact position we left it in September in a photograph taken in August? The only answer is that this photograph was taken after we were at the cabin and it's been phonied up to look like it was taken in August. Only I don't know anything about photography, so { have no idea how it was done."

"Well, I know a lot about cameras. I have to on this job. Let me see the negatives and I'll try to figure this out."

The negatives were in cellophane slipcases. Each strip contained the negatives for four pictures. Tracy handed the stack of negative strips to Barry. He held up the strip with the picture of the shed to the light. All four negatives were dated August 12.

Barry sat down at the table and picked up the Pentax camera.

He turned it over and studied it. Then he looked at the strip of negatives again. Barry frowned. His brow furrowed. He examined the negative strips for all of the photographs. Then he laid down the strip with the negative of the shed and placed another strip directly above it. He studied the two strips, then he removed the strip without the picture of the shed and put another strip in its place. He repeated this with all of the negative strips. When he was done, Barry's shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes.

"What is it?" Tracy asked.

"You're right. The picture of the shed was not taken when the rest of these pictures were."

"How is that possible if the negative is dated August 12?"

"That's the easy part," Barry said, picking up the camera and pointing to a digital readout on the back. "The Pentax 105-R camera has a mechanism for setting the date that is similar to the mechanism you use to set the date on a VCR or a digital watch.

The person who took the picture simply reset the date to August 12, took the pictures he wanted, then reset the camera to the correct date."

"But there are pictures of Mrs. Griffen on the roll of film. The roll had to have ,been taken before she was confined to her house."

"It was. When FotoFast developed the film, it was in one strip.

Fotofast cut the strip of negatives into several strips, each with four shots on them. The strip with the shot of the shed was the only strip that was not taken on the date stamped on the negative."

"How do you know that?"

"When film is placed in a camera it's blank. It doesn't have any frames demurking where each photograph will be. The frames are formed when you take a picture. But each roll of film does have numbers imprinted on it that don't appear on the photograph but do show up on the negatives below the frames when a picture is taken. These numbers start at 1 and go 1, 1A, 2, 2A, and so on. You can see them here," Barry said, pointing out the numbers.

"These numbers are spaced along the bottom of the roll of film at a set distance from each other. The distance doesn't change, because the numbers are imprinted on the film when the film is produced.

"Whoever did this went to the coast after we were there. He had the negatives of the film Mrs. Griffen gave you. He took out one strip that would be in the natural sequence on the roll for the shot of the shed to appear. In this case it was the strip with the numbers 15 to 16A. Then he took photographs with the Pentax using the same brand of film Mrs. Griffen used. When he came to the shot that would be numbered 15, he copied the shot Mrs. Griffen had taken at that point on the strip. 15A is the fake shot of the shed. He took the shot showing the shed without any dynamite. Then he duplicated shots 16 and 16A, finished the roll, had it printed by the same FotoFast store that printed the roll Mrs. Griffen took and switched the single strip.

"Look at the strips," Barry said, holding up two he picked at random.

"Each row of film from the same company is manufactured like every other roll. If you take two rolls of film from the same company and lay them side by side, the numbers will line up. If you take a ruler and measure from the tip of one roll to 1A and from the tip of a second roll to 1A, the distance will be identical. But there's a little piece of film at the end of each roll of film called the leader that you place in the camera when you roll the film into it to get the film into a position where a shot can be taken. Every person does this differently. That means that the numbers will be in a different place in relation to the frames that are formed when each picture is taken on one roll than they will be on another person's roll."

Barry put down one of the strips he was holding and picked up the strip with the shot of the shed. Then he held one strip directly over the other.

"On every negative strip but the one with the shot of the shed, the number is on the edge of the frame. On the strip with 15 to 16A, the numbers are slightly closer to the center of the frame.

Can you see that?" Tracy nodded.

"That's impossible," he continued, "if that strip was on the roll with the rest of the shots."

Barry put down the strips. "What I don't understand," he said, "is how Griffen was able to get away from her house, take the picture and make the switch without setting off the electronic monitoring system."

"You don't understand because you don't want to, Barry," Tracy said sadly.

Barry stared at Tracy. "You can't think . . ."

"It's the only answer."

"Bullshit," Barry shouted angrily.

"I don't want to believe it either. But the simple fact is that Abigail Griffen could not have left the house. And even if she was able to defeat the electronic monitoring system, there's no way she could have known where on the roll to fix the faked strip. We had the negatives here along with the camera."

"Ah, no," Barry said in a voice so filled with grief that Tracy felt herself melt with pity for him.

"It was Matt," she said softly. "It has to be. He had access to the negatives and the camera arid he's a great photographer. You would have to know an awful lot about cameras to come up with this scheme."

"But why, Tracy?"

"You know the answer to that, too. You've seen how she's played him.

He's so in love with her that she only had to whisper the suggestion and he'd do it."

"Not Matt," Barry said desperately.

"He's a brilliant attorney, Barry, but he's not a god. He's just a human being."

Barry stood up and paced the room. Tracy let him work it out.

When Barry turned toward' her he appeared to have made a decision.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice flat and cold.

"You know I don't have a choice. I have to go to Judge Baldwin. This is a criminal offense. If I don't tell the court, I'm guilty as an aider and abettor."

"You can't do it, Tracy," Barry begged her. "If you tell Baldwin, Matt will be destroyed. He'd be disbarred. Geddes will go berserk. He'll make sure Matt goes to prison, for God's sake."

Tracy placed a hand on Barry's shoulder.

"Don't you think I know that? But what else can I do? He broke the law. And you're forgetting something else. Griffen wouldn't need a fake photograph unless the dynamite was in the shed. Deems knew about the dynamite, because Abbie showed it to him, which means she asked Deems to kill her husband. If she convinced Matt to fake the picture, it's because she's guilty. If I don't tell the court, Abigail Griffen will go free. She's a murderer, Barry. She killed Robert Griffen."

Tracy paused and her features became devoid of pity. When she spoke, her voice was hard as granite.

"She may have done something else, Barry. She may have killed Laura Rizzatti, my friend. And I'm not going to let her get away with that."

Barry had not heard her. He was too overwhelmed by the facts he was forced to face. He looked at the floor and, in a voice on the edge of tears, he said, "I don't believe it, Tracy. He's the most honorable man I've ever met. He would never fake evidence in a court case."

"I understand how you feel, but I can't keep quiet about this."

Barry's face fell. Tracy had never seen another human being so distraught.

"If you do this, you'll do it without me. I won't hurt Matt. And if you do . . ."

Barry couldn't go on. He simply stood in from of Tracy and shook his head.

"Barry, please. Don't do this to us."

"Don't do this to Matt."

"What about Griffen? Do you want her to walk away from a murder charge?"

"I don't care about Abigail Griffen. One hundred of her are not worth one man like Matthew Reynolds. Think of all the good he's done. All of the sacrifices he's made. Let her walk, for Christ's sake. Don't crucify Matt. Don't destroy him"

"He broke the law. I'm an officer of the court. You're asking me to betray everything I believe in and to let a cold-blooded murderer go free."

"I'm asking you to be human. We're talking about a man's life.

And not just any man. Think about what you're doing."

Tracy shook her head. She could not believe what Barry was asking of her.

"I can't let this go, Barry, but I'll talk to Matt before I go to see Judge Baldwin and I'll give him a chance to show me I'm wrong."

Barry looked directly into Tracy's eyes. His own were dead.

"Do what you have to do, Tracy. But if you destroy Matthew Reynolds, I can never see you again."

Chapter TWENTY-SIX

For the sake of appearances, Matthew did not spend the night with Abbie.

At four-thirty in the morning, he let himself into his house through a back door and climbed a staircase that went straight to his living quarters. Forgotten for the moment was the turn the trial had taken.

Tonight, all of his dreams had come true.

Not only had he and Abbie made love, but he had learned that she really loved him.

Before he went to bed, Matthew took out the manila envelope with the articles about Abbie and the photographs of her. This time when he looked at the photographs he did not feel longing or despair. In fact, they evoked no emotions. For the first time, he understood that the photographs were not Abbie. She was a warm, vibrant person. These two-dimensional images were as insubstantial as ghosts. He could not bring himself to destroy them, but he felt uncomfortable looking at them, as if by viewing the pictures he was betraying the woman he loved.

For the first time in a long time, Matthew awakened to sunlight.

He showered and made himself his usual breakfast of toast and black coffee. One of his correspondence chess games had taken a peculiar turn. In a position where Matthew thought he held a slight advantage, his opponent, an architect in Nebraska, had made an odd and unexpected knight move that had him worried.

Matthew carried his mug into the den and sipped cooling coffee until he was satisfied that he knew the architect's strategy. He addressed a postcard, wrote his move on the back of the card and descended to his office. Matthew's secretary was surprised to hear him humming.

A memo on the law of prior-crime evidence was waiting on his desk.

Reynolds read the memo, then buzzed Tracy's office. There was no answer. He buzzed the receptionist. "Do you know where Tracy is?"

"I haven't seen her this morning."

It was nine-thirty. Tracy was normally in by eight at the latest.

"Please tell her to see me as soon as she comes in," Reynolds said. Then he picked up the memo and walked down to the office library to read the cases Tracy had cited.

Tracy offered to drive Barry to his apartment, but he chose to walk the twenty blocks of nighttime streets back to the loft. Barry cared for Tracy, he might even love her, but he could not bear to be with her and he desperately needed time to think. Tracy was relieved to be alone.

The pain she and Barry had caused each other was too intense. She needed time away from him as much as he needed to be apart from her.

Tracy arrived at her waterfront apartment at two-thirty. She tried to sleep, but gave up after tossing and turning for half an hour. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the face of Laura Rizzatti or Matthew Reynolds.

Around three-fifteen, Tracy got out of bed and wandered into her kitchen. She poured herself a glass of milk and walked over to the sliding-glass door that opened onto her terrace. The terrace overlooked the Willamette. She pressed her forehead to the glass and stared at the lights on the Hawthorne and Morrison Street bridges. The ghostly glow of headlights swept over them like a legion of spirits aswirl in the night. After a while, Tracy was too exhausted to stand up. She curled in a ball on her sofa. Her eyes refused to stay open, but she could not sleep. The sadness of it all suddenly overwhelmed her. Laura and the judge dead, Matthew Reynolds's career on the verge of destruction and her relationship with Barry in ruins. She began to sob and made no attempt to hold back her tears. Her body shook quietly as she let herself go.

When the dawn came, her tears had dried.

"There you are," Matthew said with a friendly smile when Tracy walked into his office at eleven-thirty. Tracy could not help noticing how relaxed he looked. She, on the other hand, was exhausted and drained of energy. It had taken all of her courage to come to Reynolds's office to confront him.

Tracy shut the door and sagged into a chair.

"There's something we have to talk about," she said.

"Can it wait?" he asked pleasantly. "We've got to whip this memo into shape and I have some ideas I want to run by you."

"I don't think the memo matters anymore, Mr. Reynolds," she said sadly.

Reynolds frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I know Mrs. Griffen is guilty," Tracy said.

For a moment, Reynolds did not react. Then he looked at her as if he was not certain he'd heard Tracy correctly. "What are you talking about?"

Tracy took the FotoFast envelope out of her purse and laid the photo of the shed on Reynolds's blotter.

"I spent last night looking at the negatives with Barry," she said. "He explained how it was done."

Reynolds looked confused. He glanced at the photograph, then back at Tracy.

"I'm afraid you've lost me."

"This photograph of the shed is a fake. It was taken in September.

We'll have to tell Chuck Geddes and Judge Baldwin.

We'll have to resign from the case."

Reynolds studied the photograph, but made no move to touch it. When he looked at Tracy there was no indication of guilt or fear on his features. If Tracy had not seen the way Reynolds controlled his emotions in court, she would have concluded that he was innocent.

"What makes you think the photograph was faked?" Reynolds asked calmly.

Tracy told Matthew about her trip to the cabin with Barry and explained about the position of the volleyball.

"It must be a coincidence," Matthew said. "The ball was in the position in the photograph on August 12. Then Sheriff Dillard or one of his deputies moved it onto the net when he checked the shed for the dynamite."

"I hoped that was the solution, but it's not."

"Then how could the negative have August 12 stamped on it?"

Tracy explained the way the fake was created, hoping that Matthew would drop his pretense and admit what he had done.

As she spoke, Reynolds grew agitated and began to shift in his chair.

"But how could Mrs. Griffen have created the substitute strip?" Matthew snapped when Tracy was through with her explanation. "It's ridiculous.

She's been confined to her house since the last week in August."

"She didn't make the fake. Mrs. Griffen had an accomplice.

Someone who had access to the Pentax and the negatives. Someone who knows enough about photography to think up this scheme.

"How could you do it, Matthew? She's a murderer. She killed a good, decent man for money and she killed a good friend of mine."

Reynolds tried to maintain his composure, but he failed. Moments before, he had been the happiest person in the world. Now everything was slipping away from him. His shoulders hunched and he slumped in his seat. He took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry," he managed. "I know how this looks, but, believe me, it's not what it seems."

Matthew's chest heaved. It took him a moment to regain his composure.

"Abbie had nothing to do with the photograph and she didn't kill her husband or Laura Rizzatti."

"I don't believe that."

Matthew paused again. Tracy could see he was trembling. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. When he opened his eyes, they were moist with tears.

"When you interviewed with me, I told you about several fine attorneys who have visited a prison after dark and left with their client dead.

Then I told you that neither I nor any attorney who worked for me had ever visited a prison after dark. That wasn't true.

"When I was eight years old, I visited a prison after dark.

When I left the prison before dawn, the man I had spoken with was dead.

He was my father. I loved him very much. He was executed for the murder of a young woman with whom he worked. The prosecutor convinced a jury that my father had been having an affair with this woman and had killed her because she threatened to tell my mother about their affair.

My father swore that he loved my mother and was only the girl's friend.

The jury didn't believe him and he was executed in the electric chair.

"Two years after he died, the real murderer confessed. He worked with the woman and they were having an affair. My father had simply been the woman's friend. He was executed for a crime he never committed. If it wasn't for the death penalty, he would have been freed from prison and I would have had my father back."

Matthew leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"I know I must disgust you, Tracy. Preaching about morality and honor and dishonoring myself and my profession. But I had to . . . I was compelled to . . . I saw no other way."

Matthew stopped again. He looked across the desk at Tracy.

His eyes pied for understanding.

"She's innocent, Tracy. I'm absolutely certain. And I couldn't bear the thought that she might die. She doesn't know a thing about the photograph of the shed."

"But how could you invent evidence?" Tracy asked, the words catching in her chest.

"I can't do it anymore," Matthew said. "Fighting for every inch, every minute I'm in trial. Having to be perfect, every time, because my client dies if I'm not perfect. It's worn me down. I've lost my confidence. I know I'm going to lose someday. That a client of mine will lie."

Reynolds paused again. Tracy could see him struggle to come up with the words he spoke next.

"You have no idea what my life has been like. I'm so alone. At first, my loneliness was a badge of honor. I had my crusade against death and I didn't need anything else. Then the crusade became an ordeal. So much was expected of me. I wanted someone to share my pain and there was no one. Then I met Abbie."

Reynolds's face showed surprisingly little emotion, but tears rolled down his cheeks.

"I love her, Tracy. I couldn't live with myself if she was the one I couldn't save. I simply could not let her die. I just couldn't."

"It's easy to fool yourself about a person you love," Tracy said gently.

"What if Abbie did murder Justice Griffen and Laura?"

"It's not possible. I . . . I know Abbie too well. She's being framed. The metal strip proves that. And what about the money?

Where did Charlie Deems get a hundred thousand dollars?"

"She could have paid Deems to kill Justice Griffen. She's a very wealthy woman."

"Then why would Deems go to the district attorney and implicate Abbie?

No. Someone else killed Justice Griffen and framed Abbie."

Tracy was so certain of Abbie's guilt when she entered Reynolds's office. Now she did not know.

"What are you going to do?" Matthew asked her.

Tracy remembered Barry asking that very question.

"What choice do I have? I'll have to report you to Judge Baldwin this afternoon. Do you think this is an easy choice? You're one of the finest human beings I've ever known. If I go to Judge Baldwin you'll be disbarred and go to prison. But if I keep silent, I'll be abetting what you've done, I'll be opening myself up for the same punishment and I'll be betraying my oath as an officer of the court."

"I'm not thinking of myself, Tracy. If you reveal what you know to the judge, he'll have to tell Chuck Geddes. Geddes will use the evidence in Abbie's trial and she'll surely be convicted."

"But she didn't know. You said so."

"Geddes, doesn't have to believe that. If he finds out about the photograph, he'll argue that Abbie did know it was a fake and there will only be my word that she didn't. Geddes will use the fact that I used a doctored photograph to rehabilitate Charlie Deems. The jurors will believe he saw the dynamite in the shed.

They'll believe that a prosecutor who kills, then tries to subvert justice by fabricating evidence, should die.

"If you tell Judge Baldwin what I've done, you'll be signing the death warrant of an innocent woman."

The climb up the three-hundred-foot rock wall had been slow and relatively uneventful until Tracy reached a narrow ledge that stretched horizontally across the cliff face for sixty feet. The ledge was three quarters of an inch at its widest point, fading into nonexistence in spots.

Tracy had missed the sloping overhang that jutted out ten feet above the ledge and forty feet below the summit, because, from the base of the cliff, looking up, the overhang appeared to be the summit. Tracy stood delicately on tiptoes with her body braced against the rock and carefully studied the overhang. It covered the ledge like a canopy and the rock on either side of the overhang was too smooth for Tracy to work around it. It would be maddening to come this far and be this close to the top without being able to finish the climb.

Tracy had been studying the underside of the overhang inch by inch for several minutes when her foot dislodged a small rock.

She paid no attention as it plummeted down, smashing into fragments at the end of its flight, because her concentration was riveted on a crack that ran through the middle of the overhang.

The crack appeared to be wide enough to let her insert her hand, if her hand was open and rigid. Tracy thought about the crack and what it might let her do. Her plan would depend on split second timing and the chance that the crack would widen as it worked its way into the rock.

But Tracy's situation left her no choice. Her only alternative was to admit defeat and descend the cliff.

Tracy was dressed in a loose-fitting, long-sleeved white top and baggy black spider pants that zipped over her form-fitting rock shoes. The day was dry and cold. If it had rained, she would not have attempted the ascent. The solo climb was dangerous enough in good weather.

The maneuver she was contemplating was risky, but Tracy could not let herself think about the danger. Nervous tension is a climber's worst enemy, because it can make a climber's hands sweat and jeopardize the security of a good handhold. While she thought through her plan, Tracy dipped both hands into the chalk in a fat purple bag fastened behind her at her waist. The chalk would keep her hands dry.

Tracy stared at the crack and relaxed her breathing. Behind her, the wilderness spread out like a green carpet, but Tracy saw only the gray uneven surface of the rock wall. She scanned the area above her for handholds. When she was rested, Tracy worked her way up the rockface until she was just under the overhang.

Tracy turned and balanced on her foothold, then she extended her right arm slowly until her hand was in the crack.

Please, please, please, she whispered to herself as her fingers inched upward. She breathed out slowly as she felt the narrow crack widen to form a pocket in the rock.

Up this high the air was as blue as the sky in a fairy tale and the clouds were pillows of white. To succeed, Tracy would have to float on the air. She watched the clouds until her body grew as light as one of them. She was gossamer, butterfly wings, puffballs blown from a dandelion.

Tracy made a fist with her right hand, increasing its width until it was wedged into the crack. She breathed in, then expelled violently, pushing out from the cliff with an explosive thrust. Her right hand was a ball of iron. For a moment it was her only contact with the world.

Then she pivoted on it, swinging upward past the outer rim of the overhang. Her free hand reached high. It would only have, a moment of contact in which to grip tight enough to support her body.

Tracy twisted and the fingers of her left hand found a hold just as the force of the swing wrenched her fist from the crack.

For a second, she dangled in space, halfway between safety and oblivion.

Then her fingers tightened and she drew her body upward in a one-armed pull-up. The right hand arced over the lip of the overhang and gripped.

A moment later, Tracy was over the top, stretched out on her stomach, adrenaline coursing through her as she trembled with elation.

The summit was now an easy climb, not worth more than a casual thought.

When she reached the top, Tracy turned slowly, looking across the evergreen forest at the peaks of rugged, snowdusted mountains all covered by a sky of the clearest blue. This was the world the way an eagle saw it. Tracy inhaled the sweet mountain air. Then she sat on the edge of the cliff, unhooked her water bottle and took a drink.

The climb had forced Tracy to forget about everything except the rock.

Now that the climb was over, there was no way to avoid thinking about the conflict that dominated her every waking moment the way the Cascade Mountains dominated the skyline.

Matthew Reynolds's life was an inspiration to every attorney who undertook a death penalty case. If Tracy did what the law and the Canon of Ethics required, she would bring him down. All of Matthew's good deeds would be forgotten, because of a single act committed for love.

Tracy had decided that she would never reveal the truth behind the photograph if she knew for certain that Abigail Griffen was innocent, because a jury that learned about the photograph would convict Abbie and probably sentence her to death. It was the possibility that Griffen was guilty that made Tracy's predicament so difficult.

Matthew was convinced that someone was framing Abbie.

There was certainly enough evidence to support that conclusion.

Griffen was brilliant. She would never use the same type of bomb Deems had used in the Hollins murder, knowing it would make her a suspect. If she. did use a bomb, she wouldn't be stupid enough to leave a piece of it in her garage. The strip of metal Torino had found in the garage was not even from the bomb, making it likely that it had been planted to frame Griffen. Then there was Deems. If the $100,000 was a payoff for perjury, Abbie was innocent.

Which brought Tracy to the next question. If Abbie was innocent, who was guilty? Deems was the easy answer But someone paid Deems $100,000 for something. Whether it was to kill Justice Griffen, frame Abbie, or both, there still had to be someone else involved. But who? And what motive did they have?

Suddenly a thought occurred to her. She had been assuming that either Abbie murdered the judge and Laura because they were lovers or the two murders were unconnected. What if Laura's murder and the murder of Justice Griffen were connected, but someone else killed them? That would put a whole new slant on the case.

Justice Kelly was a possible suspect. Had she lied when she said that her sexual relationship with Justice Griffen meant little to her? What if she was insanely jealous and killed the judge and Laura because Griffen had taken Laura as his lover?

Then Tracy remembered the transcripts and the cases on the sheet of legal paper. Laura had been upset about something for weeks before her death. It would have been natural for Laura to tell Justice Griffen what was bothering her, especially if, in addition to being his law clerk, she was also his lover. What if the transcript and the cases were evidence of something illegal? Were they what the murderer was looking for when he ransacked Laura's office and cottage?

The transcript was a public record that anyone could get, but Tracy had read the transcript and had no idea why it was important. It was the same with the cases. Nothing she had read in them had alerted her.

Having the transcript and the list was meaningless unless you knew what to look for. If Laura's killer learned that Justice Griffen had the transcript and the list of cases, and suspected that the judge knew why they were important, he would have a motive to kill Justice Griffen. But how could she possibly figure out why the cases and the transcript were important or if they even had any significance?

Tracy wished that she could forget about the case and stay forever on this perch where she could be above it all, but she had to descend to earth. She felt defeated by the case but she had to keep going. She had no choice. If she could not solve the murders, she would have to tell Judge Baldwin about the fake photograph. Tracy sighed and took a mixture of nuts and dried fruit from a plastic bag in her side pocket.

She chewed slowly and took another drink of water. Then she carefully checked her climbing gear and started her descent.

Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

As soon as she woke up Friday morning, Tracy slipped into a heavy sweater and jeans and carried a bran muffin and a mug of black coffee onto her terrace. As she ate, Tracy watched the drawbridges rise to accommodate a rusted tanker with a Spanish name and a Liberian flag. She wished Barry was sitting beside her. Tracy missed him. He was a kind and considerate lover.

More important, he was a kind and considerate man. She understood why Barry wasn't with her. She admired him for his loyalty.

But she wished he was helping her and she knew that she would lose him for good, if she hadn't already, unless she could prove Abigail Griffen was innocent.

After breakfast, Tracy called in sick. It was not a complete lie.

She was sick at heart and could not imagine being in a place where she would see both Matthew and Barry. The receptionist told Tracy that Judge Baldwin was taking the prosecution's motion to introduce evidence of Laura's murder under advisement and had dismissed the jury for the weekend. Tracy hung up and called Bob Packard's office.

"I wanted to thank you for lending us the transcripts," Tracy said.

"They've been very useful."

"Glad I could help," Packard answered.

"I was wondering if you could help me again."

"What do you need?"

"Could you tell me a little about a case you handled in the Supreme Court? State v. Galarraga."

"Is Ernesto going to be a witness in the Griffen case?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"He knows a lot about Charlie Deems."

"He does?", "You didn't know?"

"No, I didn't."

"Do you know who Raoul Otero is?"

"He's mixed up with narcotics, isn't he?"

Packard laughed. "That's like asking if Babe Ruth is mixed up with baseball. Otero is a major Mexican drug dealer with a distribution network that covers large parts of the western United States. Charlie Deems was the Portland distributor for the Otero organization. Ernesto Galarraga worked for Charlie."

Tracy thought about that for a moment. Then she asked, "Do the names Jorge Zamora or Pedro Cardona mean anything to you?"

Tracy listened intently to what Packard had to say. As soon as she hung up, she made a call to Medford and talked to the district attorney who had prosecuted Pedro Cardona. When the call was over, Tracy was certain she had discovered the importance of the cases on Laura's list. She felt sick to her stomach. Coming so soon after her discovery of Matthew Reynolds's crime, it was almost too much to take in. If she was right, and could prove it, she could give the state Justice Griffen's killer and save Matthew Reynolds from disgrace. Tracy looked at her watch. It was only nine o'clock. She had time to do the necessary research at the law library and be at the Supreme Court by one.

D Alice Sherzer gave Tracy a hug, then ushered her into her chambers.

"Are you surviving Matthew Reynolds's sweatshop?"

"Barely," Tracy answered tersely.

"Is the job as much fun as you thought it would be?"

"Matthew is a brilliant man and a great trial lawyer," Tracy said, avoiding a lie.

"How do you like trying a major murder case?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Mrs. Griffen's case.

Justice Sherzer looked surprised. "I don't think I can do that, Tracy.

If she's convicted, there's a good chance the court will have to hear her appeal."

"I know that. But I've discovered something that involves the court.

Something you have to know. It bears not only on Justice Griffen's murder but also on the murder of Laura Rizzatti."

"I don't understand."

Tracy paused. Her stomach heaved and she felt light-headed.

The full import of what she was going to say had not fully dawned on her until now.

"Judge I think Justice Griffen and Laura Bizzatti were murdered because they learned that a member of this court is influencing the outcome of cases involving the Otero narcotics organization."

Alice Sherzer stared at Tracy for a moment. Then she shook her head. "I don't believe that for a moment," she said angrily.

"Hear me out. I know how you feel. I've been sick with the thought of it, but I can't see any other explanation for what I've found."

Justice Sherzer frowned. Then she pressed the button on her intercom and told her secretary that she did not want to be interrupted by anyone.

Tracy told Justice Sherzer about Laura's reaction when she had caught her reading the Deems transcript and the way Laura hid the names of the cases on the legal pad. Then Tracy explained how she found the transcript and the yellow sheet in the evidence taken from Justice Griffen's den.

"I'm sure Laura figured out a connection between the cases and told Justice Griffen what she discovered. I think they were both murdered to prevent them from disclosing what they knew."

"And what is that?"

"I still have no idea why the transcript is important. But I'm certain I know the significance of the cases."

Tracy gave Justice Sherzer a summary of the cases. Then she said, "Ernesto Galarraga worked with Charlie Deems and they both worked for Raoul Otero. Jorge Zamora was an enforcer for Otero. He murdered one of their rivals in a convenience store. He also killed the clerk to make the hit look like a robbery. Pedro Cardona was a front man for Otero in southern Oregon. He was trying to establish a distribution network in Medford when he was busted.

"Deems, Cardona, Zamora and Galarraga all worked for Otero. They were all convicted, but their convictions were reversed by a divided court.

Justice Lefcourt was in the majority in Zamora, but he dissented in the other cases. Justices Griffen, Kelly, Arriaga and Pope were in the majority in every one of the cases.

"In every case but Zamora, which was reversed on an evidence issue, the court reversed on a novel legal theory. In Deems, the majority adopted a rule involving confessions that is the law in only three other states.

In Cardona and Galarraga, the court interpreted the Oregon constitution in a way that ran contrary to the interpretation of the Fourth Amendment to the federal constitution. I talked with the DA who prosecuted Cardona. He was shocked by the reversal. There was a U S. Supreme Court case right on point. He said the trial judge upheld the search without batting an eye and the Court of Appeals affirmed with no dissenters.

"I spent two hours this morning reading the criminal cases the court has decided in the past five years to see if I could find any other cases that fit this pattern. I think that's what Laura did.

Justice Sherzer, those cases are unique. There are no other criminal cases with this exact voting bloc in the past five years."

"How did Laura stumble onto the pattern?" Justice Sherzer asked.

"I have no idea. The cases are spread through a five-year period. The reversal of any one of them should have gone unnoticed. I think something in the Deems transcript tipped her off, but I have no idea what it is. What I strongly suspect is that either Justice Kelly, Pope or Arriaga is working for Raoul Otero to influence the other judges to reverse cases in which important members of the Otero organization are the defendants. Somehow, this justice learned that Laura knew what was going on and had told Justice Griffer. I think that's why they were killed."

"How could one person guarantee three other votes?"

"There were no guarantees. But some of the judges, like Frank Arriaga and Justice Griffen, were very sensitive to defendant's rights and you know how an undecided vote can be influenced by a passionate advocate."

"Tracy, listen to what you're saying. Can you honestly imagine a member of this court murdering Laura and Robert?"

"No, but I can imagine him paying Charlie Deems to do it. I think the hundred thousand dollars that Matthew found in Deems's bank account was the payoff for a double killing."

"Tracy, this doesn't make sense. I know these people."

"Did either Justice Pope, Arriaga or Kelly take the lead in trying to reverse these cases during conferences?"

"You know I can't reveal what goes on in conference."

"You've got to. We're talking about a double homicide and the possibility of an innocent person being convicted for one of them."

Justice Sherzer sighed. "You're right, of course. But I can't remember the discussions of those cases. Some of them took place four years ago."

"What about Deems. It's fairly recent. Who pushed for the reversal?"

"I believe Frank Arriaga was very concerned about the use of the informant. He and Stuart argued vehemently about the case."

"Why did Justice Griffen write the opinion?"

"Frank was going to do it. Then he got hung up on a complex land-use decision and he asked Robert to write it. They were in agreement on the issues and Robert didn't have any outstanding decisions, so he volunteered to help out."

"Can you think of any reason why Justice Arriaga would work for Raoul Otero?"

"Certainly not! And I cannot imagine Frank killing anyone.

That's preposterous."

"What about money? Is he in debt? Does he have a drug habit? Anything like that?"

"Frank Arriaga is a dear man with a rock-solid marriage and two children who adore him. I don't even think he drinks, for God's sake. You're way off base if you think Frank is your killer."

"Then what about Mary Kelly?"

Justice Sherzer frowned. "Money wouldn't be the motive. She was a very successful corporate attorney and has done quite well in the stock market and real estate."

"Did you know that she and Justice Griffen were having an affair?"

"No, but I'm not surprised. Mary's marriage is not particularly happy."

"If they were seeing each other when Laura was killed, Justice Griffen might have confided what Laura told him without realizing that he was alerting her. If Justice Kelly is the murderer, that would explain how she learned that she was in danger."

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Tracy. I can't think of anything that would lead me to conclude that Mary is dishonest."

"Which brings us to the most likely suspect. Arnold Pope is a conservative ex-DA. What was he doing voting to reverse the convictions of two murderers and two drug dealers?"

"Arnold is a peculiar man. He's the most obnoxious and contrary justice with whom I have ever served, but a lot of what he does is a pose. The man is very insecure and he desperately wants our approval. He knows he's seen as a buffoon and he knows everyone resents the way he ran his campaign and the fact that he replaced a brilliant justice who was well liked and widely respected. So to prove he is a legal scholar, too, Arnold occasionally takes positions that run counter to his image."

"Do you know about Pope's run-in with Laura?"

"No."

Tracy told Justice Sherzer about the confrontation in the library.

"I told Justice Griffen, the day I left the court. He said he was going to tell everyone about it."

"He was very upset when Laura was killed. Maybe he forgot.

What are you planning to do, Tracy?"

"I don't know. ,I was hoping you could help me. I thought that you might recall something that would shed some light on this if I told you what I'd discovered."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you. But I'm still far from convinced that one of my colleagues is a killer who is working for a major drug dealer.

It's too fantastic."

"As fantastic as a justice and his clerk both being murdered in less than a month? It could be coincidence, but I don't think so.

I've been thinking back to the night Laura was murdered. I was in the library working on a memo for you in the Scott probate matter. When I came downstairs, there was a light on in Laura's office, but there were no other lights on in the clerks' office area.

I looked in Laura's office. I could see someone had ransacked it, so I reached for the phone to call Laura. That's when I heard the door to the clerks' area close.

"I wasn't thinking straight or I'd never have done it, but I rushed into the hall. There was no one there. I rushed to the back door and didn't see anyone in the parking lot. I was upset and I didn't want to stay alone in the building, so I calmed down and headed for my office to leave my notes with the idea of finishing the memo in the morning.

That's when I discovered Laura's body.

Do you see what I missed?"

"No, I don't."

"Where did the killer go? I was in the hall seconds after the door to the clerks' area closed. If the killer left by the front door to the building, I would have heard it close. It's the same with the back door. And there was no one in the parking lot. A stranger to the building would have hightailed it out, but someone who worked in it would have just as likely run upstairs.

"The person who killed Laura had to be familiar with the layout of the clerks' area to hide so quickly and to be able to get out in the dark without me hearing. I think the killer rushed upstairs, waited for me to go back into the clerks' area, then Shuck down the stairs and left.

This all points to the killer being a person who was very familiar with the court."

Justice Sherzer mulled over what Tracy had told her. When she made her decision, she looked grim.

"I still don't buy your theory, but I'm going to discuss it with Stuart."

"Thank you. And try to think back to the conferences. If I'm right, the justice who's behind this had to have been working very hard to swing the necessary votes. If you can remember who the common denominator was in all four cases, you'll know the murderer."

Tracy started back to Portland on the interstate as soon as she left Justice Sherzer. She was certain she knew why Laura and Justice Griffen had been killed. What she did not know was the clue that had tipped off Laura to the identity of the judge who was working for Raoul Otero. No one was going to believe a Supreme Court justice was on the take without proof and she had to believe that the transcript held the proof.

As far as Tracy knew, Laura had never heard of Charlie Deems, or his case, until Deems's appeal was filed in the Supreme Court. If that was true, then the information in the transcript had to concern the crooked justice, but Tracy had read the transcript and none of the justices were mentioned in Volume XI.

Tracy arrived home at 4:30 and went for a run along the river.

She wore only shorts and a tee shirt even though it was cold. She was still sore from her climb, but the exertion soon warmed her.

When she was into a comfortable pace, Tracy began reviewing what she knew about the Griffen and Rizzatti murders. She exhausted the subject with no new insights.

Tracy turned for home. A light drizzle dulled her enthusiasm for the run. She wished Barry was there to keep her company.

She always felt so comfortable when they were together. Would Barry really leave her if she told the court what Matthew had done? The possibility was real and the thought of losing Barry frightened her. But would their relationship change if she sold out her principles to keep them together? Wouldn't the sacrifice kill the feeling between them anyway?

Tracy felt a tightening in her chest that had nothing to do with exertion. What she and Barry had was so good. Why couldn't it last?

Tracy knew Barry was special the first time they kissed.

She would always remember that morning at the beach below the Griffen cabin and the wonderful picnic afterward.

Tracy stopped in midstride. The Overlook. She bent over and rested with her hands on her knees. They had gone to the Overlook after their picnic and she had looked at the register. It had been right there all along. Tracy stood up, oblivious to the rain and cold. She followed her train of thought to its inevitable conclusion and knew she was right.

Tracy raced back to her apartment. She showered quickly and changed into clean clothes. She was impatient to look at her notes from the visit to the Overlook, but she wanted to wait until the staff was gone and, hopefully, Barry with them.

The rain stopped by 6:30. Tracy was relieved to see that the lights in Matthew Reynolds's living quarters were out when she arrived at the office. She let herself in through the back door and found her notes from the visit to the Overlook in her case file.

Tracy reread pages 1289 and 1290 of Volume XI to confirm her suspicions.

Then she went back to her car and drove to Salem.

At exactly 7:20 on Friday evening, moments before Tracy turned off I-5 at the second Salem exit, Bobby Cruz parked his car on a narrow gravel side road and walked across a field that bordered the farmhouse where Chuck Geddes was hiding Charlie Deems.

The field was damp from the rain that had stopped around seven o'clock, and there was an ozone smell in the air. When he reached the house, Cruz circled it cautiously, peering into windows so he could figure out the number of targets.

The two cops assigned to guard Deems were watching a Blazers game on the TV, in the living room. Unfortunately, Deems was not with them. If he had been, Cruz could have held all three at gunpoint, shot Deems and escaped without having to kill the cops. Now he had to take them out.

He couldn't risk Deems escaping while he dicked around in the living room tying people up. Cruz didn't mind killing cops, but Raoul was paranoid about doing anything that would bring down heat on the business. He knew he'd have to listen to Raoul scream at him, but Raoul's ass wasn't on the line.

Cruz slipped through an unlocked side door into a short hallway that led to the kitchen. To the right was a stairway to the second floor. Cruz guessed that Deems was probably sacking out in an upstairs bedroom.

When Cruz stepped around the corner into the living room the cops looked shocked. One of them was drinking a glass of soda and balancing a plate with a sandwich on his lap. He jumped up. Pieces of bread, a slice of tomato and slabsof turkey went flying. Cruz shot the officer in the forehead while he was going for his gun. He was dead before his plate shattered on the hardwood floor.

The second officer had fast reflexes. While Cruz was shooting his partner, he was rolling and ducking. He almost had his gun out when Cruz shot him in the ear. Cruz took a second to check the bodies to make certain they were dead.

There was a silencer on Cruz's gun and both kills had been accomplished with a minimum of noise. Cruz moved to the living-room entrance and scanned the hall. He strained to hear any sound that would indicate that Deems was on the move. When he heard nothing he went down the hall to check the kitchen, before going upstairs to finish his work.

Cruz crouched low and swung through the kitchen door into more pain than he could imagine. The pain covered every inch of his face. It blinded and paralyzed him and it deafened him to the cry of animal rage that came from Charlie Deems's throat as he stepped out of the kitchen and turned the cast-iron skillet sideways. This time, instead of smashing the flat of the pan into Cruz's face, Deems swung the edge against his right shin. Bone snapped and Cruz collapsed on the floor.

When he swung the skillet, Charlie's face looked crazed, but a horrific smile transformed his features into a demonic mask as he watched Bobby Cruz twitch on the hall floor. The pan had smashed every part of Cruz's face, and it was hard to make out his features because they were covered with blood.

Deems caught his breath. Cruz's gun was on the floor where he had dropped it as he staggered back after the first blow. Charlie picked it up and put it on a hall table. Then he methodically crushed the fingers on both of Cruz's hands. When he was certain Cruz was incapacitated, Charlie looked in the living room.

The cops were so obviously dead, Deems didn't bother to look at them closely.

Cruz moaned. "Time to go to work," Deems sighed. He went into the kitchen and traded the skillet for several sharp knives and a pitcher of ice water. When he came back into the hall, Cruz was looking at him with glazed eyes.

"Hey, Bobby. How you doin'?" Charlie asked with his trademark grin.

Cruz sucked air.

"Sorry about the teeth." Deems chuckled. "It's gonna be tough getting dates for a while, amigo."

Cruz tried to say "fuck you," but his mouth didn't work right.

Deems laughed and tousled Cruz's hair.

"Sorry, Bobby, you're not my type. I'd rather fuck Abigail Griffen. But thanks for the offer."

Cruz mumbled something and Deems smiled.

"I bet you just cursed me out again. Am I right? But that's not necessary. A smart guy like you doesn't have to resort to this macho bullshit. In a situation like this, you should be using your brains. Of course, you weren't using your brains when you came in the side door.

Didn't you wonder why it was the only door that wasn't locked?"

Deems paused to watch Cruz's reaction, but Cruz wouldn't give him the satisfaction. That was okay. Charlie loved a challenge. He squatted next to Cruz and continued speaking as if they were friends seated in bistro sipping a good dark beer.

"I knew Raoul was gonna send you after me sooner or later, so I've been watching for you. When I saw you creeping through the tall grass like a wetback crossing the border, I slipped downstairs and fixed it so you could get in.

"Now, I should be angry, because you just tried to kill me, but I'm not.

You don't know it, but you've given me the chance to do some really naughty things without getting caught. See, I'm going out for a while.

Then I'll come back and call Geddes. I'll tell him how you killed the cops and tried to kill me. You're gonna be my alibi. Is that some great plan or what?"

Cruz still stared defiantly. Deems looked amused.

"Don't be that way, Bobby. I don't know why you're mad at me. I'm not mad at you. In fact, if you tell me where you stashed your car, I promise I'll kill you quickly. What do you say?"

"Kiss my ass," Cruz managed. Deems laughed.

"These offers of sexual delight are hard to pass up, but I'd rather play Jeopardy! The guards used to let us watch it on the row. It's my favorite."

Cruz refused to answer. Deems drove a knife into his thigh.

The scream pierced the air and Cruz's right leg shot forward, causing more pain in the fractured shin.

"Sound check," Charlie told Cruz. "I had to make certain that you can talk, because you can't play Jeopardy! unless you can answer the questions."

Deems pulled out the knife and Bobby groaned. Deems splashed some ice water on Cruz's face and slapped his cheeks.

Cruz opened his eyes. Deems slapped him again, hard, and said, "Pay attention. Here's how the game works. I'm gonna give you the answer and you have to say the question. Like if I asked, 'He was the first President of the United States,' you'd say, 'Who was George Washington?"

Get it?

"Now, if you get all the answers, you get the grand prize. It's an all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii for you and the wife and kids, plus a Buick convertible. Sounds good, right? But if you miss the question, uh-oh, there's a penalty. I'll keep you guessing about that."

Charlie winked at Cruz and noted, with satisfaction, that the macho glint was leaving Cruz's eyes. Fear was their new resident.

Cruz was tough, but Charlie was crazy and he was sounding crazier by the moment. If there was one thing tough guys like Cruz could not deal with, it was the unknown, and crazy people were the ultimate unknown.

"Our first category is American history. Here's the answer.

'He was President Millard Filmore's Secretary of State." What's the question?"

"What?" Cruz asked.

"Wrong answer, Bobby. Watt was a Scottish engineer who made improvements on the steam engine."

Deems grabbed Cruz's right hand and stabbed him through the palm, pinning the hand to the floor. Cruz fainted. Deems threw ice water in his face and waited patiently until Cruz revived. Then he leaned over and whispered in Cruz's ear, "Jeopardy! is a pretty violent game. It can hurt to get the wrong answer."

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you what you want," Cruz whimpered, his eyes wide with pain and fear.

"That's not how it works, Bobby. You have to wait for the question.

However, it is time to play Double Jeopardy! There are two grand prizes. The first prize is a trip to Disneyland, where you get to meet Miss America. The second prize is you get to fuck her.

Pretty good, huh?"

Deems smiled and picked up another knife. "Unfortunately, there's also a double penalty for a wrong answer. It's both your eyes, amigo. Ready?

Here's the answer. 'He won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1974."

What's the question, Bobby?"

"Please, Charlie, please," Cruz sobbed.

"Buzz!" Charlie shouted in Cruz's ear. "Time's up."

Deems grabbed Cruz's chin and put the blade under Cruz's right eye. Cruz began to tremble violently. He tried to shake his head from side to side, but Deems held it steady. Tears ran from Cruz's eyes.

"The cat's by the field," Cruz screamed. "On the gravel road."

Deems smiled coldly. He shook his head from side to side in disgust.

"I'm disappointed in you, Bobby. I was sure you'd hold out a little longer. I guess you're not so tough after all."

Deems picked up the gun and shot Cruz between the eyes.

Then he took Cruz's car keys from his pocket, went upstairs and changed his clothes. When Charlie left the house, he was feeling good. Bobby Cruz had been a great preliminary and' he was ready for the main event.

Arnold Pope's front door was opened by a short woman with leathery skin and a sour expression.

"Mrs. Pope, I'm Tracy Cavanaugh. I used to clerk for Justice Sherzer.

We met at the clerk's picnic."

"Oh yes."

"Is Justice Pope in? I have something very important I need to discuss with him."

"It's almost eight o'clock, Miss Cavanaugh. Couldn't this wait until tomorrow? Arnold's had a very hard day."

"I wish it could, but it's urgent. I promise I won't be long."

"Very well," Mrs. Pope said, not bothering to mask her disapproval.

"Step in and I'll ask Arnold if he'll see you."

The Popes lived in a modern ranch-style home in the hills south of Salem. The entryway where Tracy waited had a stone floor and white walls. There was a small marble table against one wall. A slender blue-gray pottery vase filled with daffodils stood at one end of the table under a mirror with a gilt frame.

"Tracy! Good to see you," Justice Pope said affably, smiling at her as if she was an old friend.

"I'm sorry to come by so late."

"No problem. Myra says you have something important to discuss. Why don't we go back to my den."

Justice Pope led Tracy to the back of the house and down a set of stairs to the basement. To the left was a wood-paneled room where two BarcaLoungers were set up in front of a big-screen TV.

In one corner was a small desk. A bookshelf with Reader's Digest condensed books, some best-sellers and a scattering of law books took up one wall.

The smile left Pope's face as soon as they were alone.

"You have some nerve coming to my house after telling those damn lies to the police."

"I was very upset when Laura died. She was my friend. I wanted to help the police and it did look like you were making a pass at Laura."

"Well, I wasn't. And I don't appreciate people talking about me behind my back."

"That's the way it appeared to me. If I'm wrong, I apologize, but Justice Griffen told me you'd done something like that before."

"What! I never . . ." Pope stopped. He looked furious. "I'll tell you something, Miss Cavanaugh. I know all the clerks mooned around about Robert Griffen, the great protector of constitutional rights, but Griffen was no angel. He's the one who made passes at the clerks. I'm surprised he didn't put the make on you. Now, what's so important that you had to interrupt my evening?"

"I've come across some information that suggests that Justice Griffen's murder and the murder of Laura Rizzatti may be connected. Can you tell me why Laura was upset when you talked to her in the library?"

"I shouldn't give you the time of day after you started that damn rumor and I don't see how our conversation in the library can possibly bear on Laura's murder."

"Please. I promise you it's very important."

Pope frowned, then said, "Oh, all right. I'll tell you what happened.

Then I want you to leave."

"Thank you."

"That meeting was Laura's idea. When I got there, she asked me why I voted to reverse the Deems case. I told her that was none of her business. I must have sounded angry, because she got upset. I put my hand on her shoulder and told her to calm down.

That's when you appeared. As soon as she saw you, Laura backed away from me. She looked frightened. I had the impression that she was concerned that you'd overhear us. In any event, I left and that was all there was to it."

"Why did you vote to reverse Deems?" Tracy asked.

"That's confidential."

"Justice Pope, I have reason to believe that one of the justices on the court was paid to influence cases involving the Otero narcotics organization. Over the past five years, four cases involving members of this group have been reversed. You, Justice Griffen, Justice . Kelly and Justice Arriaga voted to reverse in each case. I think Laura Rizzatti figured out who was taking money from Otero. If one of the other justices put pressure on you to vote for reversal, that justice may be the person who killed Laura Rizzatti:"

Pope looked at Tracy as if she was insane. "That's absolutely preposterous. Are you out of your mind?"

"No, sir. I have evidence to support my suspicions."

"I don't believe it. And I can tell you that none of the justices put any pressure on me . . .

Pope paused in mid-sentence, suddenly remembering something. He looked uncomfortable. When he spoke, he no longer sounded sure of himself.

"There is some horse trading that goes on among the justices.

I felt very strongly about a fishing rights case, but I couldn't get a majority. One of the justices told me I'd get my majority in the fishing case if I changed my vote in Deems. Well, I was on the fence in Deems. It bothered me that the police used an informant the way they did. Deems deserved the death penalty, but I thought the law had been violated. I wouldn't have done things that way when I was DA."

"So you switched your vote."

"Right. And the other justice gave me my majority in the other case."

"You also voted to reverse in the Galarraga, Zamora and Cardona cases.

,Think back. Did the same justice do anything to win over those votes?"

"My God," Pope said, and suddenly grew pale.

"Which justice was it?" Tracy asked, certain she knew the name Pope would tell her.

Abbie had prepared chicken with apricots and avocado in a light cream sauce. The dish had been complemented by a fine Vouvray. It was one of several dinners Abbie had cooked for Matthew, who was beginning to appreciate cuisine more extravagant than the steaks he normally ate.

While Abbie was putting the finishing touches on their dinner, Matthew built a roaring fire in the living room. After dinner, they carried their coffee cups to the couch and sat side by side in front of the fireplace. Matthew had been distracted in court that morning during the hearing on Geddes's motion and he had been quiet all evening. Abbie was not surprised by his courtroom demeanor. They were both concerned about the possibility that Judge Baldwin would permit the state to reopen its case. But Abbie expected Matthew to loosen up when he was alone with her.

"What's wrong?" Abbie asked, putting her hand on top of Matthew's.

"Nothing," Matthew answered, wishing he could enjoy the evening but finding it impossible to be happy knowing that Abbie's freedom and his career depended on whether Tracy Cavanaugh decided to tell Judge Baldwin about the fake photograph.

"You've been so quiet. Are you sure nothing is bothering you?"

"It's the case," he lied. "I'm worried that I won't be able to convince Judge Baldwin to keep out the Rizzatti evidence."

Abbie put down her coffee and turned toward Matthew. She put her hand on his cheek and kissed him. "Don't think about law tonight," she said.

Matthew put his cup down. Abbie snuggled against his chest.

"Very touching," Charlie Deems said from the living-room doorway.

Abbie jerked around and Matthew sprang to his feet. Deems gave them his goofy grin and ran his finger around his left ear to clean out some wax.

He wore a pressed shirt and ironed slacks.

His hair was slicked back. He looked like a farm boy at a 4-H meeting, except for the gun with the silencer that dangled from his right hand.

"Looks like you two are having a real good time," Deems said.

"What are you doing here?" Abbie asked, standing beside Matthew.

"I came to visit," Deems said, walking casually across the room until he was two arm lengths from them. "I'll bet I'm the last person you expected to see. Am I right?"

"I'd like you to leave."

"I bet you would. Then you and Mr. Smart Guy here could do the nasty thing. Course, if I was in your shoes, I'd want me out of this house, too. And I don't blame you. Me being a previously convicted murderer and all. What did you call me during my trial? An animal, devoid of feeling."

"What do you want, Mr. Deems?" Matthew asked.

"I might want revenge on the person responsible for putting me in that teensy-weensy cell on death row. I remember every minute on the row, Miss Prosecutor." Deems smiled wistfully, like a man recalling a sweet summer morning. "Did you know that the toilet in the cell above us leaked. Did you know we was double-bunked for a while. Man, was that cell crowded. I had to eat my dinner sitting on the crapper. That's quite an indignity.

Some people put in that situation, finding themselves with the person responsible for it, might be filled with rage and an uncontrollable impulse to do the responsible person some type of outrageous harm."

Deems paused for a heartbeat. Then he broke into a grin.

Abbie's mouth was dry and her senses were more alert than at any other time in her life., "Rape. Am I right? Bet it's what you thought of first. You're probably picturing it right now. Can you see yourself naked, tied up on the bed, screaming, with no one to help you? At my mercy?

That's not a pretty picture."

Deems let the thought linger. Then he took a step toward Abbie. She moved into Matthew.

Deems smiled again. "I was hoping to get you alone for a long weekend, Counselor. Unfortunately, I'm a little pressed for time, so I'm gonna have to do you now."

Matthew stepped in front of Abbie. "You will not hurt her."

Deems laughed. "What are you gonna do? Cross-examine me to death?" The smile disappeared. "I didn't appreciate the way you set me up so I'd look like a fool. In fact, I don't appreciate either of you. So, first, I'm gonna have my way with the little lady, while you watch.

Maybe you'll even learn a thing or two. Then I'm going to make sure you both die very slowly. And I'll watch."

Matthew lunged while Deems was speaking. The move surprised Deems.

Reynolds drove him into the wall, but this was the first fight he had been in since grade school and he had no idea what to do next. Deems brought a knee up between Matthew's legs. Matthew gasped and sagged.

His grip on Deems loosened.

Deems saw Abbie race out of the room and quickly head-butted Reynolds.

Matthew staggered backward. Deems heard Abbie pounding up the stairs and shot Reynolds in the side. Matthew looked dazed and crumpled to the floor.

"We're gonna get to the good part soon," Deems said, "so you stay right here. Any objection?"

Matthew gasped from pain. Deems kicked him hard in the ribs and Matthew fainted.

"Objection overruled."

Deems turned toward the stairs. He listened for a moment, then climbed them. At the top he shouted, "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

There was no response.

"The longer it takes me to find you, the longer it will take you and your boyfriend to die."

Deems paused for an answer, but there was only silence. He looked down the hall. There were two doors on one side and three on the other. He eased open the first door. It was an empty guest bathroom.

The next door opened into Abbie's bedroom. Deems liked it.

The bed had a headboard and a footboard to which he could tie Abbie's hands and feet. He smiled in anticipation. Then he dropped beside the bed and looked under it. Abbie wasn't there.

But, he thought, she might be in the closet. He stepped to the side and whipped open the door. A wall of dresses screened off the back wall.

Deems ripped the curtain apart and made certain Abbie was not hidden in the shadows. Then he stepped into the hall.

"You're pissing me off, bitch," he screamed. "Get out here now or I'll start cutting off your boyfriend's fingers."

Deems waited, hoping the loud threats would flush Abbie from hiding the way beaters flush lions for big-game hunters, but the hall stayed empty.

Deems smashed open the door to the guest room. He heard a whimper from the closet and smiled coldly. He heard another muffled sob and relaxed.

Deems put the gun on the guest bed. He did not want to risk shooting Abbie and spoiling his fun. Then he tiptoed to the closet door, counted to three silently and whipped the door open, screaming, "Surprise!"

But the surprise was all his. Abbie was sitting on the closet floor with her back braced against the wall. The handgun she carried in her purse was aimed at Deems. Her face was set and there were no tears on her cheeks. It dawned on Charlie that Abbie had lured him to the closet with phony sobs and whimpers.

He felt a momentary flash of fear, until he remembered his dark angel.

Charlie straightened slowly and raised his arms straight out from his sides as if they were angel wings. Suddenly he knew his angel was in the room, a shimmering presence, ready to protect him from all harm. He did not fear the gun, because nothing could hurt him while his angel stood sentry.

"What are you going to do, shoot me?" Deems asked with a smirk.

Abbie did not answer. She pulled the trigger instead. Deems's eyes widened in disbelief when the first bullet hit him and he died with a look of utter confusion on his face.

Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT

Judge Baldwin took Abbie off the electronic surveillance program at Jack Stamm's request the day after she killed Charlie Deems. She was at Matthew's side on the Thursday morning after the shooting, the day the doctors at St. Vincent's Hospital permitted him to have visitors for the first time.

Tracy waited until the end of visiting hours and convinced Abbie and the others to leave on the pretext that she had a confidential legal matter she had to discuss with her boss.

"How are you feeling?" Tracy asked when they were alone.

"Okay," Matthew managed.

"I brought these for you," she said, holding out a vase filled with roses. "Where should I put them?"

Matthew slowly lifted his right arm and pointed toward several other vases that decorated the window. The nurse had cranked his bed into a sitting position. There was an IV in his left arm and a breathing tube in his nose. He looked tired, but alert.

Tracy pulled a chair next to Matthew's bed.

"You don't have to worry anymore. I'm not going to tell anyone about the photograph. It would have been the hardest thing I've ever done, Mr. Reynolds. You have no idea how much I admire you."

Their eyes met and Reynolds nodded a silent thank-you. Even now, it was hard for Tracy to think about how close she had come to destroying this fine, decent man. "Why?" Matthew managed.

"I know Mrs. Griffen didn't kill her husband."

"Who killed him?" Matthew asked with effort. His voice was hoarse.

"Just rest. I'll tell you everything."

Tracy summarized her investigation and explained how the link between the cases Laura had written on her legal pad led her to the discovery that a Supreme Court justice was fixing decisions for Raoul Otero.

"What I couldn't figure out was how Laura had discovered the cases. They were spread out over several years, she wasn't on the court when most of them were decided and there didn't appear to be any reason for her to run across all four at once.

The more I thought about it, the more certain I was that the answer was in the transcript, but I came up blank every time I read it.

"After Charlie Deems was arrested for the Hollins murders, the police searched his apartment. On 9 to 1290 of the transcript, a detective explains the significance of several messages that were left on Deems's answering machine. One of the calls is from an Arthur Knowland. Knowland needed some shirts and wanted Deems to call as soon as possible. Detective Simon testified that people who deal in drugs rarely call the drugs by name. Instead, they talk about shirts or tires. That meant that Arthur Knowland was calling to buy cocaine from Charlie Deems.

"Remember when you sent Barry and me to the Overlook to see if we could discover the identity of the woman Justice Griffen was meeting there?"

Reynolds nodded weakly.

"Well, I checked the register at the motel for the day that Mrs. Griffen confronted her husband after receiving the anonymous call. Justice Griffen hadn't registered in his own name. I wrote down a list of the names in the register. An Arthur Knowland was registered at the Overlook on the day Justice Griffen had sex with Justice Kelly."

Reynolds's eyes widened as he saw immediately the significance of this information.

"As a result of Neil Christenson's investigation, we learned that the judge was also meeting Laura Rizzatti at the Overlook. I checked the register again and I found an Arthur Knowland registered on several occasions.

"I believe Laura found out that the judge was sleeping with Justice Kelly. I know she was infatuated with the judge from the way she acted when she talked about him to me. Finding out that the judge had another lover must have driven Laura to make the anonymous call to Mrs. Griffen.

She must have been racked with jealousy and furious with him, but she still loved him.

"Then Laura ran across Arthur Knowland's name in the transcript and remembered that the judge had used that name when he registered .at the Overlook. When Laura found out that the judge was buying drugs from Deems, she must have become suspicious of his reason for voting to reverse the Deems case. I think she checked to see if there had been other suspicious reversals since Justice Griffen came on the court. She found the other cases and realized that Griffen was on the take.

"Griffen needed money. He was using cocaine, and we know he was living beyond his means. I don't think he would have been able to resist a bribe in the amount Otero could offer. Who knows, Otero may have had evidence that Griffen was using drugs and blackmailed him with it."

"My God," Reynolds said. His voice sounded hoarse. There was a plastic pitcher next to the bed. Tracy filled a paper cup with water and helped Matthew drink it. Then she eased his head back onto the pillow.

"Laura called me the evening she was killed and left a message on my answering machine. She said she was in trouble and needed my help.

While she was talking, there was a knock on her door. That must have been Justice Griffen. Laura was so in love with him, I think she convinced herself that she was wrong to suspect him and told him everything she'd discovered. Then Justice Griffen killed her."

Reynolds looked stunned. He closed his eyes and rested for a moment.

When he spoke, it was with great effort. "Who killed Griffen?"

"Charlie Deems. Remember the attack on Mrs. Griffen at the coast? She the, ought the intruder was Deems. This is all speculation, of course, but I'm betting it was and that Justice Griffen paid Deems the hundred thousand dollars in the account Barry discovered at Washington Mutual for a hit. It would have been worth the price. If Mrs. Griffen died before the divorce became final, Justice Griffen would have inherited all of her money.

When Deems failed, Griffen would have wanted the money back.

Maybe he made the mistake of threatening Deems.

"Deems was insane. He was also highly intelligent. Killing the judge and framing the woman who put him on death row for the murder is a truly twisted idea. And it's just the type of plan a maniac like Deems would devise."

"I think you're right. You must go to Jack Stamm."

"I will. But I didn't want to go without your approval. You're still the boss."

Matthew tried to smile. Then, he started to cough. Tracy helped him drink some more water. Then she said, "I'm going to go now. You need to rest."

Matthew's eyelids fluttered. He was exhausted and medicated and staying awake was not easy. Just before Tracy turned for the door, she heard him whisper, "Thank you."

Barry Frame stood up when Tracy left Matthew's hospital room.

"How did he take it?" Barry asked.

Tracy took both of Barry's hands. "I think he's really relieved."

"The poor bastard. He's been through hell. First worrying about what you'd do. Then getting shot."

"You understand that I had no choice until I figured out that Abbie didn't kill her husband."

Barry looked ashamed. "I owe you an apology. You were always in the right. I just . . ."

Tracy squeezed his hands. "No apologies, okay? Sometimes right and wrong aren't black and white."

"What would you have done if you learned that Abbie was guilty?"

"I don't know and I'm glad I never had to make that decision."

Tracy picked up her attach case.

"Let's go to Jack Stamm's office and give him the evidence."

That evening Abbie was sitting next to Matthew's bed, holding his hand, when Jack Stamm entered the hospital room. "How is he doing?" Stamm asked Abbie.

"He's out of danger, but he'll have to stay here for a while. Is this a social call?"

"It is not. I wanted to tell Matt myself. I'm glad you're here. It saves me a trip out to your house."

Matthew and Abbie stared at Stamm expectantly. Stamm broke into a grin.

"Chuck Geddes and I just spent an hour with Tracy Cavanaugh and Barry Frame. I'm dismissing the indictment tomorrow."

"Does Geddes agree?" Matthew asked.

Stamm stopped smiling. "He has no choice. His key witness is not only dead but thoroughly discredited, and his key evidence isn't evidence anymore. Chuck won't admit Abbie was framed, even after hearing what Ms. Cavanaugh uncovered, but I always believed in Abbie's innocence and I am now one hundred percent convinced of it. The Attorney General agrees. As of half an hour ago, Chuck Geddes is no longer a Multnomah County special deputy district attorney."

Stamm looked at Abbie. "I hope you know that I had no choice when I stepped aside and turned over the prosecution to the AG."

"I never blamed you, Jack."

"I'm glad. This prosecution has been very hard on me."

"Matthew told me about your part in having me released from the jail.

I'll always appreciate that. I don't know how I would have held up if I had to stay locked up there."

"You would have done just fine. You're a tough guy."

"Not as tough as I used to think."

Stamm vas embarrassed. He looked away for a second. Then he said, "I want you to take a vacation with pay for a few weeks.

Then, as soon as you're rested, I want you back at work."

Now it was Abbie's turn to look away. "I'm not coming back, Jack."

"Look, I know how you feel. I've talked to everyone about this.

There's not a soul in the office who doesn't want you with us.

Hell, you're one of the best lawyers in the state. We need you."

"I appreciate that and I want you to thank everyone. Hearing what you just said is important to me. But I've had an offer I can't turn down."

Stamm looked back and forth between Abbie and Matthew.

"I'll be damned," he said. Then he broke into a grin. "I guess some good came out of this after all."

"Will you be our best man?" Abbie asked.

"Hell, no. In fact, I'm going to jump up when the minister asks if there's anyone who objects to the wedding. If you think I'm going to let you two gang up on my office without doing anything to stop you, you're crazy."

Chapter TWENTY-NINE

The way Tracy Cavanaugh was feeling, you'd think there was bright sun and a profusion of flowers outside her window, instead of a pounding downpour and predictions of solid rain for the rest of the week before Christmas. Tracy was humming while she worked and smiling when she wasn't humming, and there was more than one reason for her high spirits.

The case against Abigail Griffen had been dismissed because of her detective work, Matthew was almost fully recuperated and would be released from the hospital in two days and her relationship with Barry was terrific.

A knock on her office door made Tracy turn away from her computer. On the monitor was a draft of points for the oral argument in the Texas case. Matthew wanted her to come with him when he argued before the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals.

"Tracy," Emily Webster, Matthew's secretary, said excitedly, "Dennis Haggard just called. They're dismissing the case against Jeffrey Coulter. Mrs. Franklin flunked the polygraph examination."

"Fantastic. I'll tell Matt when I go to the hospital this afternoon."

"The wedding invitations arrived," Emily said, handing one to Tracy.

"Why don't you bring him a sample."

"Sure." Tracy grinned. "He'll get a kick out of it."

"Could you give him this, too. It's Dr. Shirov's bill. I want Mr.

Reynolds to approve it before I write the check."

Emily handed Tracy a sheaf of papers and left the room.

Tracy set down the invitation and Dr. Shirov's bill and went back to work. Fifteen minutes later, she stopped typing and walked down to the library to check a case. She found the volume of the United States Supreme Court reporter she wanted and brought it back to her office, laying it on top of Dr. Shirov's bill so she could copy the passage she needed. When she was done, she closed the book, revealing the part of the bill that set out an account of the hours Dr. Shirov had spent on the case, the dates on which he had worked and the reason for spending the time.

Tracy frowned. Something was wrong with the bill. She picked it up and shook her head. It was obviously a typo. Tracy decided to straighten out the problem so Matthew wouldn't have to deal with it from his hospital bed. She was certain he would want Dr. Shirov paid promptly.

"Dr. Shirov," Tracy said when she was put through to the scientist, "this is Tracy Cavanaugh at Matthew Reynolds's office.

I'm sorry to bother you. I have your bill here. I'm going to bring it to Mr. Reynolds when I see him at the hospital this afternoon."

"How is he feeling?"

"They're releasing him in two days. There's no permanent damage."

"That's a great relief. Give him my regards."

"I will. About the bill. There's a mistake on it. I'm certain it's a typo. I wanted to get the correct date, so we can pay you."

"Good. I'm going on vacation and Matt's check will be welcome."

Tracy laughed. "I'll make sure we send it out pronto. Do you have your copy in front of you?"

"Let me get it."

"Where is the problem?" Dr. Shirov asked a moment later.

"The first entry on your time records. It says Mr. Reynolds called you about the case in early October."

"Yes."

"We didn't know we would need you until the trial was halfway through.

That would have been in mid-November."

The line was silent for a second. Then Dr. Shirov said, "The date is correct. I remember the call because Matt rang me at home."

"Can you give me a summary, so I can refresh Mr. Reynolds's memory in case he has any questions?"

"Oh, it wasn't much. He said he was going to be in trial soon and might have a rush job for me. He was checking to make certain I would be in town. That was pretty much the whole thing, except for some small talk."

"Did he tell you what he wanted you to do?"

"Not specifically, but he asked about the availability of the reactor."

"Thanks, Dr. Shirov."

"Remember to give Matt my regards, please."

"I will."

Tracy hung up and stared at the monitor. The words blurred.

Her heart was beating so fast, it felt like it might blast out of her chest. Tracy walked out to Emily Webster's desk.

"Where does Mr. Reynolds keep his account ledgers?"

"I've got them."

"I have to see if he wrote a check to Dr. Shirov in connection with the Griffen case," Tracy lied. "I'll look it up for you."

"Don't bother. I'll do it. It could take some time."

Tracy took the trust account ledger and check register to her office.

She went back several months, but could not find what she was looking for. When she brought the ledger and register to Emily, the secretary was getting ready to leave for lunch with the receptionist.

"Who's minding the store?" Tracy asked.

"Maggie is sick. We're having the answering service handle the calls during lunch. You're the only one in. If you want, I'll tell the service to put your calls through."

"No. That's okay."

Tracy forced herself to wait five minutes after everyone left.

Then she locked the front door and walked quickly up the stairs to Matthew's, living quarters. She had never seen them before.

At one end of the hall was a small kitchen. She went through the drawers quickly, finding only kitchen utensils. The next room was Matthew's bedroom. She hesitated before violating his privacy. The idea of searching his bedroom repulsed her, but Tracy steeled herself and entered.

The contents of the room gave no clue that it was the twentieth century.

The oak bed was large; its head- and footboards polished and ornamented with hand-carved floral designs. There was a standing mirror next to a chest of drawers that may have been part of a set some pioneer shipped around the Horn.

On the chest of drawers were several photographs. They were old. The first showed a man and woman standing together.

The man was tall and solid. He had an easy smile and short steel-gray hair. The woman was slender. Neither person was handsome, but both were strong-featured with faces that radiated intelligence, humor and compassion.

The second photograph was of the man. He was dressed in a suit, walking down the steps of a courthouse, his back erect, his hands manacled in front of him. The photo was part of a newspaper story. The headline read: OSCAR REYNOLDS SENTENCED TO

DEATH.

The third photograph was of Matthew and his father. They were standing by a stream in the forest. Matthew must have been six or seven. His father held a fishing rod in one hand and his arm was draped around Matthew's shoulder. Matthew beamed out at Tracy, so proud to be the one his father was honoring with his touch.

Tracy felt like she might cry. She took a deep breath. When she was back in control, she started going hurriedly through the drawers.

Matthew's clothes were whites and blacks. There were no golf shirts, no tennis shorts, nothing that hinted at leisure.

Nothing that hinted at anything but single-minded devotion to his cause.

Across from the bedroom was Matthew's study. Tracy glanced at the position on the marble chessboard. She had been bringing the ,postcards from the correspondence games to the hospital and recognized it.

Tracy looked up from the board. Around the walls stood collections of famous closing arguments, biographies of Benjamin Cardozo, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Felix Frankfurter and other great Supreme Court justices, a set of notebooks with every death penalty case decided by the United States Supreme Court and volumes on philosophy, psychology, forensic medicine and other topics related to Matthew's work. Tracy fingered some of the volumes, running her hands down their spines. This was Matthew's private sanctum, where he developed the ideas he used to save human lives. This was where he thought his most private thoughts.

If there was a place in this house where Tracy would find the truth, it was here.

Tracy worked quickly, worried that the lunch hour would end before she was done. She was halfway through Matthew's rolltop desk when she came to the bottom right drawer and found the manila envelope. She reached in and touched the bankbook. She had prayed that she would never find what she was looking for.

Now that she had it, she was afraid to open it.

Tracy leaned back and the antique wooden chair creaked.

There was $300,000 in the account after Matthew deposited the $250,000 he received for defending Joel Livingstone. There was only $150,000 the week after Justice Griffen's murder.

Tracy's hand shook as she emptied the contents of the envelope onto the blotter. She felt dizzy. She knew what she was seeing, but she wished with all her heart that it was not there.

First were the articles about Abigail Griffen. She moved them aside and saw the photographs.

"Oh, God," she whispered as she shuffled through them.

There were pictures of Abbie outside an office building in a business suit, talking earnestly to another attorney, and Abbie in the park across from the courthouse, resting on a bench, her head back, face to the sun, oblivious of the fact that her picture was being taken with a telephoto lens. Then there were pictures of Abbie at the house where Justice Griffen was murdered and the rental house where the metal strip had been found. One shot showed Abbie gardening in her yard in jeans and a tee shirt.

There were several shots of Abbie inside both houses that had obviously been taken through a window at night.

Tracy picked up a set of 81/2 x 1 1 photographs, taken with a telescopic lens from the woods on the edge of Abbie's property, which showed Abbie by her pool in a bikini. The first shot showed Abbie stepping through the French windows onto the patio and the shots followed her to the side of the pool. Several more photos showed Abbie in seductive poses: languorously stretching like a cat; lying on her side with her knees drawn up looking like a child; and resting on her forearms with her face to the sun. A final set, taken in extreme close-up, concentrated on every part of her body.

Tracy thought back to the wilderness photographs she had seen on her first visit to Matthew's office. Especially the shot of the doe and her fawn in the clearing. She realized, with horror, that Matthew had stalked Abbie with his camera the way he had stalked the deer.

But it was the final batch of photographs from the manila envelope that brought everything into focus. The shots Matthew had taken at the cabin on the coast. Abbie circling the cabin with her Pentax camera on the day she was attacked, Abbie walking on the beach, pictures of Abbie taken at night through the window. In several, she was naked, wandering through the living room unselfconsciously, searching for something. In the next group of pictures, she was terrified and racing through the woods.

Tracy could not feel the pictures in her hand as she slowly shuffled through them. In the next shot, a man in black was staring away from the camera. In the next, he was facing it. The man was wearing a ski mask, but he had the physique of Charlie Deems.

The last group of photographs solved the mystery of the intruder's identity. Matthew had captured Charlie Deems, the ski mask removed, standing in the recesses of a deserted parking lot under a streetlamp, talking to Robert Griffen.

Chapter THIRTY

Tracy Cavanaugh sat beside Matthew Reynolds in his hospital room and imagined instead that they were in a narrow cell in the penitentiary after dark. The image would not hold. The concept was unbearable. The idea would not leave her.

"The outline for oral argument is excellent," Matthew said as he reread the last paragraph of the document Tracy had prepared for the Texas case. Though Reynolds looked tired, and his pale skin seemed thin as parchment, a glow suffused him. "Thank you," Tracy answered stiffly.

Reynolds took no notice of her mood. He put down the outline and examined the wedding invitation again. He held it up and beamed with happiness.

"I think they did a good job, don't you?" he asked.

Tracy did not answer. Until now, she had been unable to tell him the real reason for her visit.

"Tracy?" Reynolds said, putting down the invitation. She was staring at the window. It was streaked with rain. Tracy shivered.

"Do you remember telling me about your father?" Tracy asked. "The way you felt growing up. Losing him and loving him so much."

Tracy paused. A hard and painful lump had formed in her throat.

"What's wrong?" Reynolds asked, his face clouding with confusion and concern.

"I tried to imagine what that must have been like for you," Tracy went on. "Knowing he was going to die and not being able to save him. Now, I know how you felt."

Reynolds cocked his head to one side, but he said nothing.

"It wasn't just the photograph, was it? You created every piece of evidence. You manufactured the bomb and the duplicate metal strips, then you lured Abbie to the rose garden so you could plant one of the strips and the Clorox bottle in her garage. You paid Charlie Deems fifty thousand dollars to testify against Abbie. You told him what to say and you created the account with the hundred thousand dollars, so you could destroy him on cross."

Matthew's eyes were fully alive and focused on her. She had his full attention.

"What are you talking about?" Matthew asked evenly.

"When was the first time you knew the state thought the metal strip was significant?" Tracy asked, ignoring his question.

"After Torino's testimony. You know that."

"I also know that you called Dr. Shirov before the trial started to make sure he would be in town, and that the reactor would be available.

What possible reason would you have to do that, unless you knew you would need his testimony to discredit the testimony of Paul Torino?"

"If I understand you correctly, you're saying that I murdered Justice Griffen and framed his wife for his murder."

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Have you forgotten that Abbie and I are going to be married?"

"No."

"Do you understand that I love Abigail Griffen more than I love life?"

"Yes. And that's why you did this monstrous thing. For love.

Bluffing won't do any good. I know everything. I've seen the pictures."

Matthew's eyes widened. "What pictures?"

"I was in your study."

Matthew's face was suffused with rage. He rose halfway out of his chair.

"You were in my rooms? You dared to go through my private papers?"

Tracy was so drained that she could not feel fear or anger or even sorrow any longer.

"Was that worse than what you did, skulking in the dark, violating every rule of decency, because of your obsession? Peeping in Abbie's windows, raping her with your camera?"

Tracy stopped. Matthew sank back into his chair as if he had been slapped.

"Why?" Tracy asked, fighting back tears. "Why, Matt?"

Matthew looked out at the rain. For a moment, Tracy was afraid he would dismiss her. Then, in a voice that sounded as if it came from a distance, Matthew said, "She would never . . . It was my only chance.

My only chance. And . . . And he would have murdered her if I hadn't stopped him. It was the only way to protect her."

Matthew leaned back and closed his eyes.

"Have you any idea what it was like for me, growing up with a mother who killed herself, the stigma of being a murderer's son, and this face? I had no friends and the idea of a woman loving me was so alien I never ever let myself consider it, because I couldn't stand the pain it would bring me. My only escape was into my imagination and my only salvation was my mission.

"Then I saw Abbie. She was prosecuting Charlie Deems. I had dropped in to watch the trial because Deems wanted to hire me and I was curious to see how his case was being tried. She was so radiant I was struck dumb.

I followed her that very first day. I couldn't keep my eyes off her.

That night all of my defenses crashed and I saw myself for what I was. A pathetic little man so frightened of the world that I used my father's death as an excuse to keep from living. I was less than human. I was an animal burrowing deep into the ground, afraid of the light. And that light was life itself. And I realized that life was meaningless without love."

Matthew leaned forward, desperate for understanding.

"Do you know what it's like knowing that everything you do must be perfect or someone will die? I never sleep peacefully. The fear that I'll make a mistake makes it impossible. Until I saw Abbie, I coped by fooling myself. I truly believed in my mission. I was like a religious zealot who can walk barefoot across coals because his faith shields him from the pain. When I saw Abbie, it was like losing my faith in God and suddenly seeing that there is only a void.

"I knew Abbie was my salvation. She was color in a world of grays. Only the thought that she was walking the earth kept me going.

"The week before we went to Atlanta, she told me she was going to the cabin. When Joel Livingstone accepted the plea, I flew home and went to the coast. I camped out in the woods and spent two days with Abbie."

Matthew colored. He looked away. "I know what you think.

That I'm twisted, a monster. I am all that, but I couldn't help myself.

It was something I'd been doing ever since I saw her. I never even bothered to rationalize my actions. She was like air to me. Without her I would die.

"Then Deems tried to kill Abbie. I saw him go in the cabin. I was paralyzed. I had to save her, but I had no idea what to do.

When Abbie ran into the woods I followed.

"My father taught me how to move through the forest without making noise. I waited and watched. I saw Deems searching for Abbie. He was so close that he would have seen her if he turned around. I did the only thing I could think of. I used the flash on my camera to distract him. He chased me, but it was easy for me to elude him in the dark. He must have panicked, because he only searched for a short time, then he went to his car.

"Up to this point, I had no idea that it was Deems who had tried to kill Abbie, because he wore a ski mask. I followed him to find out his identity. Deems drove to a bar and made a call. Then he drove to Portland to the far end of a motel parking lot. The lot was deserted, but there were streetlights. I took a photograph of Deems meeting Robert Griffen."

"I know," Tracy said. "I saw the photograph."

"Then you understand what that meant, Tracy. Griffen had hired Deems to kill Abbie.

"My first thought was to go to the police with my photographs. They would arrest Deems and he would tell them about Griffen. But I couldn't do it. I'd have had to explain why I was in the woods outside Abbie's cabin in the middle of the night. The police would have told Abbie that I was . . . was stalking her.

She would have despised me and I would have lost her forever.

"That's when I first considered killing Justice Griffen. But Deems would still be alive and I wasn't certain about his motivation. Was he helping Griffen just for money or was it also revenge that motivated Deems? The problem seemed insoluble until . . ."

"You realized that you could get rid of Griffen and co-opt Deems," Tracy said. "Yes."

"And you also realized that you could be with Abbie all the time if you were her attorney and she was in jail or under house arrest."

Reynolds nodded. "I would be the only one she could confide in. We could meet and talk every day. I hoped that over time she would forget what I look like, and I hoped that when I saved her, she would be grateful enough to . . . to love me."

"How could you be certain she'd hire you?"

"I couldn't. But I would have volunteered if she hadn't come to me."

"What if she turned you down?"

Reynolds blushed. "She would never reject my offer of assistance. I am the best at what I do. Everyone knows that. Abbie always knew that."

Tracy shook her head. "What if you misjudged? What if Abbie had been convicted?"

"I would have confessed. But I knew I could control the trial.

Especially with Chuck Geddes prosecuting."

"You couldn't know that Geddes would assign himself to the case."

"That was my only sure thing," Reynolds answered with the tiniest of smiles. "Chuck Geddes would never turn down a highprofile case like this and a chance to have his revenge on me for his previous humiliations. No, that part of the equation was the simplest."

"How did you know so much about the bomb?"

"The bomb was of simple construction and I heard Torino testify about it at Deems's trial."

"And the strip?"

"Deems wanted me to represent him when he was charged with the murder of Hollins and his little girl. Before I decided against taking the case, I looked at the evidence. I saw the strip with the notch. I saw it again when Paul Torino explained its significance at Deems's trial.

"To fool the police, the evidence had to be so convincing that they wouldn't think they needed to conduct more sophisticated tests. I took two pieces of steel from different manufacturers. I checked with the companies to make sure that the composition of the two pieces of steel was different. Then I put the pieces side by side in two vises and I cut them at the same time. I took the front part of the first strip and used it with the bomb. I took the end of the second piece and left it in Abbie's garage after luring her to the rose garden. I knew the strip I used on the bomb would be mangled in the explosion and that the piece in the garage would look enough like a match so that the police wouldn't bother with any other tests."

"What if Jack Stamm hadn't called Torino to search the house and garage for explosive devices?"

"Deems was supposed to tell the police that Abbie wanted him to make the bomb in her garage. They would have searched it."

Tracy shook her head. She could not help admiring Reynolds's brilliance even though he had put it to such a twisted purpose. Reynolds was a chessmaster who had thought out every move and anticipated every possible problem.

"You knew how to get in touch with Deems by using the phone numbers in the old file."

"Yes."

"How did you convince someone like Deems to cooperate with the police?"

"I left copies of the pictures from the coast and from his meeting with Justice Griffen in a bus-station locker. We spoke on the phone, so he never met me. I told him that the police would arrest him for the attack on Abbie and the murder of Justice Griffen if I sent them the photographs. Evidence of prior similar criminal conduct is admissible, even if a person has been acquitted of the crime, as you well know from your research in Abbie's case, if the prosecution has evidence of a signature crime. The notches in the bombs were unique. I explained to Deems that no jury would acquit him once they heard the evidence about the Hollins murders.

"To sweeten the pot, I told him I would pay him fifty thousand dollars if he testified against Abbie and told the exact story I made up for him. I let him think I was someone Abbie had convicted. A criminal with a grudge. I convinced Deems that the best revenge would not be to kill Abbie, but to make her suffer on death row for a crime she did not commit."

"Did you tell Deems to say that Abbie had shown him the dynamite in the shed and suggested he use it in the bomb?"

"Yes."

"Why did you do that when Abbie didn't tell you about the photos until after she was arrested?"

"I saw her take the pictures. I knew she'd shot some footage behind the house. If she hadn't remembered about the undeveloped film, I would have led her to remember it."

"Just as you tricked her into loving you?" Tracy said, not meaning to be cruel, but unable to help herself.

Reynolds reddened. "This was my only chance to let her see past this face. To let her know that I love her. To give her a chance to love me for what I am."

"It was a trick, Matt. You brainwashed her. You arranged to have her placed under house arrest. You isolated her and made her dependent on you. You . . . you trained her, the way you train a dog. That's not love she's feeling. It's something you created. It's artificial."

"No. She does love me," Matthew answered, shaking his head vigorously.

"Love is something that comes from your heart. Would she still love you if she knew what you did?"

Reynolds looked stricken. "You can't tell her," he said desperately.

Tracy gaped at Reynolds. "Not tell Abbie? My God, Matthew.

This is murder. You killed a man. I'm going to have to tell the police. I came here to give you a chance to do that. If you confess, Jack Stamm may not ask for the death penalty. You can hire an attorney to negotiate for you."

"No."

"What choice do you have?"

"You can keep it a secret, the way you did with the photograph. I'll quit my practice."

Tracy leaned forward until her face was inches from his. Was it possible that Reynolds did not understand the magnitude of what he had done?

"Are you insane?" she asked. "Do you think this is some minor ethical violation like commingling funds? This is murder. You used a bomb to kill a Supreme Court justice."

Matthew started to argue with Tracy, to use the powers of persuasion that had saved so many lives in the past, but he stopped and turned away, realizing suddenly that the moment he had feared had arrived. He was part of the case he could not win and the life that would be lost was his own.

"I'm going to give you two days to turn yourself in," Tracy said. "Then I'm going to the police."

Reynolds turned back. He looked desperate.

"I'll destroy the evidence. I'll say you're lying. I'll deny we ever had this conversation. Last week you claimed Deems killed Griffen. This week it's me. Stamm won't accept your word against mine."

Tracy wished she could just walk away and do what Matthew wanted, but that was impossible. She shook her head sadly.

"I have the pictures, your bankbook and the faked photo of the shed. If I give them to Jack Stamm, you run the risk that he will believe Abbie was in this with you. If you confess, you can save her from having to go through a second trial."

"Griffen was a murderer," Matthew implored Tracy. "He killed your friend Laura Rizzatti, and he paid Deems to kill Abbie.

Can't you let this be?"

Matthew's eyes pleaded with Tracy, but she stood up and turned away. As she did, she remembered the question Matthew had asked her the firsttime they met: "Tell me, Miss Cavanaugh, have you ever been to Stark, Florida, to the prison, after dark?"

That image of. visiting the prison after dark and leaving before dawn with her client dead had haunted Tracy. When she was with Matthew in Atlanta, when she was sitting beside him during Abbie's trial, when she worked on the brief in the Texas case, she had been driven by her fear that someday the image would become reality if she did not give her all every moment of every day.

Silent tears rolled down Tracy's cheeks as she closed the door to the hospital room behind her. In the moments she had spent just now with Matthew Reynolds, she had finally learned how all those brave attorneys felt in the prison, at the very end, after dark.