Final Jeopardy

CHAPTER 5

I went into the building and up to my office, pleased that I had arrived early enough to enjoy the solitude of the place to prepare for my court appearance and my next ‘save face’ with Battaglia.

I had worked at my sentencing remarks for nearly an hour before the phone rang for the first time.

I froze at the sound of Jed’s voice.

“Don’t, Jed. There’s nothing you can say-‘

”You’ve got to listen to me, please. I’m not a killer, Alex. I haven’t committed any crime. You’ve got to see me, you’ve got to let me talk with you before this goes any further.“

“You ran out of ”got to’s“ with me when you started sneaking around behind my back. Don’t push me on this, Jed. It’s Chapman you have to talk to, not me.”

“I need your help with all this. I never meant to hurt you or do anything to destroy what we were building. I love you too much for that.”

I placed the receiver back in its cradle without saying another word. I swiveled around in my chair and stared out the window at the roof of the building across the narrow street, which was at eye level with my view. The gallery of gargoyles that decorated the edge of the facade seemed sinister today as they gawked back at me, panther-like creatures with their tongues extended and their eyes rolled upward, mocking me in disbelief.

Most mornings I welcomed their company as I sat at my desk alone, before the office swarmed with colleagues. But today they had turned on me and sneered their disapproval, so I braced my foot against the radiator and kicked the chair back around into place at the desk.

I called Battaglia’s assistant, Rose Malone, and told her it was critical that I see him as soon as he arrived. He had gone to Washington the night before, she explained, to testify at Senate subcommittee hearings on gun control and would not be back until tomorrow. Damn. It was the rare occasion that I didn’t even want to tell Rose the information about Jed, and so I simply asked her to connect me to him as soon as he checked in.

Joan Stafford was my next call, and I was doubly appreciative as I dialed her number that my loyal friend was a novelist and therefore easy to reach at home most of the time.

“You’re a grave, right?” I asked as she answered on the first ring. It was one of Joan’s expressions, meaning that the questioner was confirming that the information about to be given was sworn to deepest secrecy. “Of course. You got something good?”

“I wouldn’t call it good. I’m in the middle of a dreadful mess. No one else but Nina knows this yet and I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but Mike Chapman thinks Jed had something to do with Isabella’s death. Mike thinks he may have killed her.”

“Oh my God.” Her tone changed rapidly from her goodhumored response to one of appropriate concern.

“Tell me-”

“I can’t tell you anything else right now. Can you meet me for dinner tonight?“

“Sure.”

“Don’t you have that fund-raiser for-”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They have my check, they don’t need me. Tell me where and when.“

“I’ve got to be in court this morning. Would you call Primola when it opens? Ask Giuliano for that table in the corner near the bar the one – he kind of pulls the palm tree in front of for privacy. I’m going to try to take amp; ballet class right after work – I’m really in knots. Meet you at the restaurant at eight.”

Laura arrived moments later. I couldn’t bring myself to explain the situation to her, so I sheepishly gave her a set of instructions before packing up my Redweld the rust-colored accordion file – that held my case papers to go to court.

“I’ve got my beeper on if the D.A. calls in from Washington. And you can also beep me if anyone needs me on the murder investigation. Sarah can cover the new cases that come in. If Jed calls, tell him I’m not interested in any messages. I don’t mean to put you in the middle of this, Laura, but my relationship with Jed is over and it’s a bit awkward right now. You’d also better call the switchboard and tell them to disconnect my private line for the time being. I want all calls coming through you, okay?”

She was as discreet as always – no questions, no comments, just an understanding nod.

I left my office and began the circuitous route to the other courthouse up the street originally built for civil cases, but usurped by the criminal justice system when we outgrew our old quarters more than a decade ago. Down and out through the turnstiles of the District Attorney’s Office, around the corner and across Center Street; up the block and into the ugly modern building; through the security check again; and on to another line for an even slower series of elevators. Not bad without a trail of witnesses and the shopping carts we push around for major case trials. This was just a scheduled sentence on the last case I had tried, so no witnesses or police officers were present.

I was lost in thought, somewhere in the events of my life in the last four months, smiling in acknowledgment and responding to greetings as I passed other assistants on their way to courtrooms for hearings and trials.

“Did this case keep you up all night?” I snapped out of my reverie at the sound of Ellen Goldman’s voice when she approached me at the elevator bank.

“No, no not this. Sorry, I just didn’t see you there. I’m a bit preoccupied.” I tried to force a smile, but I had forgotten that she would be back today and the last thing I needed to deal with was a reporter.

“Forgive me for saying this, but you look so pale. Do you feel okay?”

“Oh yes, thanks. I’m, well, it’s just personal. It hasn’t been a very good week.”

I pressed the button for the seventh floor, and the crush of other litigants filled the car completely, so we were able to ride up in the crowd without my having to make small talk with Ellen.

“Judge Hadleigh’s courtroom is around this way to the left,” I said as I led her to the small setting in which the trial of the People of the State of New York against Ernesto Cerone had been conducted.

“Was anything reported about this case, anything in the press?”

“No, actually, not a word fortunately for the victim.”

“Can you tell me something about it, so I know what’s going to happen today?”

I took Ellen through the facts of the case as we entered the room and sat on the front bench to await the arrival of both the judge and my adversary. The victim was a twenty-eight-year-old woman who lived in an apartment building in Harlem. She was mentally handicapped and had the developmental level of a seven-year-old child. A carpenter who was doing construction work in a unit in the building lured her into the empty room one afternoon last spring, trapped her in the bathroom, and sodomized her and raped her. Her screams were heard by a neighbor who rushed into the apartment and actually pulled the rapist off the body of the terrified woman.

Since the identity of the attacker Ernesto Cerone was not an issue, the defense turned the matter around and claimed that there had been no forced assault, but instead, that the victim had consented to the intercourse.

Then, she started to scream only when Cerone refused to pay her for the pleasure of her company. The severe mental handicap of the woman made her a scapegoat for a vicious cross-examination at the trial, and the conviction was possible only because of the compelling testimony of the neighbor who had intervened to save her.

“This shouldn’t be very complicated. I’m going to ask for the max, the defense attorney’ll jump up and down about it, and this judge is likely to end up somewhere in the middle.”

“Doesn’t sound like there’s much of a middle to me. Oh, by the way, I was talking to my editor last night, Alex, and he’d really like me to flesh out some more detail, if you understand me. He thinks the story will be too dry if we don’t get sort of a ”behind-the-scenes“ view of what makes you do this. He’d like some more personal information about you.”

I let out a very soft groan.

“Like what?”

“Like how do you spend your free time, what do you do on weekends, who do you see when you go out?”

“Look, Ellen, I don’t mind talking to you about my work when the press office directs me to, but I’ve just got to separate my private life from this business.”

“That’s just the point. Most people can’t understand how you do that. Don’t you take this work home with you every night? I don’t mean the papers and documents, I mean the emotional baggage. Doesn’t this job just make you hate men?”

I laughed at that one. Maybe Goldman wasn’t as smart as I had initially thought, to ask such a hackneyed question.

“No, of course not. The people who commit these crimes are deviants, Ellen. This is really extreme, aberrant behavior. Most of the men I’ve ever met in my life are incapable of this kind of conduct. I am not one of the women who believes that all men are potential rapists. That’s one of the main reasons I can deal with these cases. And it really doesn’t carry over into my relationships with men not for a moment.”

But if you want to know what makes me hate men, I thought to myself, this is the right day to ask me.

“Are you seriously involved with someone now, Alex? This investment banker you were out with last night?“

“Did I tell you who I was going out with yesterday?” I shot back at her. “I wasn’t aware I mentioned-‘

”I told you I’ve done my homework. I’ve already interviewed a lot of your colleagues.“

“What branch of the Israeli military did you serve in Intelligence?”

“Not so lucky. I was in a special patrol force on the West Bank. Actually an elite antiterrorist unit. Not a cushy desk job doing background checks.”

I was impressed.

“Listen, Ellen. Can we go off the record for a few minutes?”

“Sure. Off the record.”

“Whatever you heard about the investment banker and whoever’s been talking about it, you need to know it’s over. I’ll give you other stuff – personal stuff if you have to have it but I beg you to leave the romance angle out of it. He’s not a part of my life anymore and I don’t want to see anything about us in print. Please.“

“Yeah, sure, I’m really sorry. People had been telling me you were very happy together. Picture-perfect couple and all that kind of thing. Of course I won’t write about it if it’s not true. Is this all very recent?”

It was a Catch-22. I couldn’t get her off the subject without going on to explain why it didn’t make sense for her to stay on the subject.

“Recent? Let’s just say if you had asked me the same question before you left me in my office yesterday afternoon, you would have had a different answer. History, Ellen, it’s over.”

I was relieved to see Cerone’s court-appointed attorney come out of the door which led from the holding pen behind the courtroom. The clerk stepped back and knocked on the judge’s robing room and I couldn’t hear what Ellen murmured to me as the court officer announced “All rise.” when Hadleigh mounted the three steps to his seat at the bench.

The clerk called the case from the calendar, directed both counsel to state our appearances for the record, and arraigned the defendant for sentence. He went on to ask, “Does the assistant district attorney wish to be heard?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” I recalled for the judge the facts of the case, referring to actual pieces of testimony about the victim’s ordeal which I had pulled from the transcript. In greater detail, I described her mental condition and the vulnerability that handicap also endowed her with. Her legal guardian had called to tell me that, even to this day, the young woman awakened with nightmares, screaming the name of the defendant and pleading for help. I closed by urging the Court to impose the maximum sentence, a range of eight and one-third to twenty-five years in state prison.

Cerone’s lawyer spoke next. He still disputed the verdict of the jury, arguing that his client would be vindicated by an appellate review of the facts. He assailed the descriptions that had been given about the woman’s mental capacity, saying that there really wasn’t anything wrong with her at all: she was just slow.

“There is nothing in the trial record to indicate that this was a violent, brutal attack, like the People claim.

“Your Honor,” he continued, “I must also call your attention to the history of this complaining witness. Ms. Cooper mentioned the victim’s guardian, who reports her nightmares to the district attorney. May I remind you that the reason she lives with a guardian is that she had to be removed from her natural home because she had been the victim of years of sexual abuse by her father and her brothers. All of those events, Judge Hadleigh, have had some kind of impact on this witness and all of those abuses occurred before the events she testified about in this court.

“They don’t excuse my client, Your Honor, but surely the impact of Mr. Cerone’s actions on her is lessened by her past experience.”

Did I hear this guy right? Is he about to tell the judge that it’s okay to victimize someone who has been abused before?

Now Hadleigh was awake, too.

“Well, certainly, the impact of this crime is less severe because of her incest experience. She’s not inured to it, I’m sure, but it had to be less serious than the first or second time she’d been through this, I have to agree with you.”

I was on my feet in a flash.

“I’m going to object-“

“Just a minute, Miss Cooper. You’ve had your chance. Sit down. I’ll hear counsel out on this, he’s entitled to his position.”

“My client still denies his guilt, Your Honor. And I just want to close by asking you to take all these things into consideration in sentencing my client, who has no prior criminal history, and by-”

“Objection. Judge Hadleigh, Mr. Cerone has no felony convictions but he certainly has a criminal history…”

“Miss Cooper, that’s all before me, as you know, in the pre-sentence report. Let’s keep some order here, please. There’s no jury to perform for I know the record, too.”

“So on my client’s behalf, Judge, I’d ask for the minimum in this case – two to six years.”

The Honorable Horace Hadleigh we all called him Horrid, on the prosecution side, which was either the result of or the causal factor in why, for the more than thirty-eight years he had been on the bench, he generally handed members of the defense bar exactly what they wanted – was about to deliver his view of the Cerone case.

He hadn’t bothered to write out any comments about the case in advance – that would have taken both time and intelligence, two factors of which he was in limited supply. So he began by rambling on a bit about the trial and the pathetic young woman who had testified in his courtroom.

By the end of five minutes it was clear that he had bought the defense position lock, stock, and barrel.

“And quite frankly, I don’t see what the People gain by describing this rape as brutal and violent.”

There was no point in my sitting down at the table. If I could manage to get a word in edgewise, this was going to be lively.

“Your Honor, the Penal Law of this state defines rape as a “violent felony.” Of course this situation was violent it was a forced physical assault by a man who overpowered an unwilling participant.”

“Miss Cooper, don’t stand here and lecture me on the Penal Law. There are rapes and there are rapes. He didn’t chop her up in little pieces, did he? He didn’t cause any other injuries, did he?”

“Thank God he didn’t, Your Honor. The law doesn’t require that either. That’s a separate crime, as you know. Rape occurs without any external physical injury in the overwhelming percentage of cases. She didn’t have to sustain any injury. She was raped and sodomized that’s trauma enough.“

“You’re losing your sense of discretion, young lady, as well as your temper. You can’t differentiate between one case and another, and that’s fatal for a prosecutor.” I took a deep breath and modulated my tone.

“I’m sorry, Your Honor, but I must disagree with you. I see three, four hundred rape cases a year supervise several hundred others – that’s more than any other prosecutor in the country, Judge Hadleigh. I am very well aware of the factual distinctions, the n- uances, the differences in kinds of threats – all of the minuscule features that make each of these cases so distinct to each victim – woman, man, or child despite the fact that several Penal Law definitions cover the entire spectrum. I think I know, as well as anyone in the world, how to differentiate among every single one of the cases that cross my desk.”

“Well, then, you’ll have to agree, Miss Cooper, that this girl is so retarded that she really can’t understand what happened to her, isn’t that so? It’s not like if it happened to you or to my daughter? You’d know what it was all about now, wouldn’t you? She can’t absorb what happened to her, she can’t even explain it to us.”

I was thunderstruck. This was a triple-header: Cerone’s attack was forcible but not violent; other people had abused this victim in her past, so she was fair game for Ernesto Cerone this time; and because she was handicapped – the very reason she had been preyed upon, in all likelihood it didn’t matter as much as it would to a fully abled woman.

“Judge Hadleigh,” I began, unable to let his comments stand unaddressed on the record.

“Most respectfully, sir, you complete fucking moron, I must take exception to the views you have expressed here today. I think it’s fair to say that not since the case opinions generated by the medieval English courts have I heard observations like these about rape victims.“

“What did you say?”

“The three statements you made about this trial, Judge, they really reflect antiquated attitudes.”

“Did you say something to me about the Dark Ages, Miss Cooper? Are you making fun of me, young lady?”

“Not at all, sir. But surely you remember the legislative history of these statutes when the laws changed, just two decades ago?” Give him a hand; he hasn’t cracked a law book since he was in knee-pants.

“Sir Matthew Hale, 1671 all those archaic writings about women being the property of their husbands and rape not being a crime unless the victim had been virginal before the assault. Those views went out-”

”Miss Cooper. I’m going to do you a favor. I’m going to put off this sentence today and let you walk out of my courtroom without holding you in contempt. I’m going to let you reflect upon this for a bit and come back next week with an apology for me and a more reasonable view of the facts of this case.“ Ernesto Cerone was grinning as if he had just been paid a million dollars to do a commercial for Fixodent. He wasn’t going to get out of jail free, but every time I opened my mouth, his sentence time came down a notch.

“Thank you for that opportunity, Judge, but I am ready to go ahead with Mr. Cerone’s sentence today.” I’d like nothing better than to see this whole thing written up in Ellen Goldman’s article and expose this ignorant throwback for what he is.

“You’re flirting with contempt, miss.”

What the hell, Judge, I’m giving up flirting with men.

And I do so love flirting.

My adversary played right into the judge’s hand.

“I’d like the matter adjourned for a week, too.”

“Thank you. At defendant’s request, this case will be put over until next Wednesday, 2 P.M.” for sentence. I expect you to come back a bit more courteously, Miss Cooper.

I don’t want to have to report this as a complaint to the Disciplinary Committee. Has that ever happened to you before?“

“No, sir.” But I would wear it as a badge of honor if you did it with this record you’ve just made today.

Hadleigh strode off the bench and back to his robing room as I gathered my papers and stepped out of the well to join up with Ellen Goldman.

“I can’t believe I heard the things the judge said, but I did.”

“Can you just imagine, if those are the views of an educated jurist, what victims encounter all over this country from people who are uninformed about issues like this?

It’s unthinkable. Hadleigh’s the exception around here, I should add most of our judges in New York are terrific on these cases. He just reminds me that there are still a lot more Neanderthals around than I like to admit to myself.“

“Do you mind if I trail you back to your office and talk a bit more today?”

“Look, Ellen, I’d like to do it, but I’m really pinched for time. Can we push it back a few days?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a good start from the two hours you gave me yesterday, as well as my research. I’ll call you tomorrow. If you see me around, it’s just for background and interviewing other people about you.”

“Thanks, Ellen.” Yeah, great. Poke around let me know if you find out anything I should have known weeks ago. We shook hands on the corner of Center Street and I went back into the building to see what awaited me in the office.

Sarah Brenner was standing at my desk, using the phone. I closed the door and sat until she finished her conversation.

“How did Cerone go?” she asked.

“What did Horrid hit him with?”

“Not as much as he wanted to hit me with, I’ll tell you that. Adjourned for a week. Anything come in while I was over there?”

“That was Bruno. He just called from the airport, with Antonio Partigas.” Detective Bruno and his partner had come in from Miami on the first flight. They had gone on a rendition, to bring Partigas back to New York to stand trial here for a series of rapes he had committed before fleeing to Florida two months ago.

“Class act, Partigas, all the way. You know why Bruno called? Just to tell us that while Antonio was sitting on the plane, cuffed and seated between two of New York’s Finest and under arrest for six counts of Rape in the First Degree, he exposed himself to the stewardess. Fly the friendly skies. I tell you, it’s never dull here.”

“Sarah, be honest with me. How do I look? I mean, I feel like I’m losing it do I look as crazed as I feel?”

“You look fine. Fishing for compliments today, are we?”

“Listen, Jed and I broke up last night you need to know why, although I’d like you to keep it between us for a while.

I’m really running on empty, though, and I’m afraid you’re the one who’ll get stuck with all the overload.“

“Keep it coming, Alex. Whatever I do here is easier than being home with a six-month-old kid. We’ll manage. The only other call while you were with Hadleigh was from a uniformed cop in the two-six. He wanted to know if it was sex abuse for a man to fondle the breasts of an eleven-year-old girl, even if she really didn’t have developed breasts yet. Can you believe it? Rocket scientist. And if she’s a forty-year-old woman who just happens to be flat-chested, I guess we should give him a pass, too.“

“Let me fill you in on what happened last night. I’d rather have you hear it all from me.”

Battaglia called in from Washington just after one, as I was eating a salad ordered in from Broadway’s Best at my desk.

“Guess you can’t even stay out of trouble for twenty-four hours, so I can make an appearance in Washington, hmm?”

“Paul, I don’t know where to begin on this, I feel like such a fool.”

“Forget it, Alex, this one’s easy.” Great, the Battaglia I adore, understanding my dilemma. “I’m behind you one hundred percent. Don’t worry about his complaint.”

Whoops. It was suddenly obvious that we were talking about two different things. “Hadleigh? How did you hear about that already? I haven’t been back from the courtroom for an hour yet.”

“He got right off the bench and called Pat McKinney to complain about you. Relax. I still owe him a few jabs for dismissing the indictment in that Asian Gang Unit case last winter. He tried to grandstand on that and it nearly cost us half the forfeiture money we collected to re-present it to the Grand Jury.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s the way you feel, Paul, but that’s not the reason I sent up the alert. I didn’t even tell this to Rose, but Chapman and I are pretty sure this guy I’ve been dating – Jed Segal well, that he was cheating on me, with Isabella Lascar. Chapman’s even put him on the suspect list.”

Silence. Deafening silence.

“How many people know about this?”

“Not many. And not the press, yet. It’s not even confirmed. We should know more this afternoon when we talk to-‘

”Dammit. It’s not “we” – you’re not to have a hand in this. Can you get that through your stubborn skull yet? Have the Chief of Detectives give me a call – Rose can patch him through to me. And you better do exactly what I pay you to do nothing else. I suppose I have to worry about having you guarded again.“

“Oh no, that’s ridiculous.” I had Jed claiming he was desperate to see me, Richard Burrell showing up unexpectedly in my office, Johnny Garelli due in town any minute now, and I’m arming myself with a bottle opener to answer the door for Mike and Mercer. “No, I’ll be okay.”

I hung up and opened the door, picking up my messages as I headed for the Bureau Chiefs’ meeting that Rod had scheduled for the afternoon. Jed had telephoned three times, but Laura had gotten my signal and took no details from him, only the record of the call.

It was going to be more difficult than usual to focus during the meeting, as thirty of the Trial Division administrators sat around a long conference table, arguing over whether too many buy-and-bust cases were being indicted instead of given misdemeanor pleas, or too few defendants were being recommended for alternative sentencing plans.

I scripted imaginary conversations with Jed in my head – what I really wanted to hear him say to me, and what I planned to say in response. By the time the meeting ended, none of the major issues we had come together to discuss had been resolved, and the next session was planned for two weeks thereafter.

It was four-fifteen when I returned to my desk with my third diet Coke of the afternoon, hoping the caffeine would kick in and keep me alert.

“Call Chapman at the squad. You just missed him.”

“Thanks, Laura.” I speed-dialed the number.

“Segal’s a no-show. Thought you’d like to know that. Jerk got himself a lawyer who isn’t bringing him in today.”

Shit. Why would he do that unless he had something to hide?

“Let me guess. Jimmy LaRossa? Marty London? Justin Feldman? He’d only go for one of the top dogs. Which one?”

My luck – I’m the one who introduced him to the best lawyers in New York. Now he’ll try to use one of them to thwart us.

“Nah. Some guy I never heard of – name’s Bergin, from Washington.”

“Of course. Anderson Warmack’s lawyer. Great troubleshooter if you’ve got a federal securities case. I doubt he could even find the jury box in state court.”

“Yeah, well, he knew enough to tell Romeo to stay away from my office. And he refuses to let Jed submit to a blood test for DNA. Says we don’t have probable cause.”

“He’s been calling here all day, asking me to see him. I hung up on him once. Laura’s not putting him through anymore.“

”Good girl. I spoke to Wally. I had Motor Vehicles FedEx Jed’s new photo from his New York driver’s license up to Chilmark. Told Wally to put it in an array and take it over to the Quinn sisters at the fried clam place, to see if they can make an ID or not. He should get that tomorrow and have it done. I hate to tell this guy how much probable cause I’m gonna have by the end of the week.“

“Don’t gloat about it, Mike.”

“Sorry, Coop, I hate to be stonewalled. If he didn’t do it, why doesn’t he just come in and tell me?”

“It’s more complicated than that for someone in his position, Mike. You know that.”

“Don’t defend him, blondie. Look at this objectively, okay? Arm’s length.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, got a confirmation from Maine. Burrell’s got an arsenal all right. Lots of guns. Likes to shoot those little furry things, mostly. Be nice to him and you could probably have yourself a warm coat for the winter. Like the man said, no one can tell us when he got back to the island. But the Vineyard police are canvassing all the inns and guest houses anyway. We might turn up something there.

“Next thing. That story you told me about Isabella asking Jed for help ‘cause she thought her accountant was stealing from her? Well, it’s true. I spoke to her agent this morning.

“Seems the accountant, Fred Weintraub – a beanie, of course was cooking the books. Iz had reported it to the IRS and they were gonna open a case on him. I did a run on the guy and he’s got two convictions for fraud one here in New York and one in Jersey. Freddy the Felon. Basically an East Coast guy, so I guess I gotta dig a little deeper on him, too.”

“Well, you’re having a more productive day than I did. I’m ready to call it quits.“

“You okay for the evening?”

“Fine, thanks. I’m going to get some exercise for a while. Then dinner with Joan, and home to sleep, for a change.“

”There’ll be an envelope at your door when you get home. I made a copy of a couple of letters the LAPD found in Isabella’s house from this person who claims to be a shrink. Sounds crazier than a bedbug to me. Maybe they’ll mean something to you. Ask your neighbor to look ‘ em over. Maybe it’s shrink talk and he can figure it out.“

My backup line was flashing as I got off with Mike. It was Nina.

“Can you talk?”

“I can, but the better question is whether I want to. Nina, I’ve never been so confused or alone in my life.”

“I can be there tomorrow. I can take the red-eye tonight.”

“No, honestly, save it. Believe it or not, things might get worse, and I’ll be begging you to come.”

“I called Joan while you were in court this morning and I couldn’t reach you. I think I see the picture. She’s going to meet you for dinner, right?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“Alex, I’ve been going over this again and again. Did Jed spend any time in England last month?”

“Well, he’s been in Paris a lot. And usually makes a side trip to Zurich or London, if there’s business to be done.”

“Remember when we were talking after Isabella’s funeral and I told you she mentioned running into some guy on the rocket, the Concorde, coming back from London. That he was ”powerful and important,“ remember? Maybe it was Jed. Maybe it was after you had introduced them to each other at ”21,“ and they accidentally ran into each other on the same plane. Kismet. Serendipity. Don’t blame yourself for this one – if she thought he was attractive and stable and rich, she’d have her claws out for him.”

“Even if she knew I was crazy about him?”

“All the more likely. That surprises you? C’mon, we all know women like that, Alex. There’s Jezebel; there’s the Duchess of Windsor, who stole Edward away from her best friend, Thelma Furness; there’s Elizabeth Taylor going to the mats with Debbie Reynolds over Eddie Fisher. You think for a minute that Iz would have scruples about stepping on your toes? Give me a break. Anyway, the London airplane encounter was just a thought.“

“Thanks.”

“Look, whenever you’re ready, I want you to come out here and get away from everything for a while. I’ll take a few days off, leave the baby with Elena, and we’ll just go out to the cottage at Malibu and relax for a week. Please?”

“Sure, Nina.”

We exchanged good-byes and I took my tote filled with ballet paraphernalia out of the filing cabinet.

“I’m sneaking out a bit early, Laura. Trying to make a six-thirty class. See you in the morning.”

“Two more from Jed, while you were taking these other calls. Sounds like he was at a phone booth. He’s really anxious to see you. I’m just worried he might be waiting here at the corner of Center Street, hoping to catch up with you on the way out.”

Don’t do this to me, you bastard. You know what it’s like to be followed and harassed and watched and intercepted.

You even went to court to get that woman to stop doing it.

Don’t start it with me.

I decided not to take the chance of running into him, if indeed, he had figured out that the easiest place to find me was outside of my office. I took the stairs down one flight and crossed into the corridor that led through the length of the building, exiting by the doorway two blocks to the north, instead of the executive wing elevators. That dumped me out at the rear of the courthouse, in the middle of Chinatown. I saw no signs of a yellow cab, so I hurried myself to Canal Street, turned west past rows of vendors hawking counterfeit Vuittons and Guccis, and symbolically held my breath as I descended the steps to the subway station and pushed through the turnstile for the uptown N train.

I hate the subway. I hate its filth, its odor, its crowds, and its unreliability. But when it worked, it was without exception the most efficient way to travel around the city.

The Canal Street stops were my least favorite, since most of the people arriving in the morning and leaving in the late afternoon were either colleagues of mine who worked in the system, or defendants and their rent-a-baby-so-the-judge will-be-sympathetic families, on their way to be arraigned for their latest arrests. I dreaded making eye contact with perps I would be squaring off with later in the day, or girlfriends with earrings the size of door knockers who had just left their main men in the Tombs because I had asked the judge for remand without bail.

The platform was practically deserted and my footsteps rang with an eerie echo as I tried to find a position to wait in for the next train. I was unusually jumpy and kept looking over my shoulder in hopes that no one would trap me against the dead end of the tunnel wall toward which I had chosen to move, or be hiding behind the thick steel girders which lined the middle of the station. I walked to the edge to see whether there were headlights to signal on the approach of a subway car, but reminded myself of the recent spate of women being pushed onto the tracks as by an escaped mental patient. I turned back to stand closer to the graffiti-streaked wall. Two or three times I glimpsed the the head of a man coming toward me, weaving in and out of the posts, but I was unable to get a clear shot at his face and was relieved when I heard the rumble of the train as it approached the station.

So I clutched my tote to my side, moved briskly through the doors as they opened in front of me, found a seat that didn’t seem to be too badly smeared with crumbs and soda stains, and pretended to be absorbed in a sheaf of Court of Appeals decisions that Laura had printed out of e-mail for me to read, while all the time my peripheral vision was scanning the car for the usual assortment of freaks and perverts.