Gone, but not forgotten

Chapter Thirteen.

International Exports was on the twenty-second floor of the First Interstate Bank Tower in a small suite of offices tucked away in a corner next to an insurance company. A middle-aged Hispanic woman looked up from her word processor when Reggie Stewart opened the door. She looked surprised, as if visitors were an uncommon sight.

Moments later, Stewart was seated across the desk from Manuel Ochoa, a well-dressed, heavy-set Mexican with a swarthy complexion and a bushy, salt-and-pepper mustache.

"This business with Martin is so terrible. Your district attorney must be insane to arrest someone so prominent. Certainly there is no evidence against him?" Ochoa said as be offered Stewart a slender cigarillo.

Stewart raised his hand, declining the smoke.

"Frankly, we don't know what Alan Page has. He's playing his cards close to the vest. That's why I'm talking to people who know Mr. Darius. We're trying to figure out what in the world Page is thinking."

Ochoa shook his head sympathetically. "I'll do anything I can to help, Mr. Stewart."

"Why don't you explain your relationship to Darius."

"We are business partners. He wanted to build a shopping mall near Medford and the banks would not finance it, so he came to me."

"How's the venture going?"

"Not well, I'm afraid. Martin has been having trouble lately. There is the unfortunate business with the site where the bodies were discovered.

He has a lot of money tied up in the town house project. His debts are mounting. Our venture has also been stalled."

"How serious is Darius's financial situation?"

Ochoa blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. "Serious. I am concerned for my investment, but, of course, I am protected."

"If Mr. Darius stays in jail or is convicted, what will happen to his business?"

"I can't say. Martin is the genius behind his firm, but he does have competent men working for him.

"How friendly are you with Mr. Darius?" ochoa took a long drag on his cigarillo.

"Until recently, you could say we were friends, but not close friends.

Business acquaintances would be more accurate. I have had Martin to my home, we socialized occasionally. However, business pressures have strained our relationship."

Stewart laid photographs of the three women and a sheet of paper with the dates of their disappearances on the blotter.

"Were you with Mr. Darius on any of these dates?"

"I don't believe so."

"What about the photographs? Have you ever seen Mr. Darius with any of these women?" Ochoa studied the photos, then shook his head. "No, but I have seen Martin with other women." Stewart took out a pad. "I have a large house and I live alone. I enjoy getting together with friends.

Some of these friends are attractive, single women."

"Do you want to spell this out for me, Mr. Ochoa?"

Ochoa laughed. "Martin likes young women, but he is always discreet. I have guest bedrooms for my friends."

"Did Mr. Darius use drugs?"

Ochoa eyed Stewart curiously. "What does that have to do with your case, Mr. Stewart?"

"I need to know everything I can about my client.

You never know what's important."

"I have no knowledge of drugs and," Ochoa said, looking at his Rolex,

"I'm afraid I have another appointment."

"Thanks for taking the time to see me."

"It was my pleasure. If I can be of further help to Martin, let me know.

And wish him the best for me."

Nora Sloane was waiting for Betsy on a bench outside the courthouse elevator.

"Did you talk to Mr. Darius?"

"Martin says you can tag along."

"Great!"

"Let's meet after court and I'll set up some ground rules."

"Okay. Do you know how judge Norwood is going to rule?"

"No. His secretary just said to be here at two."

Betsy turned the corner. judge Norwood's court was at the far end of the hall. Most of the people in the corridor were congregating outside the courtroom door. Television crews were grouped around the entrance and a guard was checking people through the metal detector.

Betsy flashed her Bar card at the guard. He stood aside.

Betsy and Sloane cut behind him and went into the courtroom without having to go through the metal detector. Martin Darius and Alan Page were in court. Betsy slid into the chair next to Darius and took her files and a pad out of her attache case.

"Have you seen Lisa?" he asked.

Betsy scanned the packed courtroom. "I told my secretary to call her, but she's not here yet."

"what's he going to do, Tannenbaum?"

Darius was trying to sound casual, but there was an edge to his voice.

"We'll soon find out," Betsy said as Harvey Cobb rapped the gavel. judge Norwood strode out of his chambers. He was clutching several sheets of yellow, lined paper. Norwood was a shoot-from-the-hip guy. If he'd taken the time to write out the reasons for his decision, he was expecting it to be appealed.

"This is a very troubling case," the judge said without preliminaries.

"Someone apparently tortured and murdered four innocent people. That person should not be roaming our streets. On the other hand, we have a presumption in this country that a person is innocent until proven guilty. We also have a guarantee of bail in our Constitution, which can be denied a defendant in a murder case only on a showing by the State that there is clear and convincing evidence of guilt.

"Mr. Page, you proved these people were murdered.

You proved they were buried at a site owned and visited by Mr. Darius.

You proved Mr. Darius knew the three women Victims. You also proved he was having an affair with one of them and may have beaten her the day she disappeared. What you have not shown, by clear and convincing evidence, is a connection between the defendant and the murders.

"No one saw Mr. Darius kill these people. There is no scientific evidence connecting him to any of the bodies or the homes from which they disappeared. You have matched the tires on the BMW to the tracks left at the murder site, but Mr. Darius visited that site frequently.

Granted, it is suspicious that the tracks led up to the hole in the fence, but that's not enough, especially when there is no evidence connecting the BMW with any victim.

"Now I know you'll tell me that Mr. Darius destroyed the evidence by cleaning the trunk of his car, and that looks suspicious. But the standard I must use to deny bail is clear and convincing evidence, and the absence of evidence, no matter how suspicious the circumstances, is not a substitute for evidence.

"Really, Mr. Page, the crux of your case is the information given to you by this Gordon woman. But she wasn't here to be cross-examined by Mrs.

Tannenbaum.

Why isn't she here? We don't know. Is it because of foul play or because she made up the story she told you and is smart enough to avoid committing perjury?

"Even if I accept what you say, Mr. Darius is guilty of the Hunter's Point murders only if we accept Detective Gordon's theory. This Henry Waters fellow was named by the Hunter's Point police as the killer. If Waters is the killer, then Mr. Darius was a victim of the man." judge Norwood paused to take a sip of water. Betsy choked back a victory grin.

She glanced to her left. Alan Page was sitting stiffly, eyes straight ahead.

"Bail will be set in the sum of one million dollars.

Mr. Darius may be released if he posts ten percent."

"Your Honor," Page exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

"This won't help you, Mr. Page. I've made up my mind. Personally, I'm surprised to see you force this hearing with such a skimpy case." judge Norwood turned his back on the prosecutor and walked off the bench.

"I knew I did the right thing hiring you, Tannenbaum," Darius exclaimed.

"How long will it take to get me out of here?"

"As long as it takes you to post the bail and the jail to process you.

"Then call Terry Stark, my accountant at Darius Construction. He's waiting to hear from you. Tell him the amount he has to post and tell him to get it down here immediately."

Nora Sloane watched Betsy field questions from the press, then walked with her toward the elevators.

"You must feel great," Sloane said.

Betsy was tempted to feed Sloane the same upbeat line she had given to the reporters, but she liked Nora and felt she could confide in her.

"Not really."

"why is that?"

"I admit, winning gives me a rush, but Norwood is right. Page's case was very skimpy. Anyone would have won this hearing. If this is the best Page can do, he won't get his case to a jury.

"Also, I don't know who Martin Darius is. If he's a husband and father who found his wife and child brutally murdered, then I did something good today. But what if he really murdered the women in the pit?"

"You think he's guilty?"

"I didn't say that. Martin insists he's innocent and I haven't seen anything to convince me otherwise. What I mean is, I still don't know for certain what happened here or in Hunter's Point."

"if you knew for certain that Darius was the rose killer, would you still represent him?"

"We have a system in America. It's not perfect, but it's worked for two hundred years and it depends on giving a fair trial to every person who goes through the courts, no matter what they've done. Once you start discriminating, for any reason, the system breaks down. The real test of the system is when it deals with a Bundy or a Manson, someone everyone fears and despises. If you can try that person fairly, then you send a message that we are a nation of law."

"Can you imagine a case you wouldn't take?" Sloane asked. "A client you might find so repulsive that your conscience would not let you represent him?"

"That's the question you confront when you choose to practice criminal law. If you can't represent that client, you don't belong in the business."

Betsy checked her watch. "Look, Nora, that's going to have to be it for today. I've got to make certain Martin's bail is posted, and my mother's watching Kathy, so I've got to leave the office a little early."

"Kathy is your daughter?"

Betsy smiled.

"I'd like to meet her."

"I'll introduce you to Kathy soon. My mom, too.

You'll like them. Maybe I'll have you over for dinner."

"Great," Sloane said.

"Lisa Darius is waiting for you in your office," Ann said as soon as Betsy walked in. "I hope you don't mind. She's very upset about something and she was afraid to sit in the waiting room."

"That's okay. Does she know Martin's going to be released on bail?"

"Yes. I asked her how the judge ruled when she came in and she said you won.

"I didn't see her in court."

"I called her about the court appearance as soon as you told me to."

"I'm sure you did. Look, call Terry Stark at Darius Construction," Betsy said, writing down the name and phone number. "I told him how to post the bail a few days ago. He'll need a cashier's check for one hundred thousand. If there are any problems, buzz me."

Betsy did not recognize Lisa at first. She wore tight jeans, a blue turtleneck and a multicolored ski sweater.

Her long hair was pulled back in a French braid, her emerald eyes were red from crying.

"Lisa, are you all right?"

"I never thought they'd let him out. I'm so scared."

"Of Martin? Why?"

Lisa put her hands to her face. "He's so cruel. No one knows how cruel.

In public, he's charming. And sometimes he's just as charming with me when we're alone. He surprises me with flowers, jewelry. When he wants to, he treats me like a queen and I forget what he's really like inside.

Oh God, Betsy, I think he killed those women."

Betsy was stunned. Lisa started to cry.

"Do you want some water?" Betsy asked.

Lisa shook her head. "Just give me a moment."

They sat quietly while Lisa caught her breath. Outside, a winter sun was shining and the ground was so crisp and brittle, it seemed you could crack it into a million pieces. When Lisa spoke, her words came in a rush.

"I understand what Andrea Hammermill went through. Taking it, because you don't want anyone to know how bad it is and because there are good times and… and you love him."

Lisa sobbed. Her shoulders shook. Betsy wanted to comfort Lisa, but not as much as she wanted to learn what Darius had done to her to put her in this state, so she sat stiffly, waiting for Lisa to regain her composure.

"I do love him and I hate him and I'm scared of him," Lisa said hopelessly. "But this… If he…"

"Wife-beating is very common, Lisa. Serial murder isn't. Why do you think Martin may have killed these women?"

"It's more than beatings. There's a perverted side to… to what he does. His sexual needs… One time… This is very hard for me."

"Take your time."

"He wanted sex. We'd been to a party. I was tired. I told him. He insisted. We had an argument. No. That's not true. He never argues. He he…"

Lisa closed her eyes. Her hands were clenched in her lap. Her body was rigid. When she spoke, she kept her eyes shut.

"He told me very calmly that I would have sex with him. I was getting angrier and angrier. The way he was speaking, it's the way you talk to a very small child or someone who's retarded. It enraged me. And the more I screamed, the calmer he became.

"Finally he said, "Take off your clothes," the way you'd command a dog to roll over. I told him to go to hell. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor. He hit me in the stomach. I lost my air. I was helpless.

"When I started to breathe, I looked up. Martin was smiling. He ordered me to take my clothes off again in that same voice. I shook my head. I couldn't talk yet, but I was damned if I was going to give in. He knelt down, grabbed my nipple through my blouse and squeezed. I almost blacked out from the pain. I was crying now and thrashing around on the floor.

He did it to my other nipple, and I couldn't stand it. The horrible thing was how methodical he was. There was no passion in it. And he had the tiniest smile on his face, as if he was enjoying himself immensely but didn't want anyone to know.

"I was on the verge of passing out when he stopped.

I sprawled on the floor, exhausted. I knew I couldn't fight him anymore.

The next time he ordered me to, I took off my clothes."

"Did he rape you?" Betsy asked. She felt queasy.

Lisa shook her head. "That was the worst thing. He looked at me for a moment. There was a smile of satisfaction on his face I will never forget. Then he told me that I must -always submit to him when he wanted sex and that I would be punished anytime I disobeyed him. He told me to get on all fours. I thought he was going to take me from behind.

Instead, he made me crawl across the floor like a dog.

"We have a clothes closet in our bedroom. He opened the door and made me go in, naked. He said I would have to stay there without making a sound until he let me out. He told me I would be severely punished if I made any sound."

Lisa started sobbing again.

"He kept me in the closet all weekend without food.

He put in some toilet paper and a bucket to… to use if I… I was so hungry and so scared.

"He told me that he would open the door when he was ready and I would immediately have sex with him or I would go back. When he opened the door I just crawled out and… and did anything he wanted. When he was through with me, he led me into the bathroom and bathed me, as if I was a baby. There were clothes laid out on the bed. Evening clothes. And a bracelet. It must have cost a fortune. Diamonds, rubies, gold. It was my reward for obedience. When I was dressed, he took me to a restaurant for a lavish dinner. All evening, he treated me like a queen.

"I was certain he would want me again when we got home. It's all I thought about at dinner. I had to force myself to eat, because I was nauseous thinking of what was coming but I was afraid he would do something to me if I didn't eat. Then when we got home he just went to sleep and he didn't touch me for a week."

"Did he ever do anything like that to you again?"

"No," Lisa said, hanging her head. "He didn't have to. I learned my lesson. If he said he wanted sex, I did what he wanted. And I received my rewards. And no one knew, until now, what I've been going through."

"Did you ever think of leaving him?" Betsy asked.

"He… he told me if I told anyone the things he did, or tried to run away, he would kill me. If you heard the way he said it, so calm, so detached… I knew he'd do it. I knew."

Lisa took deep breaths until she was back in control.

"There's something else," Lisa said. Betsy noticed a shopping bag lying next to Lisa's chair. Lisa leaned over and took a scrapbook out of it and placed it in her lap.

"I was certain Martin was having an affair. He never said anything and I never saw him with anyone, but I knew. One day I decided to search his things while he was at work to see if I could find proof. Instead, I found this."

Lisa tapped the cover of the scrapbook, then handed it across to Betsy.

Betsy placed the book in the center of her blotter. The cover was a faded brown with a gold trim. Betsy opened the scrapbook. On the first page, a plastic sheet, were clippings about the Hunter's Point case from the Hunter's Point paper, the New York Times, Newsday and other papers.

Betsy flipped through some of the other pages without reading the articles.

They were all about the Hunter's Point case.

"Did you ever ask Martin about this?" Betsy asked.

"No. I was too scared. I put it back. But I did do something. I hired a private detective to follow Martin and to find out about Hunter's Point."

"What's the detective's name?"

"Sam Oberhurst."

"Do you have an address and phone number where I can reach him?"

"I've got a phone number."

"No address?"

"I got his name from a friend who used him in her divorce. She gave me the number. It's an answering machine. We met at a restaurant."

"Where did you send your checks?"

"I always paid him in cash."

"Give me your friend's name and I'll have my investigator contact her if it's necessary."

"Her name is Peggy Fulton. Her divorce attorney was Gary Telford. He's the one who gave her the name.

I'd rather you didn't go to her, unless you have to."

"The lawyer's better," Betsy said as she pulled a sheet of paper out of her drawer and filled in several blanks. "This is a release of information form giving me or my investigator the -right to see Oberhurst's files."

While Lisa read the form, Betsy told Ann to have Reggie Stewart come to her office immediately. Lisa signed the release and handed it back to Betsy.

"What did Oberhurst tell you?"

"He was certain Martin was cheating, but he didn't have a name yet."

"And Hunter's Point?"

"He told me he hadn't started working on that aspect of the investigation."

Lisa's story had affected Betsy deeply. The thought of Darius treating his wife like an animal disgusted her and Lisa's description made Betsy physically ill. But it did not mean Darius was a murderer, and she was still his attorney.

"Why did you come to me, Lisa?"

"I don't know. I'm so confused by everything. You seemed so understanding at the house and I knew how hard you fought for Andrea Hammermill and the Peterson woman. I hoped you could tell me what to do."

"Do you plan to tell the district attorney what you've told me or to give him this book?"

Lisa looked startled. "No. Why would I do that?"

"To hurt Martin."

"No. I don't want to… I still love him. Or, I… Mrs.

Tannenbaum, if Martin did those things… if he tortured and killed those women, I have to know."

Betsy leaned forward and looked directly into Lisa's moist green eyes.

"I'm Martin's lawyer, Lisa. My professional loyalty lies with him, even if he is guilty."

Lisa looked shocked. "You'd continue to defend him, even if he did that?"

Betsy nodded. "But he may not have, Lisa, and what you've told me could be very important. If Oberhurst was following Martin on a date when one of those women disappeared, he could provide Martin with an alibi. Page is going to argue that the same man did all three women, and he probably did. All I have to do is show Martin didn't kill one of the victims and the d.a's case disappears."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"When is the last time you talked to Oberhurst?"

"A few weeks ago. I left a few messages on his machine, but he didn't return my calls."

"I'll have my investigator contact Oberhurst. Can I hold on to the scrapbook?"

Lisa nodded. Betsy walked around the desk and laid a hand on Lisa's shoulder.

"Thank you for confiding in me. I know how hard it must have been."

"I had to tell someone," Lisa whispered. "I've kept it in so long."

"I have a friend who might help you. Alice Knowland. She's very nice and very compassionate. I've sent other women with similar problems to her and she's helped some of them."

"What is she, a doctor?"

"A psychiatrist. But don't let that scare you off. Psychiatrist is just a fancy title for a good listener with experience in helping troubled people. She might be good for you. You could go to her a few times, then stop if she isn't helping. Think it over and give me a call."

"I will," Lisa said, standing. "And thank you for listening."

"You're not alone, Lisa. Remember that."

Betsy put her arms around Lisa and hugged her.

"Martin will be home late tonight. Will you stay with him?" Betsy asked.

"I can't. I'm living with my father until I decide what to do."

"Okay."

"Don't tell Martin I came, please."

I won't if I can help it. He is my client, but I don't want to hurt you."

Lisa wiped her eyes and left. Betsy was drained. She pictured Lisa, hungry and terrified, cowering in the closet in the dark with the smell of her own urine and feces.

Betsy's stomach rolled. She walked out of the office and down the hall to the rest room and ran some cold water in the sink. She splashed her face with the running water, then cupped her hands and drank.

She remembered the questions Nora and the reporters had asked. How could she sleep if she saved Martin Darius, knowing what she knew about him?

What would a man who treated his wife like a dog do to a woman he did not know, if she fell his power' Would he do what the rose killer had done to his victims? Was Martin the killer?

Betsy remembered the scrapbook and dried her face, then returned to her office. She was halfway through the scrapbook when Reggie Stewart walked in.

"Congratulations on the bail hearing."

"Pull a chair next to me. I've got something that might break Martin's case."

"Excellent."

"Lisa Darius was just here. She suspected Martin might be cheating on her, so she hired an investigator to tail him. Have you heard of a p.i. named Sam Oberhurst?"

Stewart thought for a moment, then shook his head. "The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I'm sure we've never met."

"Here's his phone number and a release from Lisa.

Oberhurst has an answering machine. If you can't get through to him, try a divorce attorney named Gary Tel ford. Lisa got the name from one of his clients. Tell Gary you're working for me. We know each other. Find out if Oberhurst was tailing Darius on a date when any of the women disappeared. He could be Martin's alibi."

"I'll get right on it."

Betsy pointed to the scrapbook. "Lisa found this in Martin's things when she was looking for evidence of the affair. It's filled with clippings from the Hunter's Point case."

Stewart looked over Betsy's shoulder as Betsy turned the pages. Most of the stories concerned the disappearances. There were several stories about Lake. A section was devoted to Sandra and Melody to the discovery of the disemboweled body of Patricia Cross in Henry Waters's basement and Waters's death. Betsy turned to the final section of the scrapbook and stopped cold.

"My God, there were survivors."

"what? I thought all the women were murdered."

"No. Look here. It says Gloria Escalante, Samantha Reardon and Anne Hazelton were found alive in an old farmhouse."

"Where?"

"It doesn't give any other information. Wait a minute. No, there's nothing else. According to the article, the women declined to be interviewed."

"I don't get it. Didn't Darius tell you about this?"

"Not a word."

"Page?"

"He always referred to them as if they were dead."

"Maybe Page doesn't know," Stewart said.

"How is that possible?"

"What if Gordon didn't tell him?"

"Why wouldn't she? And why wouldn't Martin tell me? Something's not right, Reg. None of this makes sense. Gordon and Martin don't mention the survivors.

The Hunter's Point files have disappeared. I don't like it."

"I know you love a mystery, Betsy, but I see this as our big break. The survivors will know who kidnapped and tortured them. If it wasn't Darius, we're home free."

"Maybe Martin didn't mention the survivors because he knew they'd identify him."

"There's only one way to find out," Stewart said.

"Have Ann book me on an early flight to Hunter's Point." I want you to go to Albany, New York, first. Frank Grimsbo, one of the other detectives on the task force, is head of security at Marlin Steel. His office is in Albany."

"You got it."

Betsy buzzed Ann and told her what to do. When she got off the intercom, Stewart asked;

"What about the p.i.?"

"I'll run down Oberhurst. I want you on that flight, first thing.

There's something weird about this case, Reg, and I'm betting that the answers we need are in Hunter's Point."

Alan Page left the courtroom in a daze. He barely heard the reporters' questions and answered them mechanically. Randy Highsmith told him not to take the loss personally, and assured him that it wasn't his fault that they couldn't find Nancy Gordon, but Highsmith and Barrow had warned him that he was making a mistake by rushing to arrest Darius.

Even after they learned about the incident at the Hacienda Motel, the detective and the deputy district attorney wanted to move slowly. Page had overruled them. Now he was paying the price.

Page left work as soon as he could. There was an elevator in the rear of the district attorney's office that went to the basement. He took it and dodged across the street to the parking garage, hoping no one would see him and ask him about his public humiliation.

Page poured his first scotch as soon as he took off his raincoat. He drank it quickly, refilled his glass and carried it into the bedroom.

Why was he screwing up like this? He hadn't been thinking straight since Tina left him.

This was the first time his ragged thought processes had gotten him in trouble, but it had been only a matter of time. He wasn't sleeping, he wasn't eating right, he couldn't concentrate. Now, he was haunted by the ghost of a woman he had known for all of two hours.

Page settled down in front of his television in an alcoholic haze. The old movie he was watching was one he had seen many times before. He let the black and white images float across the screen without seeing them.

Did he order the arrest of Martin Darius to protect Nancy Gordon? Did he think he could keep them apart and rescue her? What sense did that make?

What sense did anything in his life make?

Martin Darius parked his Ferrari in front of his house. It was cold. The mist pressed against him when he stepped out of the car. After a week in jail, the chill, damp air felt good. Darius crossed over the bridge. The lights were out. He could barely see the placid pool water through the glass roof The rest of the house was also dark. He opened the front door and punched in the code that turned off the alarm.

Lisa was probably hiding from him at her father's house. He didn't care.

After a week crowded in with unwashed, frightened men in the stale air of the county correctional facility, a night alone would be a pleasure.

He would relish the quiet and bask in the luxury of soaping off the sour jail smell that had seeped into his pores.

There was a bar in the living room, and Darius fixed himself a drink. He flipped on the outside lights and watched the rain fall on the lawn through the picture window. He hated jail. He hated taking orders from fools and living with idiots. When he was practicing criminal law in Hunter's Point, he'd had only contempt for his clients. They were losers who were not equipped to succeed in the world, so they dealt with their problems through stealing or violence. A superior man controlled his environment and bent the will of others to him.

To Darius's way of thinking, there was only one reason to tolerate inferior minds. Someone had to do menial labor. Martin wondered what the world would be like if it was ruled by the strong, with the menial work done by a slave class selected from docile, mentally inferior men and women. The men could do the heavy work. The inferior women could be bred for beauty.

It was cold in the house. Darius shivered. He thought about the women.

Docile women, bred for beauty and subservience. They would make excellent pets. He imagined his female slaves instantly submitting to his commands. Of course, there would be disobedient slaves who would not do as they were told. Such women would have to be chastised.

Darius grew hard thinking about the women. It would have been easy to give in to the fantasy, to open his fly and relieve the delicious feeling of tension. But giving in would be a sign of weakness, so he opened his eyes and breathed deeply. The inferior man lived only in his fantasies, because he lacked willpower and imagination. The superior man made his fantasies a reality.

Darius took another sip, then placed the cool glass to his forehead. He had given his dilemma a lot of thought while he was locked up in jail.

He was certain he knew what was coming next. He was free. The newspapers had printed judge Norwood's opinion that the evidence was not strong enough to convict him. That meant someone else would have to die.

Darius looked at his watch. It was almost ten. Lisa would be up. Getting through to her was the problem. At the jail only collect calls were permitted. justice Ryder had refused every one he made. Darius dialed the judge's number.

"Ryder residence," a deep voice answered after three rings.

"Please put my wife on the phone, judge."

"She doesn't want to talk to you, Martin."

"I want to hear that from her lips."

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"I'm out now and I don't have to put up with your interference. Lisa is my wife. If she says she doesn't want to talk to me, I'll accept that, but I want to hear it from her."

"Let me talk to him, Dad," Lisa said in the background. The judge must have covered the receiver, because Darius could hear only a muffled argument. Then Lisa was on the phone.

"I don't want you to call me, Martin."

She sounded shaky. Darius imagined her trembling.

"Judge Norwood let me out because he didn't believe I was guilty, Lisa."

"He… he doesn't know everything I know."

"Lisa "I don't want to see you."

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"Good. Stay afraid. There's something going on here you know nothing about." Darius heard an intake of breath and the judge asked Lisa if he was threatening her. "I don't want you to come home. It's too dangerous for you. But I don't want you staying at your father's house, either.

There isn't anywhere in Portland you'll be safe."

"What are you talking about"

"I want you to go away somewhere until I tell you to come back. If you're afraid of me, don't tell me where you go. I'll get in touch with you through your father."

"I don't understand. Why should I be afraid?"

Darius closed his eyes. "I can't tell you and you don't want to know.

Believe me when I say you are in great danger."

"What kind of danger?"

Lisa sounded panicky. justice Ryder snatched the phone from her hand.

"That's it, Darius. Get off this phone or I'll call judge Norwood personally and have you thrown back in jail."

"I'm trying to save Lisa's life and you're endangering it. It's imperative that…"

Ryder slammed the phone down. Darius listened to the dial tone. Ryder had -always been a pompous ass. Now his bullheadedness could cost Lisa her life. If Darius explained why, the judge would never believe him.

Hell, he'd use what Darius said to put him on Death Row.

Darius wished he could talk over his problem with Betsy Tannenbaum. She was very bright and she might come up with a solution, but he couldn't go to her either. She'd honor the attorney-client privilege, but she would drop him as a client and he needed her.

Darius had not seen the moon all the time he was in jail. He looked for it now, but it was obscured by clouds.

He wondered what phase the moon was in. He hoped it was not full. That brought out the crazies. He should know. Martin shivered, but not from the cold. Right now, he was the only one who was not in danger, but that could change at any moment. Darius did not want to admit it, but he was sane.

Part Four.