New Tricks

The FBI lawyer objects, in an effort to preempt me from mentioning what the actual work was. Hatchet sustains and instructs me not to do so, then lets Corvallis answer the question.

“Yes, you did. I did not indicate whether your theory was accurate or not.”

“But you know what he was doing in the last months of his life?” I ask.

“I do.”

I then take him through the events of the other night, starting with my being fitted for a wire, our planning of the confrontation, and then finding Robinson dead in his house. He completely confirms the truth of my narration.

“Do you believe that Charles Robinson’s death was related to my upcoming meeting with him?”

“I do.”

“And he was aware that my meeting related in some way to Walter Timmerman’s work?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“And Charles Robinson was killed by dangerous people?”

Corvallis smiles. “Most certainly.”

“And Walter Timmerman was involved with the same people?”

“Perhaps indirectly, but yes.”

It’s time to ask the key question. “Is it conceivable that those same people played a role in Walter Timmerman’s death?”

“No.”

Of all his possible answers, no is my least favorite. I sense a disaster looming, but I press on, mainly because I have no choice.

“It’s not conceivable?”

“That is correct, to the best of my knowledge.”

“Is it conceivable that different people murdered Walter Timmerman than murdered Charles Robinson, but that Timmerman was killed because of his work?”

“No, it is not conceivable,” he says.

I’m getting frustrated; I sincerely doubt that Corvallis would lie under oath, but his answers are hard to believe.

“Do you know who murdered Walter Timmerman?” It’s a dangerous question, but with the jury not present, I feel I can take the chance, especially since I know that Jimmy Childs committed the murder.

“I have no personal knowledge of it, though you have presented me with your account of it.”

“Then how can you be so sure it was not work-related?”

Corvallis looks over at his attorneys, and then speaks to Hatchet. “I would like to alert my attorneys to intervene if I start to say too much.”

“That’s fine, but not necessary. Attorneys are born with that instinct,” Hatchet says.

Corvallis nods and turns back to me. I can feel the bomb about to go off. “The bureau has devoted substantial resources to this investigation, in concert with other agencies,” he says. “We have people in place who have therefore accumulated significant information, though I can’t say how, or what much of that information is.”

He pauses, probably for effect. “But I can tell you with certainty that the people whom Walter Timmerman was dealing with, who murdered Charles Robinson, were not involved in Timmerman’s death. I can further say that it would have been totally counterproductive for them to have killed him; they were in fact extraordinarily upset when he died. I am close to certain that Walter Timmerman did not die as a result of his work.”

I’m finished; there is nothing left for me to ask, no other avenues to probe. Hatchet turns Corvallis over to Richard, who mercifully has no questions for him.

Hatchet also seems to understand that the only kind thing to do is to quickly put us out of our misery. After a brief preamble, he says, “The defense had requested Agent Corvallis’s testimony in the stated belief that it would implicate one or more other possible perpetrators, and would therefore be crucial testimony to present to the jury.

“Agent Corvallis has testified, under oath in these proceedings, that he is aware of no other possible perpetrators, and that the theory of the defense, to the best of his knowledge, is incorrect.

“It is therefore the ruling of this court that the testimony of Agent Corvallis will not be required nor permitted. Agent Corvallis, thank you for appearing here today.

“The defense will begin presenting its case tomorrow morning.”

KEVIN, LAURIE, AND I are all realists. It is one of the key reasons we work so well together. When things are going bad, we recognize it and confront it if we have to. And right now this case has gone world-class bad.

We were counting on Corvallis testifying; it was essentially our only way of getting our theory of the case before the jury. Now we know that we won’t have him, and we have to change our plan of attack. Unfortunately, we have nothing decent to change it to.

The only approach left to us is to attack the details of the prosecution’s case at the edges, to find minor inconsistencies and make them seem like major flaws. Jurors will want to look at the big picture, and we will be giving them nitpicks, because we have no other bullets in our gun.

Our case will open on the night of Walter Timmerman’s murder, and our plan tonight is to dissect it, moment by moment, and show holes in the prosecution’s case. We take out every document and piece of information that we have and spread it out on the dining room table, in case we need to refer to any of it.

“Okay, so let’s start at the beginning,” I say.

Kevin nods. “Good. Steven is at home in New York, and his father calls him and asks him to meet him in Paterson.”

Laurie, who has been reading the transcripts on a daily basis, nods and says, “And there’s testimony that he went through the toll-booth about half an hour later. He went to Mario’s, waiting to meet his father.”

“Wait a minute. Kevin, remember that note I passed you the other day? I asked how Walter got to the murder scene.”

Kevin nods. “And I told you the killer brought him there.”

“Then where did he meet the killer?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Well, he didn’t drive to where the killer was; the documents show his car was in the garage when the house was destroyed. He sure as hell didn’t take a bus to downtown Paterson. So how did the killer get to him? When and where did they meet that night?”

“Maybe he took a cab.”

“Why would he?” Laurie says. “He had a car. And if a cab picked him up a couple of hours before he was murdered, it likely would have come out already. The media coverage the day after the murder was substantial, I assume?”

“Very substantial,” I say.

“I admit it’s an interesting question,” Kevin says. “But what does it ultimately mean? We know that Jimmy Childs killed him, so what’s the difference how he got to him?”

“Because maybe he had help,” I say. “Maybe it’s a way to get Robinson back into the case. Let’s get the security guard logs at the house gate from that night. Maybe Robinson came there at the time in question and drove off with him.”

“We should be so lucky,” Kevin says, but promises to subpoena the records first thing in the morning.

Unfortunately, the morning comes way too quickly. I was hoping we could skip it entirely, along with the next few months. But that’s not how it works out, and before I know it Hatchet is taking his seat on the bench.

I make the obligatory yet pathetic motion to dismiss, and Hatchet immediately denies it. He tells me to call our first witness, and I call Jessica Santorini, a bartender at Mario’s.

After establishing that she was at the restaurant that night, I ask her if she remembers seeing Steven there.

She nods. “I do. He was sitting at the bar.”

“About how long was he sitting there?”

“I’m not sure of the exact time, but it was quite awhile. I remember because all he had was one or maybe two drinks, and I kept asking him if he wanted something else. He said no, and I think he said he was waiting for somebody.”

“Did you talk about anything else?”

“I’m not sure; it was pretty busy that night.”

On cross-examination, Richard asks her, “Did the defendant pay by credit card or cash?”

“Gee, I wouldn’t know,” she says.

Richard introduces the restaurant’s record that night, which show no credit card payment by Steven. “If he didn’t pay by credit card, then it must have been cash, correct? There’s no other choice, is there?”

“No, that’s it.”

“So there’s no way to identify his check?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Not really.”

“And no way to know what time he left?”

“No.”

“Thank you.”

I bring in a waitress and a patron at the restaurant that night, both of whom basically say the same thing: They’re pretty sure they remember Steven, but they can’t say for sure when he left.

We’re not exactly generating headlines here.

At lunch, a court messenger brings Kevin an envelope, and he opens it and takes out some papers. “The security gate logs from that week,” he announces, as he tries to locate the night in question.

“Robinson? Tell me he was at the house that night,” I say, hoping it will show Robinson can be shown to have arrived at the house and left with Walter Timmerman.

“No,” Kevin says, looking up at me. “But Thomas Sykes was. He arrived at a quarter to seven.”

The name surprises me. “Could he have been shacking up with Diana at that house?”

“Either that or he came to see Walter,” he says. “There’s no way to tell from this whether Walter was home.”

“Does it say if Sykes left alone?”

Kevin shakes his head. “No.” Then, “So what have we learned?”

“We’ve learned something; we just don’t know what it means, or if it has any value. We’ll figure it out tonight.”

I go outside and use my cell phone to call Laurie. “How are you feeling?” I ask.

“I feel fine,” she says.

“Ready to go to work?”

I can see her smile through the phone. “You’d better believe it,” she says.

“LET’S MAKE SOME ASSUMPTIONS about Thomas Sykes,” I say. “Let’s assume that he was not at the house that night for a quickie with Diana Timmerman. And let’s further assume that he was involved in the murder of her husband.”

“We have nothing to base that on,” says Kevin.

“I would say almost nothing. We do at least know he was at the house that night, and we know he was having an affair with Timmerman’s wife. But I’ll concede the point; we aren’t close to implicating him. I’m just suggesting we assume the worst, and try to figure out the pieces. If it doesn’t fit, then we’ll move on.”

“Okay,” Kevin says. “Sykes went to the house, grabbed Walter Timmerman, and drove him to Paterson, where Jimmy Childs was waiting to shoot him.”

Laurie says, “The head of security, Durant, says that if Walter Timmerman had been in Sykes’s car when he left there should be a notation to that effect.” I had asked Laurie to interview Durant while we were in court today, and she did so.

“He was in the trunk, or tied up in the back if Sykes had an SUV.” They both stare at me as if I’m an idiot, so I say, “Assumptions. Assumptions.”

“Fine,” Laurie says, going along. “He tied him up, and then when they got away from the house, he forced Walter to call Steven.”

Another piece, something I had completely missed until now, clicks into place, and I can feel my excitement starting to grow. “What happened to his phone?” I ask.

I pick up my own phone without waiting for an answer to my question, but before I dial I ask Kevin to dig out all the cell phone records. “The ones in discovery and Sam’s as well.”

I dial Billy Cameron, the public defender who was representing the young man originally accused of the Timmerman murder. He’s not home, but when I tell his wife who I am and that I am calling on an urgent matter, she gives me his cell number.

“Billy? Andy Carpenter.”

“Let me guess: They nailed you on the dognapping and you need me to arrange bail.”

“No, if that happened I would call someone competent. But I do have a question I need you to answer.”

“Shoot,” he says.

“Your client was picked up with Timmerman’s wallet. Did he have anything else of Timmerman’s on him?”

“I don’t think so. Like what?”

“Like his cell phone.”

Billy thinks for a moment. “No. I would remember that. I can check the files when I’m in the office, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t have it.”

“Thanks, Billy. That’s what I needed.”

“I just got back to town yesterday. How’s the case going?”

“Getting better all the time.”

When I get off the call, Kevin is ready with the cell phone information. “Sam’s documents never showed the call on Timmerman’s cell phone, but that was explained in court. The phone company rep said that the call was made from Timmerman’s business phone, under the Timco account. I was never much interested in checking on whether the call took place, because Steven had confirmed to us that he received it.”

“What if it was Sykes’s phone?” I ask, and by now I’m almost yelling. “Everybody assumed it was Timmerman’s phone because it came up as Timco, but Sykes’s phone would show the same thing. He’s the goddamn CEO. We need to call Sam and get records from that cell phone. And I need Steven’s home phone records for the last year.”

“Okay, let’s take a step back and look at the big picture,” Laurie says. “Why would Sykes want Walter Timmerman dead?”

“To take over the business entirely?” Kevin asks. “Or maybe so that Diana Timmerman could inherit her husband’s money, and then Sykes could marry her?”

“That didn’t work out too well,” I say.

Kevin is getting into this. “It could also have to do with Timmerman’s work. Sykes is a scientist; maybe he found out about it and wanted to take it over for himself. For all he knew, Timmerman was working alone and in secret. If Timmerman were to die, Sykes might be able to walk in and take over without anyone knowing. Especially because Timmerman’s lab was in his house, and Sykes would have access through Diana.”

“So why blow up the house?” Laurie asks.

That’s a tough one, but I take a shot at it. “Maybe Sykes had already gotten what he needed, and he didn’t want anyone else to get it as well. And maybe this way he was able to get rid of Diana, who was the only witness to what he was doing.”

“Holy shit,” Laurie says, thereby exposing her delicate side. “I just had a thought; try this out. Maybe Sykes killed Timmerman for personal reasons, and then someone else blew up the house. Maybe with Timmerman dead, someone wanted to make sure no one had access to his work.”

“What are you basing that on?” I ask.

“Childs never told Marcus he killed Walter Timmerman, remember? All he told him was that he blew up the house and tried to kill Waggy. We just assumed he didn’t admit to killing Walter because Marcus didn’t ask the question, but maybe it was because it never happened.”

The three of us just look at one another for at least sixty seconds, as we all come to grips with the fact that, at the very least, we’ve come up with a very viable theory.

“Now, how are you possibly going to prove all this?” Laurie asks.

“We don’t have to prove it,” I say. “We all think this is possible, right? We just have to get the jury to think like us.”

We talk for another hour, and then Kevin heads for home. As Laurie and I are about to get into bed, I say, “You ready for a stakeout, and maybe a phone call?”

“Sure,” she says.

“Good. Go to Sykes’s office, and when he leaves, give him a call on the cell phone number we got from Sam’s records.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Sorry, wrong number. I just need to make sure it’s his cell phone, and that he carries it with him.”

I explain what I’m talking about without taking too long, since it’s delaying my getting into bed with Laurie. But I do make the mistake of putting forth one more conversational gambit. “I know I’m not supposed to talk about this, but it’s great having you here and involved. It felt like old times tonight.”

She smiles. “I’m enjoying it. I feel like I’m back in the action.”

“You know, if multiple murder and depravity is your thing, there’s really nothing like New Jersey.”

I DON’T HAVE TO adjust our witness list to include Thomas Sykes. That’s important, and far more than a convenience. This way Sykes already understands the possibility that he will be called, and will not be surprised when he is. He will also not be unduly alerted, and will not feel he is a target. For us to have a chance, I’m going to have to take Sykes apart on the stand, and I want him unprepared for the onslaught.

I’m not a big fan of fair fights.

I call Sykes in his office before the start of court in the morning, and I am surprised and pleased that he is already there. “Mr. Sykes, I just want to alert you that you will be handed a subpoena today requiring your appearance in court tomorrow.”

“For what purpose?” he asks.

“You’ll be a witness for the defense. I had hoped to avoid calling you, but it doesn’t seem like I have a choice.”

“What do you hope to get from me?” he asks.

“I’m going to talk to you about the lifestyles of both victims, unfortunately including your relationship with Mrs. Timmerman.”

“You’re going to slime the victims?” he asks. “Is that your style? I had been told you were better than that.”

“I choose to call it defending my client,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”

I think the call went pretty well, and that Sykes will have no reason to think I have any agenda other than the one I just mentioned.

When Steven is brought into court, I consider whether to alert him to what is going on. I decide against it; it might raise false hopes, and we’re dealing with a very long shot. Besides, there are only a few minutes before Hatchet comes in, and Steven would have an hour’s worth of questions.

Kevin is not in court this morning; he is making sure that the subpoena is served, and getting some other information that we need. It’s nice for him; this way he doesn’t have to be embarrassed by the pathetic string of witnesses we have planned for today.

The first of those witnesses is Dr. John Holland, a professor of criminology at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice in Manhattan. Holland is a leading expert in blood spatter, and his work as an expert witness probably allows him to quadruple his annual salary as a college professor.

My goal with Holland is to affirmatively establish the points I made when I cross-examined the prosecution’s forensic witness. “How likely is it that the person who shot Walter Timmerman from point-blank range was splattered with blood, brain matter, and skull fragments?” I ask.

“At that range it is a certainty,” he says.

“And if he then got into his car, and transferred trace amounts of the splatter to the interior of the car, how likely is it that the transferred material would be only blood?”

“Virtually no chance,” he says, and I let him go on to explain. He likens it to making a pasta sauce, starting with marinara and adding ground meat, olive oil, Worcestershire sauce, cream, and assorted other ingredients. If you eat some, there’s no way you’re going to have only pure marinara running down your chin. With this explanation, he manages to effectively make his point while equally effectively making the jury nauseous.

Richard’s cross-examination is short, as if he doesn’t think the witness is worth spending a lot of time with. He talks about the bleeding that would take place after the initial splatter, and how blood that was virtually pure could have pooled on the ground.

On balance, the witness certainly favors us, but I’m sure that Richard has experts in reserve whom he can call in rebuttal. I’m also sure he doesn’t think he will need to, and at this point he’s right.

Just before lunch Laurie comes in and passes me a note telling me that the phone call went perfectly, and a few minutes later Kevin arrives as well, with the documents we need. The stage is basically set for tomorrow, except for preparation tonight.

I just wish it were tomorrow already.

My afternoon witnesses are perfunctory at best. I call two associates of Walter Timmerman, who testify as to how secretive about his work he was in the months before he died. They describe the behavior as uncharacteristic, and both refer to Timmerman as a normally collaborative man when it came to his science.

Finally, I bring in an officer at Timmerman’s bank, who testifies to the twenty-million-dollar wire transfer he received weeks before his death. The money came from a numbered Swiss account, and therefore the source is impossible to trace. He admits that it was the first time Timmerman had ever received a transfer of this type. While he is too circumspect to admit that it is suspicious, I believe that the jury will find it so. Of course, it’s a bit of a stretch for them to believe that someone would send him twenty million dollars and then kill him.

Like he does every night, Kevin comes by for dinner and so that we can prepare together. Usually, we are on the same page when it comes to getting ready for a trial day, but when we are facing a crucial witness we are complete opposites.

Kevin thinks we should have a mock session, where he plays the witness role, in this case Sykes, and I fire questions at him. That way he believes I can hone my approach and only follow the lines of questioning that have been proven to work in this fashion. He wants us to analyze what Sykes might say from every angle, and prepare questions designed to overcome his defenses.

While I see the logical merit of Kevin’s argument, it just isn’t my style. I need it to be free-flowing; I can’t be restricted by meticulously pre-planned tactics.

The only thing bothering me right now is my inability to see how I can get the murder of Charles Robinson connected to Sykes and therefore before this jury. My theories aren’t well developed enough to have included a motive for Sykes to have killed Robinson. Perhaps it was a fight over the fruits of Walter Timmerman’s labor, but it feels like I’m stretching.

After Kevin leaves, Laurie and I talk some more about the case, until I’ve reached my saturation point. When we’re ready to go to bed, Laurie says to me, “Big day tomorrow.”

I nod. “Yeah. Especially for Steven.”

“Do lawyers have to abstain from sex the night before a big game, like athletes?” she asks.

“On the contrary, it’s encouraged. It clears the mind and makes questions crisper and clearer.”

“Is that right?”

“Absolutely. The more sex, the better the lawyer. That’s why so many hookers have become Supreme Court justices.”

“Then by tomorrow morning they’ll be calling you Chief Justice Carpenter.”

WE NEED A PERRY MASON MOMENT.

Actually, what we really need is Perry Mason, but since he must be pushing 130 years old, we probably have a better chance at getting one of his moments.

A Perry Mason moment is when the witness cracks under the relentless pressure of a brilliant defense attorney and confesses to the crime right on the stand. A perfect example of it was when Tom Cruise asked, “Did you order the code red?” and Jack Nicholson screamed back at him, “You’re goddamn right I did!”

The first thing I do when the court session is convened is ask for a meeting with Hatchet and Richard in chambers. I tell them, “My first witness is going to be Thomas Sykes, and I would like him designated as a hostile witness.”

Hatchet seems surprised. “He is hostile to the defense?”

“He’s going to be,” I say. “We believe that Thomas Sykes murdered Walter Timmerman, and we are going to use his testimony to show the credibility of that theory.”

“Whoa,” Richard says. “I thought you were blaming some international bad guys after Timmerman’s work. Where is this coming from?”

I smile. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait for the show to open. But it’s legit, Richard.”

“Does the prosecution wish to lodge an objection to my declaring this witness hostile?” Hatchet asks.

“No objection. But I would remind Your Honor that defense counsel cannot make reckless charges without foundation.”

“It’s lucky you’re here to remind me of things like that,” Hatchet says, drily. “If I didn’t have you, I’d have to invent you.”

We get back to court, and when Steven is brought in I greet him in what I think is the same way I do everyday. But no sooner have I said hello than he asks, “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something’s up,” he says. “There’s something about you that’s different today.”

“Just keep your fingers crossed,” I say, before Hatchet comes in and we’re all rising to our feet.

Sykes takes the stand, and Hatchet reminds him that he is still under oath from his last trip there.

“Mr. Sykes, Walter Timmerman was the founder of Timco, the company you currently preside over as CEO. Is that correct?”

“It is.”

“And how many years did you know Mr. Timmerman?” I ask.

He thinks for a moment before answering. “Twenty-two.”

“He was instrumental in your career advancement?”

“Yes. Very.”

“Mr. Sykes,” I say, “do you remember when I came to visit you in your office?”

“I do.”

“And do you recall that I told you I had evidence that you had been having an affair with Walter Timmerman’s wife, Diana?”

“Yes. I recall that.”

Sykes seems pretty much at ease. This is what he expected was coming, and he is prepared for it.

“And did you admit that you were having an affair with Diana Timmerman?”

“I said that we were in love,” he says, lying through his teeth. “I told you that it wasn’t anything we had planned; it just happened.”

“So you admit to the relationship here, under oath, as well?”

“Yes.”

“Did you also tell me that it was your belief that Walter Timmerman was also unfaithful to his wife?” I may be stretching this too far, but I want Sykes to be totally confident of where I’m going, so when I strike it will be a shock to him.

“Yes, I told you that, but I also said I only suspected it, and had no firm information about it.”

“Mr. Sykes, did you kill Walter Timmerman?”

He snaps back in the chair as if I had punched him in the chest. “What? No. Of course not. How could you ask me something like that?”

“Mr. Sykes, the way it works here is that I ask the questions and you answer them. Until now, I thought you had that down pat.”

Richard objects to my mistreating the witness, and Hatchet sustains. Business as usual.

“Where were you the night of the murder?” I ask.

“I was at home,” he says.

I introduce the Timmerman house security log from that night as a defense exhibit, and then show it to Sykes. I get him to read that it shows him arriving at the house at six forty-five in the evening.

“Is that accurate? Did you arrive there at that time?”

He seems to be trying to figure out the best answer, and finally nods. “Yes, apparently so. It was months ago, and I had forgotten. I was only there a short time, and I think I went straight home from there. Though I may have run a couple of errands.”

“Why did you go there that night?”

“To see Mrs. Timmerman,” he says.

“Was Walter Timmerman at home?”

“He was not.”

“Did you know where he was?” I ask.

“No.”

“Did his wife know where he was?”

“I don’t know.” His answers are getting shorter as his worry increases. Some people do the opposite; they feel if they talk enough, they can make the problem disappear in a sea of words. Sykes’s reaction is the opposite; I’m going to have to pry the words out of his mouth with a crowbar.

“But she wasn’t worried about his returning and walking in on you?”

“She did not seem worried. No. And we were not doing anything we needed to worry about.”

“Is it possible that Walter Timmerman was at home, and that you forced him into the trunk of your car and drove him to Paterson?”

Richard objects before Sykes can answer, and Hatchet admonishes me. I didn’t expect to get an answer, which would have been an outraged no anyway. What I wanted was to get my theory in front of the jury, so they’d have a road map to follow.

“Mr. Sykes, may I see your cell phone, please?”

I see a flash of real worry, if not panic, in his eyes. “It’s turned off.”

“That would be a good answer if the question had been, Mr. Sykes, what is the current status of your cell phone? But what I asked was if I could see it.”

He takes it out of his pocket, and I get permission from Hatchet to have him turn it on. I then get Hatchet’s approval to have the court clerk dial a number, which I have her read off one of the discovery documents. As soon as she does, Sykes’s cell phone starts to ring.

“Please answer it,” I say.

He does so, but doesn’t look happy about it. “Yes,” he says, and the court clerk confirms that she hears Sykes’s voice through the phone.

“Mr. Sykes, based on the documents that were provided by the prosecution and submitted to the court, your phone is the one that called Steven Timmerman at seven twenty on the night of the murder. It was registered to Timco, so the prosecution assumed, I believe incorrectly, that Walter Timmerman made the call. Did you call him?”

If he says no he will clearly be lying, so he tries “yes.”

“What was the purpose of that call?”

“Mrs. Timmerman had told me she was concerned about Walter; she didn’t know where he was, and that was unlike him.”

“But she wasn’t concerned thirty minutes before, when you were there?” I ask.

“That’s correct. Maybe something happened; maybe she learned something. I didn’t ask. I called Steven to see if he knew where his father was.”

“You were out at the time? Is that why you used your cell phone?” I ask.

“Yes. I was in the car, as I said, I was probably running some errands.”

“But you knew his number?”

“Yes.”

“Because you had called him before?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I introduce more documents into evidence, and then hand them to Sykes. “These are Steven Timmerman’s phone records from that number for the last year. Please look at them and tell the jury which calls that you made to him. Take your time.”

He looks through the papers for about three minutes and then hands them back to me. “I don’t see any. But I know I called him a number of times. Maybe it was more than a year ago.”

“But you called him often enough that you remember the number?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you can help me. I haven’t called Steven at home because he has been in a jail cell since he was wrongly accused. When he’s released I’ll need to call him to discuss my fee, so what is his number? Just so I’ll have it.”

He hesitates, and then says, “I can’t remember now. It’s hard to think clearly when I’m being attacked like this.”

“When you called Steven, what did he say?”

“That he had no idea where his father was; that they hadn’t been in much contact lately.”

“So when he was no help, who did you call next?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Your phone records show no other calls that night.”

“Then I didn’t make any.”

“So you were worried about Mr. Timmerman, you got no information from Steven, and that eased your mind enough not to call anyone else?”

“I said that Diana was worried about him. She probably made the other calls. These were not very significant events at the time, Mr. Carpenter. My recollection is not clear.”

“Okay. I’ll change the subject to something hopefully clearer. Let’s talk about money. I was reading the terms of Walter Timmerman’s will, and basically he left his estate and share of the company to his wife, Diana. Are you aware of that?”

“I’ve read it in the newspapers.”

“If she were not alive when the estate was settled, the money would then go to Steven. Are you aware of that?”

“Vaguely.”

“But if Steven were not in a position by law to receive the money, say if he were in jail for killing his father, Walter Timmerman’s stock goes back into the company. Did you know that?”

“I did not.”

“Therefore, all the other shareholders would then automatically have a bigger piece of the company. By my figuring, and correct me if I’m wrong, your personal stake in the company would increase by over eighty million dollars.”

“I have not given it a moment’s thought,” he says.

“Wow. You must be really rich,” I say, and am pleased when a few jury members laugh at the absurdity of it. “Most people would give at least half an hour’s thought to getting eighty million dollars.”

“I am fortunate enough to be well off financially. No amount of money would make me harm my partner and friend.”

“You don’t consider sleeping with his wife harmful to him?”

“That is something I deeply regret.”

I consider whether to delve into the likelihood that Sykes knew about Walter’s DNA work, and that taking it over was a motivation for murder. I decide against it, because it would just be me accusing and him denying, and I have nothing factual to catch him on.

I let Sykes off the stand, and Richard attempts to rehabilitate him. It gives him a chance to once again vehemently deny any wrongdoing, and to rail against the injustice of being asked about minor incidents that happened a long time ago, and then having the inference drawn that his inability to answer accurately should be incriminating.

We definitely won this round, but I just don’t know if we won it by a big enough margin.

PERRY MASON HAS LEFT THE BUILDING.

Actually, I’m not sure he was ever here. Sykes did not break down and admit his guilt, nor did I get enough out of him that his guilt was obvious.

But I made a lot of progress, and no fair-minded observer could have come away with anything near certainty that Sykes was not involved in the murder. Sykes had few good answers, only denials and evasions, and in my mind he should now be universally viewed with suspicion.

The real question is whether that suspicion of Sykes will result in reasonable doubt about Steven’s guilt. I believe that it should; if a person thinks there’s a chance that Sykes did it, then that same person by definition has to have a reasonable doubt as to whether or not Steven did.

This is the crucial question we must answer, because the time has come to decide whether or not Steven will testify. Kevin and I meet with him, and it’s the first time I can ever recall starting such a meeting without having a clear point of view of my own.

“I think we made substantial progress with Sykes,” I say, “and I can augment that in my closing argument. But there’s no way to know for sure.”

Kevin was more impressed than I was by the progress I made, and he says so. He is therefore now taking the position that Steven should not testify.

“Tell me the positives and negatives,” Steven says.

I nod. “Okay, let’s start with the positives. You can testify that you spoke to your father that night on Sykes’s phone, and you can say why you went to Mario’s. I can’t say those things in closing arguments; I can only talk about evidence already introduced. You can also tell the jury directly and in your own words that you did not commit these crimes.”

“And the negatives?”

“You will be asked about the evidence against you, like the blood and the gun, and you’ll have no answers to give, since you don’t really know how that evidence came into existence. You’ll also be asked about problems you’ve had with your father and stepmother, and in the hands of a good prosecutor like Richard, you’ll look bad in the process. On cross-examination, Mother Teresa could be made to look like Tony Soprano.”

“Anything else?” he asks.

“Yes, it would be nice to end this on Sykes, so that he is fresh in the minds of the jury. If you testify, he’ll fade somewhat into the background. When a defendant testifies, it alters the entire trial in one direction or the other.”

“So what’s your recommendation?” Steven asks

As I’ve been talking, I’ve been developing a point of view. “On balance, I would recommend that you not take the stand.”

“Okay… you’re calling the shot.”

I shake my head. “No, you’re calling it. This has to be your decision and only your decision.”

He nods. “I understand that. And my decision is to trust your judgment.”

All there is for me to do now is prepare my closing argument, and that is what I have on tap for tonight. It’s another area in which I like to be freewheeling and spontaneous, but I also have to make sure I don’t miss anything, because I’ll have only one bite at the apple.

What I do is write the general subjects I want to cover on a piece of paper, and then I think about them one at a time. If there are any details I’m unsure of, I refer to what is now the mountain of notes and documents that make up the case file. But basically I know what there is to know, and what it is I want to say.

Laurie knows enough to leave me by myself during this prep time. I’m on my own at this point, and no one can really help.

I’m not thrilled with how things are going with Laurie. She hasn’t come to a decision, which I pessimistically view as a negative sign. I know she has always liked to think things all the way through until she is comfortable, and I’m much more spontaneous. But it still doesn’t feel right.

Also, I’m feeling like I did when waiting for Laurie to decide whether or not to go to Wisconsin two years ago. If she leaves, it will feel somewhat like she is walking out on me again. We might have difficulty surviving that.

I am starting to believe that I brought it up too soon, yet for some reason I’m not sorry I did. But at this moment I can’t let myself worry about it either way.

Whether Laurie lives in Wisconsin or New Jersey is fairly insignificant compared with whether Steven lives at home or in state prison.

Even to me.

“WHEN WE FIRST CONVENED HERE, I told you this was a simple case,” is how Richard begins his closing statement. “And nothing has been said since to change my mind. Steven Timmerman was quarreling bitterly with his father, and he resented him terribly for marrying a woman that Steven hated.

“The defense has pointed out that those arguments happened frequently over time, and this was also not the first time Walter had threatened to disinherit his son. And all of that is true.

“But resentments have a way of building over time. They simmer in some people, getting more and more powerful, more and more dangerous. And then one day, sometimes even after a perceived slight that is far less than previous ones, a person can snap, can decide that they can take no more.

“That is what happened here. In addition to the anger, you have clearly seen that Steven Timmerman had motive, almost half a billion dollars’ worth of motive. You have learned that he was seen two blocks from where the brutal murder happened, in a place where he had never been seen before.

“Scientific evidence has demonstrated beyond doubt that Walter’s blood was in Steven Timmerman’s car, and you have been told that the murder weapon was found in his loft.

“As if all of that were not enough, you have learned that Steven Timmerman was an expert in the kind of explosives that blew up his parents’ house and killed his stepmother. The stepmother whom witness after witness has said that he hated.

“I have unfortunately been involved in a great many murder cases, and let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen, they rarely are as uncomplicated as this.

“Now, at the last minute, the defense pointed their fingers at Thomas Sykes and said, ‘He did it.’ And when, in the face of an unexpected barrage of accusations, Mr. Sykes displayed nervousness and faulty memory, they said, ‘Aha! There’s proof of his guilt.’

“Let’s be clear on something, ladies and gentlemen. There is no physical evidence against Mr. Sykes, not a shred. No blood, no murder weapon, no parking ticket showing him in downtown Paterson. He is not an explosives expert, nor has the defense even attempted to give a motive for why he would kill the woman that he loved.

“Mr. Carpenter told you at the opening of the trial that Steven Timmerman’s record was clean, that there was no hint of violence in his past. Well, believe me, the same thing is true in spades for Thomas Sykes.

“So I ask just one thing of you. Please stick to the facts, and make your decision according to what makes sense. That’s all. Thank you.”

Obviously it’s important to hear the prosecution’s closing arguments, because I can then adjust my remarks to counter it, but I often wish I didn’t have to hear them at all. Richard has done a terrific job, and if I were a member of the jury I would probably be thinking, Hang the bastard. But I have to put that out of my mind, or I’ll be too defensive and therefore too cautious.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Richard Wallace is a fine attorney, and he’s done a fine job presenting his case, but he simply could not be more wrong. There is nothing simple about this case. Nothing at all.

“The perpetrator of these murders wanted it to appear simple. He planted such obvious clues that a person in his first year at the police academy could have followed them. All signs pointed to Steven Timmerman, so let’s go get him, full speed ahead.

“Of course, for it all to be true and real, Steven Timmerman would have to be not just a murderer, but also a moron. He would have had to leave his victim’s blood in his car and never bothered to wash it out.

“He would have had to make the decision to kill his stepmother by blowing up her house with an explosive when everyone knew of his expertise using that explosive. Why do that? Why not shoot her, or poison her, or stab her? Why do it the one way that would point clearly to him?

“Then, to cap off this run of stupidity, he would have had to hide the gun in the one place it could be traced to him. After wiping off the fingerprints, no less.

“But that last one didn’t work out so well, because the police couldn’t find it. So someone had to call anonymously and tell them to go back and look in the table. Who was that person? Someone Steven told? Otherwise, how could they have known? Could Steven be that dumb? Could anyone be that dumb?

“Steven Timmerman is not dumb, and he is not resentful, and he is not violent. He took very little from his father, choosing instead to work his trade. It is ludicrous to think that he murdered so as to gain what he had spent so long turning down.

“Now I want to talk to you about Thomas Sykes. Thomas Sykes admits to an affair with Diana Timmerman. He was at Walter Timmerman’s house two hours before he was murdered, and his phone was used to place what can only be described as a suspicious call to Steven Timmerman, the first time he had ever called him.

“And Thomas Sykes stood to make eighty million dollars if Walter and Diana Timmerman died. But he would make that only if Steven Timmerman were not in a position to claim his rightful inheritance. What a coincidence.

“And, ladies and gentlemen, sometimes all the facts are not readily available, and the ones that are can only take you so far. So you have to go with your gut feelings about people and the way they act.

“Thomas Sykes looked like a deer caught in the headlights on the witness stand. He was trapped, and he sounded like it, and he looked like it.

“Now, you may not know with certainty that Thomas Sykes murdered Walter Timmerman. I’m not saying you should; he has not been investigated by the authorities, and there is much more for all of us to learn.

“But consider this: Judge Henderson will explain to you that to find Steven Timmerman guilty, you must do so beyond a reasonable doubt. If you think that there is a chance, even a relatively small one, that Thomas Sykes is guilty, then you must have a reasonable doubt as to Steven’s guilt.

“It’s as simple as that.

“Steven Timmerman is a victim. He’s lost his father, and he’s lost his freedom. His father is gone forever, but you have the power to give him his freedom back. Thank you.”

When I take my seat, Steven puts his hand on my shoulder and softly says, “Thank you; I think you were fantastic.”

“I wish you were on the jury,” I say.

He smiles. “So do I.”

I’LL NEVER AGAIN describe waiting for a verdict as the most stressful thing I have ever faced. Not after sitting in that hospital room while Laurie was in a coma, fighting for her life. Nothing compares to that, but waiting for the jury to rule is no day at the beach.

I’m naturally pessimistic when it comes to this point in the trial, and Kevin is naturally optimistic. The truth is that neither of us knows what the hell he is talking about. Jury verdicts are impossible to predict.

It’s an accepted maxim that the longer the jury is out, the better for the defense. That is because defense teams usually consider a hung jury to be a victory, and the longer a verdict watch goes, the more likely that somebody on one side or the other is holding out.

Of course, like everything else, this accepted maxim is by no means always accurate. I have seen juries vote to acquit in an hour, and vote to convict after two weeks.

So the way I deal with my stress is to hang out and try not to think about the verdict. The longest I have successfully avoided those thoughts is about twenty minutes, but as I recall they were a very peaceful twenty minutes.

I make it a point to visit Steven once a day, though it’s unlikely I make him feel any better. I scrupulously don’t give him my opinion as to the outcome; instead I mouth meaningless phrases like “I’m cautiously hopeful” and “We’re not going to know until we know.” Real profound stuff.

We’re in the third day of waiting when Laurie comes into the den. It’s in the morning, and she knows I like to obsess and agonize in the den in the morning. After lunch I prefer obsessing and agonizing in the living room, and after dinner my choice is to obsess and agonize while pacing around the house. The variety appeals to me.

Laurie generally knows enough to leave me alone at these times, so her entry is a small surprise. I worry for a moment that she is going to tell me that the jury has reached a verdict, but I haven’t heard the phone ring. I’m not sure why I hate being told that a decision has been reached, but it might be that it’s because at that moment it feels officially out of my control.

“Hi,” she says. It’s not a particularly interesting way to open a conversation, but the tone in her voice indicates that she has something on her mind.

“Uh-oh,” I say as I stand up and gird for the worst. For some reason I gird better standing.

“I know you don’t like to talk when you’re waiting for the jury, but I’ve figured things out as well as I’m going to, and I know you were anxious to have this conversation, so…”

So intense was my focus on the jury that the situation with Laurie had almost been totally out of my mind, but now it is staring me in the face. I don’t want to hear bad news now, but if I don’t hear what she has to say, I’ll agonize and obsess about it as well. That won’t be good; when it comes to obsessing and agonizing, I’m basically monogamous. One thing at a time.

“Say it really fast,” I tell her. “Whatever it is, say it really fast.”

She laughs. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“You’re not going fast enough.”

“I want to live here, with you.”

Did she say what I think she said? “Did you say what I think you said?”

“If you think I said I want to live here with you, then yes.”

I go over and kiss her, mainly because that way she won’t be able to talk and tell me she changed her mind. Then I ask, “What about getting married?”

“That’s up to you,” she says. “I’m fine with it, but I don’t need it. We love each other, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and that’s enough for me.” She smiles. “Besides, I’m already in the will.”

I kiss her again. “What made you decide to live here?”

“Probably what I went through. Life is too precious, and it’s too damn short. I hope we each have a hundred years left, but if we don’t, or even if we do, I want to spend it with the person I love.”

“And will you be my investigator again? Coincidentally, a position just opened up.”

She smiles. “Maybe. I haven’t thought that through. And I’m going to have to spend some time in Findlay, transitioning to my replacement. And I’ll want to visit a lot; I have so many great friends there.”

“I understand; that’s perfect.”

“I feel good about this, Andy. I’m very happy with what I decided.”

“You’re the second happiest person in the room,” I say.

We kiss again, and the phone rings. I answer it, and Rita Gordon, the court clerk, says, “Andy, they’ve reached a verdict.”

I hang up and turn to Laurie. “You’re now the happiest person in the room.”

“I’VE NEVER EXPERIENCED anything like this,” Steven says when I see him before court. “I never really realized it was possible to be this scared.”

I’m not about to tell him that his fear is unwarranted, because it isn’t, and because he wouldn’t believe me anyway. There is nothing like this in any other area of our society. In a few minutes, twelve strangers are going to tell Steven that they’ve decided he can live in freedom, or in misery. And then they’ll go home, and that will be that.

Richard and his team arrive a few minutes after we do, and as he walks in, we make eye contact. I get up and meet him off to the side of the room, and we shake hands.

“Good luck,” he says.

I nod. “The same to me.”

He smiles. “There’s always more at stake on your side of the table, Andy. I know that. I want to win, but I’m sure not anxious for you to lose.”

I ask him something that I never, ever ask anyone, especially a prosecutor. “Do you think he did it?”

“Probably,” Richard says. “Am I certain beyond a reasonable doubt? I don’t think so. But I’m comfortable whichever way it goes.”

“Will you do me a favor?” I ask.

“If I can.”

“When this is over, no matter how it goes, will you try to get a judge to issue a search warrant on Thomas Sykes?”

“For what?” he asks.

“Trace evidence in his car, and his computer.”

“Why his computer?”

“There’s an e-mail that was sent to Walter Timmerman by the head of a DNA lab. It would be important to know if Sykes ever saw it. I’ll tell you all about it when we have more time.”

The bailiff signals to us that Hatchet is about to come in. “Right now we have no time,” Richard says.

“Will you do it?”

“I’ll certainly give you a chance to talk me into it.”

That’ll have to be good enough for now. I go back to the defense table, my heart beginning its pre-verdict pounding. Hatchet comes in and announces that the jury has, in fact, reached a verdict.

He calls them in, and they file in slowly, not looking at us. That’s usually either bad news, or good news. Jury-predicting doesn’t become any easier as you get closer to hearing their verdict.

Hatchet goes through some court business, which I can barely focus on. He then gives the obligatory warning that he will not tolerate any disorderliness in the courtroom once the verdict is read.

He asks the jury foreman if they have reached a verdict, and the woman confirms that they have. She hands the verdict form to the bailiff, who brings it to Hatchet. Hatchet looks at it for a few moments, probably delighting in the fact that he is now the only person other than the jury to know what it says.

Finally, he hands it back to the bailiff, and asks Steven to stand. Steven, Kevin, and I rise as one, and we each have a hand on one of Steven’s shoulders. In my case it’s more to hold myself upright than to make him feel better.

The bailiff starts to read, at a pace of what seems like one word every twenty minutes. “In the matter of the State of New Jersey versus Steven Timmerman, count one, the first-degree murder of Walter Timmerman, the jury hereby finds the defendant, Steven Timmerman, not guilty.”

Steven’s head goes down and he grips both of our arms, in a gesture I would more expect if he had lost. But I can see that he is smiling and crying at the same time, and I could easily do the same. Because I am all man, though, I just stick to smiling.

I listen carefully as the other counts are read, and they are all “not guilty.” Steven turns and hugs me and then Kevin. This is one time I think the good guys came out on top.

It had been out of my mind, but at this very moment it hits me that Laurie is going to live with me. Steven goes free and Laurie comes back.

I’ve had worse days.

IT’S A SACRED TRADITION that we celebrate winning verdicts at Charlie’s. It’s my favorite place in the world to be, so I pick the place as a victory present to myself. It’s always just the client, the defense team, and people who helped in the defense. So in this case it’s Laurie, Kevin, Edna, Steven, Martha Wyndham, and myself.

Marcus is not here because he’s at the house, still guarding Waggy. We have no proof that Waggy is no longer a target, so we can’t take a chance on leaving him unprotected. Marcus didn’t seem to mind; I ordered in four pizzas to make it more palatable to him.

Tomorrow I am going to have Waggy miraculously turn up at the Passaic County Animal Shelter, where Willie is going to discover him and then take him out. By tomorrow night he’ll be going crazy everywhere in my house, and not just the basement.

Tonight Vince and Pete are here as well, less for the sacred-tradition aspect than for the free-beer-and-food aspect. Their attendance is also less significant because they happen to be here every night.

I can’t even imagine the joy and relief that Steven must be feeling. My guess is that it would be like jumping out of an airplane after being told there was a decent chance your parachute wasn’t going to open. The chute would decide whether you would live or die, and all you could do is wait for the decision.

Steven raises a glass of champagne and says, “To Andy and Kevin, fantastic lawyers and even better people.”

Other people make toasts as well, and the more we drink the less eloquent they get. I finally stand with my beer bottle raised and say, “I have an announcement to make. Laurie Collins and I may or may not be getting married.” A cheer goes up, but the state of inebriation in the room is such that they would cheer if I announced it was going to be cloudy tomorrow.

Steven comes over to me later in the festivities and says, “You haven’t sent me a bill yet.”

“I will,” I say.

“Do you have a recommendation for a lawyer I should use to deal with my father’s will?”

I know someone who is very good at probate, and I give Steven his name.

“So you thinks Sykes is guilty?” he asks.

“I think he killed your father,” I say.

“But not Diana?”

That something that’s still bothering me. The only reasons I can think of for Sykes blowing up the house would be to kill Diana and destroy Walter’s laboratory, so that no one could get access to his work.

Neither rationale completely holds up to close scrutiny. If he married Diana, they would have walked away with over four hundred million, compared with the eighty million Sykes would get as part of the company. On the other hand, Diana could have been in the process of dumping him, and he might therefore have faced the prospect of getting nothing.

As far as the laboratory goes, Sykes had full access to the house through Diana. He could easily have destroyed the lab without taking the house down with it. Of course, this theory also has an on the other hand attached to it. Sykes could have had Childs use the overkill of a bomb purely as a further way to frame the explosives expert, Steven.

“I’m not sure if he killed Diana,” is how I answer Steven. “But maybe we’ll learn more about that.”

“How?”

I mention that I’ve asked Richard to seek search warrants against Sykes, and how I will be pushing that when I meet with him tomorrow. Steven seems happy to hear it; he naturally wants his father’s killer caught.

Martha Wyndham, Laurie, and Kevin come over and join the conversation. “Why do you guys look so serious?” Laurie asks. “The trial is over. You won.”

“Winning isn’t enough for us,” I say. “We want to dominate.”

“I wish Waggy were here,” Martha says. “He certainly played a key role.”

“I agree completely,” says Steven. “And is it proper for me to ask what you’ve decided about him?”

“If he ever turns up, and I’m very optimistic that he will, I’m going to file a motion with the court awarding him to you-”

Steven interrupts: “That would be great.” He says it with real enthusiasm, which makes me feel like I made the right choice. Tara won’t admit it, but she’s going to miss Waggy as much as I will. Or maybe she won’t.

“-though I would be reluctant to give him up until I felt certain he’s no longer a target.”

“Makes sense.”

“But if you ever go on vacation, Waggy doesn’t get boarded; he comes to stay at our house,” Laurie says. I have to admit, I love the way she says “our house.”

Steven smiles. “You got a deal.”

“And I get visitation rights,” Martha says.

Steven nods. “Whenever you want.”

I can tell the evening is coming to an end, because Vince signals for the waiter to bring me the check. Steven grabs it and pays it, bringing the grand total of times I haven’t gotten stuck with the check at Charlie’s to one.

When we get home, Marcus has brought Waggy up to the living room, and he is playing with him and Tara. I think he’s going to miss the Wagster as much as the rest of us.

“You really think he’s still in danger?” Laurie asks.

“To tell you the truth, I have no idea. There’s just too much I don’t know about this whole case. But for now I don’t want to take a chance with him.”

“When he goes to live with Steven, are you going to get Tara another friend? I think she likes the company.”

I shrug. “Maybe; I’ve been thinking about it. But it would be a dog closer to Tara’s age.”

She nods. “Good idea.”

I’m pretty much ready to go upstairs with Laurie, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be planning to leave. “Marcus, can I get you anything?” I ask.

“Nunh.”

“We’re going to go to sleep, okay?”

“Yuh.”

Laurie whispers to me. “Andy, do you think we should? Is it right to just leave him here?”

I nod. “Yuh and yuh.”

MY MEETING WITH RICHARD WALLACE isn’t even necessary. By the time I get there, he already has gotten the police department to prepare the search warrants on Thomas Sykes, which will be presented to a judge and then hopefully executed. They’re for his home, his car, and his office, and basically they’re hunting for trace evidence and incriminating documents and computer records.

It’s an entirely different situation than would have occurred if Steven had been found guilty. Then there would have been almost no way Richard could have convinced his boss to try to pin the crime on Sykes. Once Steven had been convicted, they would not have had the stomach to do something that might have overturned that conviction.

“I buy that he killed Walter Timmerman,” Richard says, “but not the house. It doesn’t feel right. If he was going to do that, why not do it when both of them were home? He could have killed them both with one bomb, and it would have been even easier to place it on Steven.”

“Because I think Sykes wanted a chance to get a look at that lab, without Walter around.”

“How could he have been sure that Diana would be home when he set the bomb off ? She could have been at the goddamn beauty parlor.”

It’s a good point, and one I hadn’t thought of. “That’ll have to go to the bottom of a long list of things I don’t know,” I say.

“Unless he called and she answered the phone; that would have been the key to detonate the bomb.”

I think back to that day. “No, she was having Martha tell people she wasn’t available. And she gardened a lot; even if she was home, she could have left the house at any time.”

“Maybe we’ll learn something with the warrants,” Richard says.

“Or maybe it’ll raise more questions.”

He looks at me strangely. “You seem awfully downbeat for a winner.”

I smile. “I know; I hate unresolved cases, especially when the fact that they’re unresolved means a murderer may walk.”

Richard promises to keep me informed as best he can about the results of the search warrant, but I’m aware that it will be in the hands of the police, and it will only be brought to him if charges seem justified.

On the home front, Laurie and I are making plans for a trip to Findlay. The doctor isn’t quite ready for her to travel yet, but he said he’ll likely retract that restriction in a couple of weeks.

Laurie figures it will take about three weeks to help in the job transition; she has already notified the city manager of her decision to leave, and fortunately her second in command is a likely successor. She also has to make arrangements to sell her house and transport her things.

Laurie has a million friends there, and because the chief of police is widely known and admired, I’ll likely be viewed as the villain who’s taking her away. It’s a small price for me to pay.

We’re going to drive there so that we can take Tara with us without having to put her in a crate under the plane. I’m hoping to have Waggy with Steven by then; the idea of spending a long road trip with Waggy cooped up in the car is chilling.

For a long time I have been spending most of my waking hours pathetically trying to figure out a devious way to get Laurie to move back here. Now that it’s happening, I’m going to have a lot of free thinking time on my hands.

The media reported on the search warrant being executed on Thomas Sykes, and Sykes’s lawyer issued a statement saying that his client was being unduly persecuted and harassed. He said that now that the authorities were too inept to convict Steven, they were looking for a scapegoat, and poor Sykes was the guy they chose.

Steven has come over twice in the last three days to visit with Waggy and hang out. I’m just waiting for the Sykes matter to resolve itself one way or the other, and then I’ll send Waggy off to Manhattan and his new life.

If New Yorkers think they’re in the city that never sleeps now, wait till they have to live with Waggy.

Steven is over when Richard Wallace calls me. “Trace evidence from Sykes’s car shows Walter Timmerman’s blood and brain matter.”

I am about to say, Maybe Walter Timmerman accidentally cut open his brain once when he was in that car, but I think better of it, because Steven is standing there, and after all, it was his father. I’m sensitive that way.

“Glad to hear that,” I say. “Are you going to arrest him?”

“His lawyer has been notified and is going to bring him in tomorrow morning so that he can surrender himself and avoid the perp walk,” Richard says. “Money has its privileges.”

I can tell Richard is unhappy with this arrangement; he thinks Sykes should be publicly arrested just like Steven was. But obviously word came down for it to be handled that way, so there’s nothing he can do. For that reason I don’t voice my own complaint.

Steven’s heard enough of the call that I can’t keep it from him. “They got him?” he asks.

I nod. “Looks like it. He’s turning himself in tomorrow morning.”

Steven makes a fist in satisfaction. “Boy, I was hoping for that. I was afraid it wouldn’t happen, but I was really hoping.”

“This is not something you should talk about until it actually happens. It might get out to the media, but it shouldn’t come from you.”

Steven nods. “No problem.”

When Steven leaves, I tell Laurie the news about Sykes, and my hope that he will confess and fill in the blanks in my knowledge about all that has happened.

“What do you think the chances are of that?” Laurie asks.

“Zero.”

I WAKE UP IN THE MORNING and turn on the news. Thomas Sykes’s picture is on the screen, next to a talking anchorman who actually looks a little like him. I’m not surprised to see the photograph, until I realize that it is only seven AM, much earlier than I would have thought Sykes would turn himself in. Maybe he wanted to do it with as little fanfare as possible.

“Sykes’s body was found by his attorney, Lawrence Wilborn,” the anchorman says. “Our information is that Wilborn called nine-one-one immediately, but that Sykes was pronounced dead at the scene. The police are not commenting, but it is believed that the cause of death was a self-inflicted bullet to the head.”

I immediately call Richard, who does not answer either his office or cell phone. I don’t know his home number, but I’m sure he’s not at home anyway. Richard and everybody he works with is going to have a tough week coming up, as everybody points the finger at everyone else for letting Thomas Sykes sit at home and blow his brains out. Richard was opposed to the move, but I’m sure he’ll still be in the line of fire.

My next call is to Pete Stanton. Sykes’s house is not in his jurisdiction, so he is not directly involved, but he promises to call around and see what he can find out.

He calls back in fifteen minutes. “Sykes called his lawyer at four AM and told him that he’d better get over there right away. The lawyer lives only ten minutes away, but Sykes was already dead. One bullet, gun pressed to the temple. Definitely appears to be a suicide.”

I thank Pete and hang up. Sykes’s taking his own life is not particularly hard to believe. He had to know he was facing virtually certain life in prison, so this would have represented the easy way out to him.

Sykes’s death doesn’t exactly leave me bemoaning the injustice of it all. I have no doubt that he was a murderer, and his departure will not leave a void that society must fill.

But I can’t say I’m happy about it. I wanted answers. If Walter Timmerman’s blood and brains splattered over Sykes, then he must have pulled the trigger. Why not Childs? Why hire Childs to blow up the house and kill Waggy, but not shoot Timmerman?

I also want to know what role Charles Robinson played in all this, and who killed him. If Sykes shot Walter, blew up Diana, and poisoned Robinson, he’s an unusually versatile murderer.

And did Sykes know about Walter’s work and kill for it, or was this all about his money? It seems like an unusual coincidence for Sykes to have gone on this murder spree just at the time that Walter was working secretly with synthetic DNA. Walter’s had all that money a long time; why kill him now?

I verbalize all of this to Laurie, who has been watching the coverage on television. She has no answers to my questions, but adds another little twist. “I don’t think Sykes killed himself,” she says.

“Why not?”

“Mostly it’s my instinct,” she says. “But I can try to explain it. If Sykes was thinking logically, he would have thought there was a decent chance to beat the charge. Steven beat the same charge, with much more evidence against him. Sykes had a lot of money and good lawyers. And he was a person of privilege, used to getting what he wanted. I don’t think he would have given up this fast.”

“Maybe he wasn’t thinking logically,” I say.

“Then he wouldn’t have called his lawyer. What did it gain him? He wasn’t hoping the lawyer would stop him, because it sounds like he died within minutes of making the call. But calling the lawyer made it look more like a suicide. If I’m right, that’s what the real killer wanted.”

“This is fascinating,” I say. “I hope you’re getting to the part where you tell me who the real killer is.”

She smiles. “I’m afraid you’ll have to tune in next week for that. But I will give you a clue.”

“Please do.”

“Look for someone who has a connection to all the main players involved… Timmerman, Sykes, and Robinson.”

It’s amazing how I can focus on a problem forever without getting anywhere, and then somebody says something that completely clears away the fog. Laurie’s right, I need to be looking for someone with a connection to the big three. And I just may know who that is.

“Robert Jacoby,” I say.

“The guy who runs the DNA lab?”

“Yes. He knew Walter and Sykes very well, they were his country-club buddies. What if he realized what Walter was doing when he sent in his own DNA? Our expert said he could have realized it was synthetic if he knew what he was looking for. Well, maybe he did.”

“And went after it for himself,” she says.

“Right. He would know exactly what to do with it, and how to profit from it. And he could have used Robinson in the same fashion Timmerman did, to connect with the people who would pay for it.”

“So why kill Robinson?”

“Maybe he went off the reservation and tried to screw his partner. I can’t answer that yet. But what if Sykes, Robinson, and Jacoby were in it together? When Sykes was going to go down for the murders, Jacoby thought Sykes would rat him out, so he killed him as well.”

“It’s all possible, Andy. But it’s also completely made up; we just created an entire conspiracy out of our own heads.”

I smile. “But we’ve got two pretty good heads.”

“Sykes could have killed himself.”

“I have to assume he didn’t. Otherwise I have nowhere to take this.”

“You don’t really have to take it anywhere, you know. You won the case.”

I think about that for a moment. The way I do my job, the way I’ve always done my job, is to think of it as a competition, a game. I won’t feel like I’ve won the game unless I’ve figured it out. Laurie already knows this about me, so I smile and say, “The game isn’t over yet.”

“And if you win the game it means a murderer gets caught,” she says.

“That’s what makes it a really great game.”

I CALL AGENT CORVALLIS and request a meeting. He doesn’t seem particularly enamored of the idea, and it takes a veiled threat that I will publicly discuss everything I know about Walter Timmerman’s work, and the FBI’s involvement in it, before he agrees. He says that he’ll be out of town tomorrow, but he’ll give me fifteen minutes the day after.

I file papers with the probate court with my decision to award Waggy to Steven. The court accepts it within forty-eight hours, and of course there is no reason not to. Diana Timmerman and Charles Robinson are no longer around to contest it, and Steven is the heir to the rest of his father’s fortune.

A delighted Steven picks Waggy up, and I see he’s already stopped at a pet store to get dog food, dishes, beds, and toys. I should mention that he’ll also need about a ton of doggy Ritalin, but I’ll let him find that out for himself.

As Steven and his new best friend prepare to leave, Tara looks on fairly impassively. Life for her is going to get more peaceful, but also more boring. I’m not sure how she feels about that, and it’s hard to tell based on her interaction with Waggy. They just sniff each other a little bit, and then Tara decides to lie down.

“Wags,” I say, “it’s been great having you. Feel free to visit anytime. My home is your home.”

I go to give him a hug, but he will have none of it, wriggling free and jumping into the backseat of the car. Waggy has never been much of a sentimentalist.

Steven has thanked me about four hundred times since the trial, but feels compelled to do so even more effusively this time. He adds a hug, not knowing I’m not a fan of guy hugs. Waggy and I have that in common.

“What are your plans for him?” I ask. “Are you going to show him?”

“No. Waggy and I talked about it,” he says. “We’ve decided he’s not going to be a champion. He’s just going to have fun and be a dog.”

I’m glad to hear that, although I’m pretty sure Waggy would find a way to have fun no matter what he did.

I remind Steven to be careful with Waggy, since we can’t be one hundred percent positive that whoever went after him won’t try it again. Hopefully it was Sykes. He promises to be alert, and they’re off to New York. Within a couple of weeks, Waggy will be making disparaging New Jersey jokes like all other New Yorkers.

Once Steven leaves, I head for the city myself, where I’m meeting with Corvallis at the FBI’s Midtown office. I park the car on West 49th Street in one of the ubiquitous rip-off parking lots. If Corvallis really gives me just fifteen minutes, then I’ll be paying about four bucks a minute.

Corvallis starts off the meeting by telling me why he shouldn’t be meeting with me. “You’ve made my life more difficult,” he says. “If not for you, Robinson might still be alive, and we could still be watching him. But hell, you’re just doing your job, and you’re not a bad guy, so…”

I put my hands to my eyes. “Stop it,” I say, “I promised I wouldn’t get emotional.”

He laughs. “All right, what the hell do you want?”

“I’ve got a theory I wanted to run by you. I don’t think Thomas Sykes killed himself.”

“Based on what?” he asks.

I tell him my reasons, or at least Laurie’s reasons, and then add, “And I think Robert Jacoby has been behind this from the beginning.”

“Who the hell is Robert Jacoby?” he asks.

I’m not thrilled with the question. Corvallis really does seem puzzled as to Jacoby’s identity, and given how close he has been to this case, that doesn’t bode well for the accuracy of my theory. “He’s the head of a DNA lab.”

Corvallis nods as if he now remembers where he heard the name, and I continue. “He knew Timmerman, Robinson, and Sykes, and Timmerman sent him his own DNA to see if Jacoby would pick up on the fact that it was synthetic. I think he did pick up on it and saw an opportunity.”

“I can’t help you with that,” he says. “I know very little about the guy. But I can help you with something else.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Sykes definitely committed suicide. No question about it.”

“How do you know that?”

He frowns. “You may not realize this, but we do have an idea what we’re doing. And we even have forensics experts. The gunpowder residue on Sykes’s hands shows he pulled the trigger. If somebody else was holding his hand while he did, it would have distorted the pattern. So unless he complied when someone simply instructed him to shoot himself in the head, then it’s a suicide.”

It certainly wouldn’t stun me if Corvallis were lying about this, but I don’t know why he would. “So it’s the considered opinion of the FBI that Sykes blew up the house and killed Diana Timmerman?”

“Could be,” he says.

“Are you actively trying to find out who did it if he didn’t? Or is murder not a significant enough crime for you guys to deal with?”

“In this case it is a local crime unless we get information to the contrary. So it’s up to the local authorities. Our involvement in this matter is over.”

“So you’re not worried that someone might have gotten their hands on Walter Timmerman’s work?”

He smiles. “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve prepared for that.”

I nod my understanding. “You got to Timmerman’s lab in the house first, didn’t you? After he was murdered?”

Corvallis doesn’t respond, so I continue. “When I met Diana Timmerman at the house that day, she complained that the police had already searched the house three times. Yet the discovery reports show only one search. That’s because your people were in there the other two times, without telling the locals about it.”

“You’re quite a fascinating storyteller,” he says. “I’m just sorry the fifteen minutes are up.”

“I’m taking a ten-minute extension. I’d bet that not only did your scientists get up to speed on Timmerman’s work, but once you did you changed it to throw off anybody who got into that lab after you.”

“You’re on a roll,” he says.

“You were sorry when the house blew up,” I say. “Not because Diana Timmerman died, but because you were watching it to see who went in there. And you weren’t worried, because you had gotten to the lab first.

“And because you were all over that house, that’s how you know it isn’t Jacoby. If it was you would have picked him up already. You know who was there every minute, which is why it could have been Sykes. But I don’t buy it. Sykes lost the inside track at four hundred million when Diana Timmerman died. Just because he had access and could have planted the bomb doesn’t mean…”

“Is the story finally over?” he asks.

“Holy shit… ,” I say. “I need to use your phone.”

He doesn’t give me permission and I don’t wait for it. I grab the phone and dial Steven Timmerman’s number. It rings five times before the machine picks up. I can’t take the chance to leave a message.

I hang up and grab a notepad and paper from Corvallis’s desk. I talk as I write down Steven’s address. “I believe Martha Wyndham is behind this; she has been from the beginning. Please get some agents to this address; it’s Steven Timmerman’s apartment. If I’m right, she’s going to try to kill Steven and his dog. Please.”

I start to move toward the door as he stands up. “What about you?” he says.

“I’ll meet you there.”

I TELL THE CABDRIVER that I’ll give him a hundred dollars if he can get me to Steven’s apartment in less than ten minutes. Based on his driving after that, my promise is a highly motivating one.

I didn’t wait to go with Corvallis, because by the time he got downstairs and had a car brought around, it would have taken much too long. Certainly there is no way he is going to beat this cab.

I could be wrong again, but I should have known it was Martha Wyndham all along. She may well be working for someone else, but she’s been in the middle of everything from the beginning. And if I’m right, she won’t wait long to go after Steven.

It certainly answers the question of how the person who detonated the bomb knew that Diana Timmerman would be in the house. Martha was there, just starting to drive away, and she could have dialed the number from her car. And Martha had suggested I let Waggy live in that house while I decided who to award him to. It would have saved Jimmy Childs the trouble of trying to kill Waggy.

She was also there the day before the poison was thrown in our yard. We hadn’t been walking Waggy, in an effort to hide his location. But Martha saw him, and I believe that set the attempted poisoning in motion.

And Martha was one of very few people with access to Walter’s lab, and the knowledge of what he was doing. When she blew up the lab she must have felt she and her people had learned all there was to learn, of course having no idea that the FBI had been there first.

As often happens when I get myself in these situations, I don’t have a concrete plan for what I’ll do when I get to Steven’s house.

I call his number on my cell phone, and I’m surprised when he answers. “Hello,” he says. He doesn’t sound tense or upset, which is a relief.

“Steven, it’s me, Andy.”

“Andy, how are you? Checking up on Waggy?”

“Steven, have you heard from Martha Wyndham?”

“She’s right here. She came to visit and take Waggy for a walk.”

If there was a worse thing I could have heard him say, I’m hard-pressed to think of it now. I never should have made this call. “Steven, listen to me very carefully, and don’t say anything. Martha has been behind this all along, and you are in danger. Now pretend that I asked you over for dinner this weekend, and you’d like to come.”

He hesitates a moment and then says, “Dinner Saturday? Sure, I’d like that.”

“I’m going to be there with the police in just a couple of minutes. When we get off the phone, I want you to very casually go into the bathroom, and then lock yourself in. Do not come out no matter what.”

My hope is that Martha, realizing the police are on their way, will take Waggy and leave, and not worry about dealing with Steven. Even if she has a gun, she would be unlikely to use it to shoot open the bathroom door. It would attract too much attention. I hope.

“Don’t worry about Waggy, just go into the bathroom. Now say something friendly about dinner.”

“Sounds great,” he says. “What time should I be there?”

“I’m going to hang up now. Pretend to wrap up the call and then say good-bye. And Steven, you need to act as if nothing is wrong.”

I hang up and try to figure out my next step. There is certainly no way for me to storm the apartment, even if I were so inclined. It’s on the fourth floor, and there’s only a single staircase leading up to it. I would think somebody up there could hold off a SWAT team, so it’s unlikely that an unarmed, chickenshit lawyer is going to fight his way in. Besides, once Steven is barricaded in the bathroom, Martha is likely to be making a hasty exit.

I reach the apartment in what must be record time, and I jump out and drop the fistful of money through the window in the driver’s lap. I go up the five steps to the door, and am confronted with the realization that I have no idea what to do now.

I look around and cannot see any arriving federal agents; for the moment it’s only me. I also have no key to get into the building, so I decide to buzz every other apartment, and hope somebody lets me in. There are twelve total apartments in the building, including Steven’s, so I buzz the other eleven. Through the intercom, four people ask who it is, and in each case I say “UPS.” At least one of them presses their buzzer, and the door opens.

I’m inside, and still without the slightest idea what to do. I leave the door ajar behind me, to make it easy for Corvallis and his agents to get in should they ever show up. I decide to walk up the stairs and hopefully listen through the door into Steven’s apartment; at least that way maybe I can find out if Martha’s still there.

I’m on the second-floor landing when a door opens on one of the floors above, and I hear the telltale sound of Waggy’s feet scratching and trying to get traction on the slippery floor.

I hear Martha say, “Take it easy. Calm down.” She’s got more chance of her command being obeyed if she tells him to fly, or sing the national anthem.

They reach the stairs and are heading my way. It’s pretty dark in here, which is the only thing working to my advantage. I back up against the wall, so she won’t see me until they almost reach me. Unfortunately, as I do I hit my head against a fire extinguisher hanging on the wall. It makes a noise that I’m afraid she has heard.

“Is anybody down there?” Martha calls out, and when there is no answer, I hear them coming down the steps again.

My heart is pounding as they approach, so loud that it seems like it is echoing in the stairwell. Martha has a gun in her hand as she passes the point at which she should have seen me. But she does not see me, because she is intent on Waggy as she strains to keep him in check on the leash. He is dragging her forward so fast that she seems in danger of falling down the steps.

“Waggy! Stop it!” she screams as I jump out from behind her. I hit her from behind, and that, coupled with the forward motion that crazy Waggy is already generating, sends all three of us tumbling down the steps.

We land in a heap at the bottom, and I am conscious of Waggy yelping in pain. I feel a searing pain in my shoulder, but I don’t know what has happened to Martha.

“Glad you could join us.” It’s Corvallis’s voice, and when I look up he is holding his gun on Martha. Surrounding him are three other agents, also with their guns at the ready. It might be slight overkill, because Martha appears to be unconscious.

“Steven,” I say. “Four B.”

Corvallis makes a motion, and two of the agents run up to the fourth floor. I get to my feet and follow them, my shoulder hurting as badly as anything has ever hurt me.

Steven’s door is open when I get there, and I’m cringing at what I’m going to find. Cringing hurts my shoulder, as does talking, climbing stairs, and breathing. Thankfully, the cringing proves to be unnecessary, as the agents have gotten Steven to open the bathroom door and have brought him into the living room.

“Is Waggy okay?” is the first thing Steven asks when he sees me.

That’s my kind of guy.

THE DRIVE TO WISCONSIN is as comfortable as it gets. It feels like Laurie, Tara, and I are a family, and we’re going on a family vacation. It makes me think that we should get an RV, leave everything behind, and just travel the country, and I mention that to Laurie.

“I don’t think you get good television reception on those things,” Laurie says. “And you’ve got the football season and the World Series coming up.”

So much for the RV idea.

I separated my shoulder in the fall down the steps, and the doctor said it would take about eight weeks to heal. Fortunately, it was my left shoulder, because I work the remote control with my right hand.

Waggy walked with a limp for a couple of days after the fall, or more accurately he ran with a limp. He’s fine now, and driving Steven crazy.

Before we left I shared with Steven what I know about the murders. Once Martha was taken into custody, Corvallis was more willing to fill in some of my blanks. He hadn’t been aware of her involvement, and even seemed somewhat grateful to me for exposing her.

I was right that Walter and Robinson were going to sell his discovery to energy interests for a fortune, though I was wrong that Jacoby had any involvement in the scheme. Corvallis wouldn’t tell me who was going to be the purchaser, but it may well have been a foreign government. Whoever it was placed a highly skilled agent, who turned out to be Martha, on the inside of Timmerman’s world so that they could monitor things to their satisfaction. Whether or not Timmerman was aware of who she was, I don’t know.

Their plan was jolted when Sykes and Diana killed Walter for his money, as they planned to marry after he was dead. Faced with this situation, Martha copied all of Walter’s work in the lab, and used Jimmy Childs to plant the explosives in the house. She blew it up, unaware that the FBI had gotten to that lab first and left her with incorrect, worthless information.

She poisoned Robinson so that he could not reveal anything to the FBI, and after that all that was left to erase any trace of Walter’s work was to have Childs kill Waggy, which of course almost resulted in Laurie’s death.

But that is now behind us, as are New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. We’ll be in Wisconsin soon, and Laurie will do what she needs to do, and then we’ll all go home together.

We’re leaning toward getting Tara a friend.

A calm, normal friend.

Just for a change of pace.