The Associate

"Kate, turn on Channel Four, quick."

"Late yesterday," the reporter continued, "this station received copies of a study alleged to have been made on rhesus monkeys that were burned to death in the building behind me. According to the study, a significant percentage of the monkeys that were given Insufort during pregnancy gave birth to babies with birth defects.

"Eyewitness News has learned that Dr. Sergey Kaidanov, the scientist alleged to have authored the study and an employee of Geller Pharmaceuticals, has disappeared. We have also learned that the remains of an unidentified male were found in this building, which was destroyed by arson. According to the police, the man was murdered."

The picture changed and Aaron Flynn's face appeared on the screen.

"Earlier today, reporter Angela Graham talked with Aaron Flynn, the lead counsel for the plaintiffs in the Insufort litigation."

"Mr. Flynn, what is your reaction to this new information about Insufort?"

"Angela, I haven't had time to digest it all. I did learn recently that Dr. Kaidanov conducted this study, but I have not seen the study, so I can't comment. But the news that Dr. Kaidanov may have been murdered is shocking and raises the possibility of a cover-up.

"I must say that I am stunned by the possibility that evidence of the horrible effects of Insufort may have been intentionally destroyed."

The reporters moved to another story.

"Did you see that?" Daniel asked Kate.

"Yeah, and I just switched channels. The story was on the national news on Channel Six, too. Dan, I've got to ask: Did you leak the story?"

"Of course not. Briggs said he'd have me arrested if I told anyone what was on the hard drive." Daniel paused as what he'd just said sank in. "Oh, man. If Briggs thinks I leaked the study I'm screwed."

Kate and Daniel were silent for a moment. Then Kate asked the question they both wanted to ask.

"If you didn't tell the media and I didn't, who did?"

Chapter Sixteen.

Billie Brewster sneaked a peek at the clock over the guard's station at the end of the visitors' room at the state penitentiary. Her brother noticed and he flashed her a tolerant smile.

"You got to go, sis?"

Billie was embarrassed at being caught. She'd never been able to put one over on Sherman.

"Duty calls, little brother."

"That's okay. Ain't no one wants to stay here longer than they have to."

"You remember that," Billie said as she squeezed his hand.

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm bein' good."

They stood and he hugged her tight. Billie hugged him back. She hated visiting her brother in this place, but she hated leaving him more. Every time the iron doors clanged shut behind her, she left a piece of her heart in the prison.

"Go on now," Sherman told her, flashing an innocent, toothy smile that almost made her forget that he was kept here by a trap of his own design.

_ _ _

Outside, a sleeting rain was falling, cold and unpleasant, like Billie's mood. As she walked along the sidewalk toward the prison parking lot, the detective hunched her shoulders. Her visits to her brother were always hard on her. After their father walked out, their mother had been forced to work two jobs. Billie was the only one around to raise Sherman. She was sixteen-still a child herself-but she'd tried the best she could to keep her brother straight. Her mother had told her repeatedly that it was not her fault that Sherman was at the penitentiary. She never really believed it.

This was Sherman's third fall, but his first since she'd joined the police force. He used to get nervous when she visited, afraid that someone would find out his sister was a cop. A high-school friend who was a guard at the penitentiary kept her up-to-date on Sherman. She knew he was in a gang. Since he'd joined and made a rep he'd loosened up. Billie hated what he was doing, but she wanted him safe. Life was loaded with trade-offs.

Billie kept herself from thinking about her brother on the trip back to Portland by listening to loud music and reviewing her cases. When she passed the Wilsonville exit, she phoned in for messages and was glad there was one from Dr. Brubaker, the forensic dentist. The murder at the lab was her most interesting case.

She got Brubaker on her cell phone. "Hi, Harry, what have you got for me?"

"An identification on the body at the primate lab."

"Don't keep me in suspense."

"It's the lawyer from Arizona."

"You're kidding."

"There's no question about it. The dental records of Gene Arnold match perfectly."

Completed in 1912, the thirteen-story Benson Hotel was listed in the National Register of Historic Places and was the hotel where presidents stayed when they visited Portland. Billie entered a luxurious lobby paneled in rich walnut, floored with Italian marble and lit by several crystal chandeliers, and found Kate waiting for her.

"Thanks for letting me tag along," Kate said as they headed for the reception desk.

"You've been straight with me about your information. It's the least I can do."

"I can't believe the body wasn't Kaidanov."

"I'd have lost a bundle myself if I was a betting woman."

Billie flashed her badge at a bright-eyed, Japanese woman and asked for Antonio Sedgwick, the hotel's chief of security. The woman went through a door behind the desk and returned a few minutes later with a muscular African-American in a conservative business suit. When the ex-Seattle cop spotted the homicide detective he flashed a big grin.

"Hey, Billie, haven't seen you in a while. You over here to scam a free lunch?"

"No such luck," Billie answered with a smile.

"Who's your friend?" Sedgwick asked.

"Kate Ross. She's an investigator with the Reed, Briggs firm."

Billie turned to Kate and pointed at the security chief. "You have my permission to shoot this man if he comes on to you. He's a notorious womanizer."

Sedgwick laughed.

"I ain't lyin'," Billie said with mock seriousness. "Shoot to kill."

"Besides ruining my love life, what brings you to the Benson?"

"One of your guests checked in on February twenty-ninth and disappeared by March seventh. Now he's turned up dead and I'd like to see his belongings."

Sedgwick snapped his fingers. "The guy from Arizona."

Billie nodded. "His name was Gene Arnold. What do you remember about him?"

"I never met him. He didn't check out on time, so we sent a bellman up to his room. There was a `Do Not Disturb' sign on the door. We usually wait when we see that. At the end of the day I let myself in. It looked like he planned on coming back. All his stuff was there: toiletries on the sink, clothes hung up in the closet and neatly placed in the drawers. If I remember, there was even a book open on the end table, American history or something.

"We called his contact number to see if he was going to stay another day. They didn't know anything about it. We didn't need the room right away, so I left everything there for one more day. Then I had his stuff packed up and put it in the checkroom. If you want to take it I'll need a court order, but I can let you see it."

"That'll be fine for now."

The checkroom was to the right of the concierge desk. It was a narrow room with a high vaulted ceiling decorated with ornate molding that had been the hotel's original entrance. Its glory had faded over the years. Half the floor was marble but the other half was plywood and there were exposed pipes to the right of the door. Two bare sixty-watt bulbs produced the light that had once been provided by a crystal chandelier.

Arnold's valise was on a shelf to the left of the door. Sedgwick carried it to a small, unobstructed area near the front of the checkroom and opened it. Billie took out each item, inspected it, then placed it in a neat pile while Kate watched. When she was done she replaced the items carefully.

"Suits are over here," Sedgwick said, pointing at two suits on a pole that spanned the room.

Billie's inspection of the first suit revealed nothing, but she found a slip of paper written on the stationery of a SoHo art gallery in the inside pocket of the second suit jacket. It contained a name, Claude Bernier, a street address, and a Manhattan phone number. Billie and Kate wrote the information in their notebooks and Billie replaced the paper in the suit pocket. "Mr. Bernier?"

"Yes."

"My name is Billie Brewster," the detective said as Kate listened on an extension in Sedgwick's office. "I'm with the Portland Police Bureau."

"Maine?"

"Oregon."

"I haven't been there for a while. What's this about?"

"I'm investigating a homicide and your name came up."

"You're kidding?"

"Do you know Gene Arnold, an attorney from Arizona? He was in New York in late February."

"Late February?" Bernier sounded puzzled. "Wait a minute. Is this guy bald, maybe forty-five? Glasses?"

"That's him," Billie answered after consulting the photograph that Benjamin Kellogg had sent her.

"Okay, now I've got him. Arnold, yeah. He was at my apartment. You say he was murdered?"

"Yes, sir. What can you tell me about the meeting?"

"Arnold bought one of my photographs from the Pitzer-Kraft Gallery. Fran works there. She called and told me that Arnold almost fainted while he was looking at it. She thought he was having a heart attack. Then he insisted on seeing me."

"What did he want?"

"He wanted to know everything about the couple in the photograph. That was the subject of the show, couples. This one was from Portland."

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing much. They're all candid shots. I'd see a couple and snap them without them knowing I'd done it. I never got any names."

"Can you describe the couple in the shot that Arnold purchased?"

"It was a man and woman walking across that big open square you've got in the middle of the city."

"Pioneer Square?"

"That's it."

"Anything else you can tell me about them?"

"Arnold was pretty upset about that picture. He got more upset when I couldn't help him."

"Can you send me a print?"

"I think so. I'll have to look for the negative. I moved recently and everything's still a mess."

"Try hard, Mr. Bernier. That picture may show the person who murdered Gene Arnold."

Chapter Seventeen.

"Brock wanted you to know that everyone is in the conference room," Renee Gilchrist said.

Arthur Briggs's mouth was set in a grim line and Renee noticed dark circles under his eyes. "Tell Brock I'll be right down," he said.

One of the lines on his phone rang. Renee headed for the phone, but Briggs waved her away.

"Briggs," the senior partner answered absently. Then he straightened up. "Put him through."

Briggs turned to Renee. "I want my calls held. Tell Newbauer and the others to go ahead without me. Shut the door on your way out."

Renee crossed the room as Briggs turned back to the phone.

"Dr. Kaidanov, there are a lot of people who are very anxious to speak with you," she heard Briggs say as she pulled the door shut.

Thirty minutes later Arthur Briggs entered a small conference room. Brock Newbauer and Susan Webster were seated on one side of a polished oak table. Facing them were Isaac Geller, the chairman of the board of Geller Pharmaceuticals, and Byron McFall, the company's president.

Geller was a medical-school dropout in his late forties who had made a fortune in commercial real estate when he met McFall, a powerfully built man ten years his junior, at a golf resort. The men hit it off immediately. By the time Geller was ready to return to Chicago and McFall to his investment firm in Seattle, they had agreed to talk about a possible investment by Geller in a financially troubled Oregon pharmaceutical company that was doing some interesting research. Both men had made millions as the result of their chance meeting.

"How bad is this thing, Arthur?" Geller asked as Briggs took his place at the head of the table.

"What's your take, Brock?" Briggs asked, addressing his junior partner.

Newbauer was surprised to be called on since Briggs was rarely interested in his opinion.

"Well, we've all heard the news. They're saying that man was set on fire and the monkeys, too," Newbauer said, stumbling. "It's terrible publicity. The Oregonian had an editorial this morning." Newbauer glanced across the table at Geller and McFall, then looked away quickly. "They're implying that the company had something to do with the murder."

"Which is utter hogwash," McFall said. "I want you to look into suing that rag for libel. And I want to find out who leaked that report to the press."

"I'm already on top of it, Byron," Briggs assured the irate executive. "What should we advise Geller Pharmaceuticals to do about the lawsuit, Brock?"

"I don't think we have a choice. Susan tells me there's a good chance that Judge Norris will let the Kaidanov letter in, and now it looks like Flynn has a copy of the study, too. If a jury hears evidence about the murder and the dead monkeys . . ." He shook his head despondently. "I think we have to seriously consider making a settlement offer."

Briggs nodded in a manner that made it appear that he valued Newbauer's advice before focusing his attention on Susan Webster.

"What do you think we should do?" he asked.

"I agree with Brock," Susan said firmly. "My research leads me to believe that Judge Norris will let Flynn use the Kaidanov documents at trial. If he convinces a jury that Geller Pharmaceuticals covered up Kaidanov's study, we'll lose the case and the damages will be astronomical. If Flynn convinces the jury that someone connected with Geller murdered Kaidanov and set fire to those monkeys, we'll need the world's biggest computer to figure the damages."

"This is bullshit, Arthur," McFall exploded. "I've talked with all our top people. No one knows anything about that damn lab or those fucking monkeys."

"Susan isn't suggesting you do. She's talking about a hypothetical situation so we can try to decide our best course of action."

"Which is?" Geller asked.

"I'd rather not say just yet," Briggs replied.

"Well, I insist that you do," McFall ordered angrily. "I'm the president of a company that pays your firm several million dollars a year. This is the biggest challenge Geller Pharmaceuticals has ever faced and we need your advice."

During McFall's tirade, Isaac Geller had been coolly appraising his corporate counsel. Briggs was calm and composed, completely unruffled by a verbal assault under which Geller had seen many strong men and women wilt.

"You're onto something, aren't you, Arthur?"

Briggs smiled noncommittally.

Geller turned to McFall. "Maybe we shouldn't press Arthur," Geller suggested quietly. "His representation has always been top-notch. I'm certain that there must be something very important afoot if he is playing his cards so close to the vest."

"I still don't appreciate our attorney keeping secrets from us, Isaac," McFall insisted to save face.

"I respect Arthur's judgment."

"Very well," McFall grumbled, "but this better be good."

Briggs stood. "Thank you, gentlemen. I'll be in contact shortly, and I don't think you'll be disappointed."

Chapter Eighteen.

As soon as he got up, Daniel called Amanda Jaffe's office, but Amanda was in Washington County for three days handling pretrial motions in a murder case. After breakfast, Daniel went downtown and spent the day job hunting. He returned to his apartment, tired and discouraged, to find the light on his answering machine blinking. He pressed the play button, hoping that the caller was Kate or Amanda Jaffe.

"Ames, this is Arthur Briggs. I was wrong about you and I need your help. There's been a development in the Insufort case and you are the only one I can trust. Meet me tonight at eight."

The rest of the message told him how to get to a country cottage near the Columbia Gorge. Daniel's first reaction was that the message was a hoax engineered by Joe Molinari, but Daniel had heard Briggs's voice enough to know that it was his ex-boss on the phone. Only the message did not make sense. Briggs hated him, and even if he didn't, why would he need his help? He had partners, associates, and investigators galore. Daniel was a disgraced, disgruntled ex-employee-not exactly the person Briggs would be expected to call in an emergency. And why would Briggs want to meet miles out of town instead of in his office?

Daniel decided that there was only one way to discover if the call was genuine. He dialed Briggs's office.

"Renee, it's Daniel Ames."

"Oh, Daniel, I am so sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, thanks. Is Mr. Briggs in?"

"No. He's gone for the day. He'll be here in the morning."

Daniel thought for a moment.

"Mr. Briggs left a message on my answering machine. He said there was a new development in the Insufort case. He wanted to talk to me about it tonight. I'm supposed to meet him at a cottage off I-84 on the Columbia Gorge. Do you have any idea why he wants to see me or why he wants me to meet him at this cottage instead of his office?"

"No, but Arthur was excited about something today. This is a good sign, isn't it? Maybe he's going to rehire you."

"Yeah, maybe," Daniel answered thoughtfully. "Look, if Mr. Briggs phones in would you ask him to call me?"

"Sure."

"Thanks."

Daniel hung up and called Kate, but she was not in. He leaned back and stared at the wall. What would he do if Briggs offered him his job back? He'd convinced himself that he didn't want to work at the firm anymore, but did he really mean it? Working for Reed, Briggs had been his dream job.

Daniel made a decision. He wasn't certain that he wanted his job back, but he did want to hear what Arthur Briggs had to say. And he was very curious about the new development in the Insufort case that Briggs had mentioned. Maybe he had convinced Briggs that there was something wrong with the drug and Briggs was now on his side. The only way to find out was to meet with the man who had just fired him.

Chapter Nineteen.

Dr. Sergey Kaidanov huddled like a hunted animal in a copse of cottonwoods and watched the cottage as daylight faded. Kaidanov had not had a decent sleep since fleeing from the lab. A damp, uncombed beard covered the lower half of his face and his clothes looked a size too big on his emaciated frame. The woods were damp and the cruel wind blowing off the Gorge chilled the fugitive, but running for his life had inured Kaidanov to hardship and made him cunning and cautious. He was also desperate.

The newspapers said that someone had died in the lab. If it hadn't been for the monkey, the police would have found two bodies. Then there was his escape in Las Vegas. His car had been parked in the shadows of the motel lot. He had been about to start it when another car driven by the same person who'd attacked him in the lab pulled into the space in front of his motel room. Kaidanov had watched until his pursuer was inside. He had only been a few blocks from the motel when he figured out that he must have been traced through his credit card. It took another moment to remember that he'd told the whore that he was taking an early flight. Kaidanov had skipped his flight and used his credit cards sparingly since Vegas, living on fast food and sleeping in his car. He smelled and he was unshaven, but he was still alive. After tonight, he might even be safe.

Headlights lit up the cottage. Moments later a Mercedes parked out front. Kaidanov checked his watch. It was 7:29. Arthur Briggs had arranged to meet him at 7:30 so they would have time to talk before Briggs's associate arrived.

The lights went on in the cottage. Kaidanov scurried across the road. He'd checked out the cottage earlier and he knew that there was a back door. He made a wide circle around the house. There was a farm next to the cottage, but the land directly behind the house was heavily wooded. Kaidanov raced from the cover of a stand of trees and knocked on the back door. A moment later Arthur Briggs let him into a small kitchen.

"Dr. Kaidanov?" he asked.

The scientist nodded. "Do you have something to eat?" he asked. "I haven't had any food since breakfast."

"Certainly. There's not much, but I can make you a sandwich."

"Anything. A drink would help."

Briggs motioned toward a kitchen table and started toward the refrigerator. As he passed the kitchen door Briggs saw someone enter the front room. He stopped, puzzled, then walked out of the kitchen. Kaidanov stood, tense as a startled deer. He heard Briggs say, "What are you doing here?" He was out of the back door before Briggs screamed, "Run!" and shots rang out.

Kaidanov plunged into the woods as the kitchen door slammed open. He had planned his escape route earlier and he never slowed. He could hear branches snap and the underbrush crackle behind him. He made a sharp turn and circled back toward his car, pausing briefly before racing on to make sure his pursuer kept going straight ahead. Through a gap in the trees, Kaidanov saw someone of average height dressed in a black windbreaker. A hood concealed the killer's face, but there was no doubt in the Russian's mind that this was the same person who tried to kill him at the lab.

Kaidanov had parked his car half a mile up a side road where it could not be seen from the street that ran in front of the cottage and could not be discovered without a thorough search. The engine started right away. Kaidanov left the headlights off until he was on the highway headed east. He had no idea where he was going. All he cared about was that he was still breathing.

Chapter Twenty.

I-84 runs along the Columbia Gorge and is one of the most scenic highways in the United States, but Daniel could barely see the magnificent vista created by the Columbia River and the high cliffs on either side of it because the sun had nearly set. Twenty minutes after leaving the city, he took an off-ramp and found himself on a two-lane road in sparsely populated countryside. After he had traveled two miles, he began to look for Starlight Road. The high beams of a speeding car blinded Daniel for a moment and he almost missed the street sign. Three-quarters of a mile later he spotted a modest cottage that was set back from the road.

A Mercedes, similar to one that Daniel had seen Arthur Briggs drive, was parked on the gravel driveway near the front door, but the house was dark. Daniel wondered why. He remembered the speeding car. Had it come from Starlight Road? He couldn't remember. Daniel parked his car facing the road in case he had to get away in a hurry. He left the motor running and walked toward the cottage.

Daniel paused on the doorstep and listened, but he heard no sounds inside. The night air was cool and a wind whipped through the trees. Daniel hunched his shoulders against the chill and rapped on the front door. It swung open slightly.

"Mr. Briggs," Daniel called into the dark interior. All he heard was the sigh of the wind. Daniel pushed the door open and was about to call out again when he saw someone stretched out on the floor. He knelt beside the body. It was Arthur Briggs. Blood had pooled around his ex-boss and Daniel was careful to avoid getting any of it on him. There was a bullet hole in Briggs's forehead and two more entry wounds in his torso.

Daniel started to reach out for Briggs to check for a pulse when he heard a car driving toward the house and headlights lit up the front room. Daniel leaped to his feet and raced out of the house. The headlights swung in his direction, illuminating his face. Daniel flung up his arm to block the driver's view and dove into his car, then he floored the accelerator and drove away like a madman.

Chapter Twenty-One.

Arthur Briggs was not the first murdered man Daniel had seen, but it had been years since his first encounter with violent death. Daniel was fifteen when he ran away from home for the second time. After two evenings of sleeping in doorways, he had spent his third night with two other runaways under the Broadway Bridge in an encampment created by the homeless. The sounds made by traffic passing overhead and the voices of the river were impossible to shut out, but most disturbing were the unfamiliar noises of the camp. Drunks wept softly and the insane raged at things others could not see. Daniel feared being beaten and robbed or worse, so he tried to stay awake. When he did nod off, the slightest noise near his bedroll would jerk him into full consciousness, knife in hand.

Around two in the morning Daniel had passed out from exhaustion only to be awakened by the sounds of two men fighting over a bottle of screw-top wine. He had looked on wide-eyed as the men struck each other with insane energy. When the fight was over the winner was covered in blood and the loser lay curled in a ball, moaning in pain. The wine bottle had been destroyed early in the struggle and the liquid victory prize had seeped into the dirt of the battlefield.

Daniel lay in his sleeping bag, stunned by the violence and paralyzed with fright. By the time he was able to move, the prostrate man had ceased to moan. Daniel had not slept for the rest of the night. In the morning, after he packed his gear, he had walked over to the dead man. The image of his first corpse was still a vivid memory and Arthur Briggs resembled him in many ways. His eyes were sightless, his skin waxy, and his incredible energy had drained away.

Halfway back to Portland the adrenaline that had fueled his mad escape began to wear off and reality set in. Briggs was dead and a witness had seen him running from the cottage. Did the driver get a good enough look to identify him? It was dark, but the headlights had caught him before he could cover his face. Daniel felt sick. He had been jailed as a teenager and he had hated the experience. If he went to jail now it would be for murder.

As soon as Daniel was back in his apartment he ran into the bathroom and examined himself in the mirror. He could see no blood, but to be safe, he changed his clothes and put them in the washing machine in the basement. When he returned to his apartment, he tried to think of ways the police could connect him to the murder. He was pretty sure that he hadn't left fingerprints in the cottage, but the witness may have gotten a good look at him. Then there was Renee Gilchrist. He'd told her that Briggs wanted to meet him that night at the cottage. If she told the cops he was dead.

Suddenly Daniel remembered the recording of Briggs's call on his answering machine. The message would place him at the Starlight Road cottage at the time of the murder. Daniel had just finished erasing the tape when his phone rang. He waited. It rang again. Daniel picked up the receiver.

"Mr. Ames?"

"Yes."

"This is Detective Brewster of the Portland Police Bureau." Daniel's gut did a back flip. "We met the other night."

"Oh, right."

"I'm downstairs with another detective and some uniformed police officers. We'd like to talk with you."

"About what?" Daniel asked as he went to the window. Brewster was talking on a cell phone. Zeke Forbus was standing next to her. A uniformed officer was looking up at his window. Daniel pulled back.

"I'd rather not discuss the matter over the phone," Billie said. "Would you be willing to come downstairs?"

Daniel went through his options. He could stay in the apartment and the police would kick in the door and drag him out or he could go downstairs voluntarily. Either way he was going to be arrested; it was just a matter of how.

"Okay," Daniel said, "I'll be down in a minute."

Daniel looked around the apartment. His clothes were in the washing machine in the basement. The police would search his apartment, but they might not look downstairs. He started to leave when it dawned on him that he might be locked up. He needed to tell someone, but who? Daniel hesitated, then dialed Kate Ross. Her answering machine took the call.

"Kate, this is Daniel. The police are downstairs. I don't know what's going on," he said to protect both of them, "but check on me. If I'm not home I might be in jail."

Daniel hung up and locked the apartment. When he got to the ground floor he could see Brewster and Forbus waiting outside the door. He guessed that the uniforms would be on either side of it to grab him in case he had a gun. To avoid being roughed up, Daniel opened the door with one hand and held the other hand where it could be seen. As soon as he walked outside the two uniforms converged on him. One had his gun drawn. Daniel expected this, but it scared the hell out of him just the same.

"Please stand with your hands against the wall, Mr. Ames, and spread your legs," Zeke Forbus said.

"I'm not armed."

"Then there won't be a problem."

The frisk was fast and thorough. During the pat-down, the officer emptied Daniel's pockets and took his key ring.

"What is this about?" Daniel asked.

"We're investigating the murder of Arthur Briggs," Billie answered.

"Why are you talking to me?" Daniel asked. He immediately regretted saying anything when it occurred to him that most people would have expressed shock at the violent death of someone they knew.

"We have a witness who saw you driving away from the scene of the murder," Forbus said.

"We're here so you can explain why you were there," Billie told him. "If you have any information that can help us find Mr. Briggs's killer, we'd appreciate the help."

Daniel's mouth was dry. The only way the police could have found him this quickly was if the witness recognized him.

"I'd like to talk to an attorney before I say anything else."

"You seem like a nice enough person, Mr. Ames," Billie said. "If you have any explanation for what happened I'll try to help you."

Billie seemed so sincere that Daniel almost fell for her line, but he'd had run-ins with the police when he was on the street and he knew the game she was playing.

"Thank you, Detective, but I'd rather wait until I've talked to a lawyer."

Billie nodded. "We'll respect your wishes. Please turn around and put your hands behind you."

"Why?"

"I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Arthur Briggs."

Daniel rode in the back of a patrol car with his hands cuffed behind him. He spent the first few minutes of the trip to the Justice Center trying to get comfortable and the rest of it with his thoughts, because no one spoke to him during the ride. By the time the car parked in the police garage, Daniel was sick with worry.

The Justice Center was a modern, sixteen-story building in downtown Portland that was home to the Multnomah County jail, two circuit and two district courts, state parole and probation, the state crime lab, and the Portland police central precinct. Brewster and Forbus drove behind the car transporting Daniel and escorted him up to the detective division. Neither detective spoke to him except to tell him what to do.

The detective division was a wide-open space that stretched along one side of the thirteenth floor. Each detective had his own cubicle separated from the others by a chest-high divider. As soon as he was brought into the office, Daniel's cuffs were taken off and he was placed in a small, cinderblock holding cell. Light was provided by a harsh fluorescent fixture that was recessed in the ceiling. The only place to sit in the tiny room was a hard wooden bench that ran along the back wall. There were no other furnishings.

Forbus sat with Daniel for a few minutes. He explained that Daniel would be held in the cell for a while and told him that he could knock on the door if he wanted to use the rest room or needed a glass of water. Then he closed the door and drew a metal sheet across a small, tinted-glass window in the door, cutting off all contact with the world outside the cell. Daniel stretched out on the bench, placed an arm across his eyes to shield them from the light, and tried to relax.

Twenty minutes later Forbus reentered the room with a photographer who took several photographs of Daniel. As soon as the photographer left, Forbus gave the prisoner a flimsy, white, one-piece, disposable Tyvex jumpsuit made of paper that zipped up the front and felt slick and odd against his skin. The detective explained that Daniel would wear this suit until he was given a uniform in the jail.

When Daniel was dressed, Forbus led his prisoner across the hallway into a small interrogation room furnished with several, heavy wooden chairs and a table that was affixed to the wall. Daniel noticed a box of tissues on the table and wondered how many men had wept in this room.

Forbus made no attempt to question Daniel about the murder and Daniel had to fight an urge to open the subject. The detective asked Daniel's age, date of birth, and other statistical information for his custody report. He was tempted to refuse to answer the detective's questions, but he wanted to put off returning to the cell as long as possible. When Forbus had the information he needed he put Daniel back in the holding cell. His watch had been taken from him and he could only guess how long he stayed in the lockup, but it seemed like hours before he heard a key in the lock again and Billie Brewster came in.

"I'm going to take you over to the jail now," she said as she cuffed Daniel's hands behind his back. Brewster led him down a carpeted hall to an elevator that took them to the ground floor. After a short walk through Central Precinct and the garage, Daniel found himself standing on a red dot in front of a blue metal door in the reception area of the jail. The detective passed a custody report through a slot to a sheriff's deputy in a green uniform who was stationed behind a plate of thick glass.

"If you want to talk with me about what happened at the cottage, tell one of the deputies," Brewster said in a kind voice. Then she surprised Daniel by putting a hand on his shoulder and saying, "Good luck, Daniel."

As soon as Brewster left, the door behind Daniel snapped open and he was ordered into a narrow concrete chute about six feet long and seven feet wide. Another handcuffed prisoner was stretched out on a bench that ran along the wall. Daniel was afraid to ask him to move, so he stayed standing. A few minutes later a door at the other end of the room opened and Daniel was taken out by a deputy who patted him down before leading him over to a brightly illuminated area where his picture was taken again. After that, Daniel was escorted to a window that opened into a small medical facility. A woman on the other side of the window asked Daniel for a medical history then turned him over to another deputy for fingerprinting. Finally, he was led down a hall along a concrete floor and heard what sounded like a dog howling. The guard prodded Daniel around a corner and the howling turned to screams. They were coming from one of several single cells that lined the wall of a large holding area. Blue metal doors fronted all the cells. Toward the top third of the doors were narrow glass windows. A female deputy was talking through a grille beneath one of the windows in a firm voice. Daniel realized that the inhuman screams and moans he had heard were coming from this cell.

"This isn't doing you any good, Mr. Packard," the woman deputy was saying, but Mr. Packard was unaffected by her attempts to calm him and continued to howl.

The guard unlocked Daniel's cuffs and placed him in a cell enclosed by chain-link fencing that stood in the center of the holding area. Another prisoner in street clothes was lying on a concrete bench. Daniel took a closer look at his cellmate, who was sleeping through Mr. Packard's insane lament. The man was stripped to the waist, revealing a torso covered with tattoos. It took an effort not to stare. To make it easier, Daniel turned away and looked at his surroundings through the grille. It dawned on him that no other prisoner was making any noise. He could see into some of the other holding cells through the slit windows and what he saw were men pacing, locked in with their own thoughts as Daniel was locked in with his.

At first Daniel tried to remember all he could about his other jail experiences so he could prepare himself to survive. He knew that being in jail was like being back in high school in a class made up of bullies, liars, and lunatics. Most criminals were irresponsible, angry men who were unable to succeed in the world and took out their frustrations on those who could. Daniel resolved to tell no one that he had graduated high school, let alone college and law school.

There was a second bench in the cell and Daniel stretched out on it. He had not slept and it had to be early morning by now. He closed his eyes, but the bright lights in the holding area, the hard surface, and the constant, unfamiliar noises made sleep impossible. Daniel tossed and turned for a while until his thoughts turned to the question he would have asked himself earlier if he had not been shell-shocked by the discovery of the dead man and the shame and terror of his arrest: "Who had killed Arthur Briggs and why?"

Daniel knew almost nothing about Briggs's private life, except that he was married and had two grown children. The only times he had been in Briggs's presence socially were at firm functions. From experience, Daniel knew that Briggs was a rude, abrasive man who was extremely aggressive in court, but he had no idea if Briggs had enemies-or friends, for that matter. It soon became obvious to Daniel that he lacked the information to make even a rudimentary guess about the identity of Briggs's killer, so he turned to motive.

In the message Briggs had left on Daniel's answering machine he had said that he needed to talk to Daniel about a new development in the Insufort case. He'd also said that he knew that he was wrong about Daniel and that Daniel was the only person he could trust. Suddenly it occurred to him: the Kaidanov report!

Daniel sat up. The new development in the Geller case must have involved the report, because that was the only aspect of the case of any importance that involved Daniel. It was the reason he was fired. What had Briggs talked about during their last meeting? He'd gotten furious when Daniel told him that Geller was covering up the results of Kaidanov's study. Of course! Briggs must have found out that Geller was involved in a cover-up. That would explain why he thought Daniel was the only person he could trust. The firm would lose Geller Pharmaceuticals as a client, and its hefty retainer, if Briggs exposed a plot to cover up Kaidanov's study, so he would not have been able to trust anyone at Geller or anyone in his own firm. But he could trust Daniel because Daniel had urged Briggs to expose the cover-up. The only problem with his theory was that he could more easily imagine Arthur Briggs involved in a conspiracy with Geller than exposing a cover-up by a client that brought millions to the firm.

But what if he was wrong about Briggs? He'd known so little about the senior partner. Maybe Briggs had spoken to the wrong people at Geller and they had silenced him. Daniel had to tell someone what he had figured out, but who? And what proof did he have? A wave of despair swept over him and all of his energy and excitement drained away. No one would believe him if he started talking about cover-ups and conspiracies. They would think he was a crazy, disgruntled employee. Just the type of maniac who would murder the person who had fired him.

An hour later a deputy brought Daniel and his comatose cellmate a brown-bag breakfast. The tattooed man continued to sleep. Daniel opened his bag and took out a baloney sandwich on pasty white bread, an orange, and a small carton of milk. He had no appetite and the sandwich looked repulsive, but Daniel knew he had to eat to keep up his strength. He finished his meal shortly before a guard handcuffed him and led him out of the holding cell. The jail had a receipt for Daniel's possessions, which included his wallet. For a dollar fifty he was allowed to purchase a hygiene kit containing shampoo, toothpaste, and a toothbrush.

The guard took Daniel upstairs to the seventh floor. After a short walk from the elevator, Daniel was led through a sally port into a two-story-high, open area. At one end of the floor was a glassed-in rec room with a television. Along the walls were two tiers of cells. Daniel was told to strip. The guard took his Tyvex suit and gave him plastic shower slippers, a set of pink dyed underwear and socks, a pair of blue cotton pants with an elastic waist, and a blue, pullover, V-neck shirt. Then the guard told him to enter cell 7C.

The cell had a two-tiered bunk bed. A muscular Hispanic was stretched out on the lower bunk. He turned on his side and stared at Daniel with little interest. Along the wall was a concrete slab. Daniel saw that his cellmate's toiletries were at one end of the slab and he placed his on the other end. Behind the bunk was a narrow window that stretched the length of the cell and looked out at the new federal courthouse.

As soon as the guard closed the door, Daniel addressed his cellmate.

"How you doin'?"

"Okay," the man answered. Then he asked, "Whatchoo in for?" in a thick accent.

"Nothing much."

Daniel knew better than to talk about his case. Every cellmate was a potential state's witness.

"Me, too," the man answered with a sly smile. "Name's Pedro."

"Daniel. I'm gonna sack out."

"Yeah sure."

Daniel remembered something he had learned the last time he was in jail. He grabbed his toothbrush before climbing into his upper bunk. He did not sleep, but he did spend several hours using the concrete wall to sharpen the end of the toothbrush into a sharp point in case his cellmate turned out to be less friendly than he seemed.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

"Ames, your attorney's here."

Daniel was still groggy from a sleepless night and it took him a minute to process the fact that the guard was talking to him.

"What attorney?" he asked.

"How should I know? Get a move on."

As Daniel climbed down from his bunk he wondered if the court had already assigned him a public defender. The guard led him into the common area and through the sally port into a long corridor lined with noncontact visiting rooms where prisoners and visitors sat on either side of a thick glass window and conversed by telephone. A metal door at the end of the corridor led into a shorter hallway. On one side were two contact visiting rooms. Daniel could see into the closest room through a window that took up half the wall. It was furnished with a round table that was bolted to the floor and two molded plastic chairs. An attractive woman with shoulder-length black hair was seated in one of the chairs. When Daniel stepped into the room the guard closed the door and the woman stood up. Daniel was five eleven. The woman was almost as tall and had the broad shoulders and solid build of an athlete. She wore a conservative business suit.

"Hi, Daniel," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Amanda Jaffe."

Daniel colored. His jail-issue clothes were a size too big, his hair was uncombed, and he had a day's growth of beard. He also smelled.

Amanda smiled. "I bet this wasn't what you expected when you called for a job interview."

"What are you doing here?"

"Kate Ross phoned me after she tracked you to the jail. Why don't we sit down," Amanda said as she returned to her seat. Daniel remained standing.

"Look, Ms. Jaffe . . ."

"Amanda," she corrected.

"I can't afford to hire you. Kate must have told you that I just lost my job, my savings probably won't cover the cost of this consultation, and my job prospects have just plummeted to minus zero."

"Don't worry about the fee."

"I've got to worry about it. No matter what you charge, there's no way I can pay it."

"Daniel, please sit down. I'm getting a crick in my neck."

Daniel sat reluctantly on the other chair.

"Kate thinks very highly of you. She doesn't believe that you murdered Arthur Briggs."

"I didn't."

"Good. Then try to relax so I can get the information I need to get you out of here."

"But your money . . ."

"I'm taking the case pro bono and Kate is covering my expenses."

"I can't let you two do that."

Amanda's smile disappeared and she looked deadly serious.

"You're in big trouble, Daniel. You've been charged with murder. If you're convicted you're looking at life in prison or a death sentence. This is not the time to be proud. Accept our help. You need it."

Amanda's words had a sobering effect. Life in prison or execution. What was happening to him?

"Before coming here, I talked to Mike Greene, the prosecutor who's handling your case. He claims to have a witness who saw you running from the crime scene. She also says that she heard you have an angry argument with Arthur Briggs on Friday."

"Who's the witness?"

"Dr. April Fairweather."

"Fairweather! Are you kidding?"

"You know her?"

"She's a Reed, Briggs client, but she had nothing to do with the Insufort litigation."

"The lawsuit involving the pregnancy pill? What's that got to do with Arthur Briggs's murder?"

"That's why I was at the cottage. Briggs left a message on my answering machine telling me there was a new development in the case. He said he needed my help, which surprised the hell out of me since he'd just fired me for screwing up the case."

"I'm not following this. Maybe you should start at the beginning."

Daniel explained the Geller Pharmaceuticals case, the discovery of Dr. Sergey Kaidanov's letter, his search of Kaidanov's house, the discovery of the murdered man at the lab, and the leak of the study to the press. Then he told Amanda about being fired, his argument with Briggs, and what happened at the cottage.

"Now I know how the police figured out that I was there so fast," Daniel concluded. "Dr. Fairweather was in Mr. Briggs's waiting area when he fired me. She saw us argue. What I can't figure out is what she was doing at the cottage. Her case had nothing to do with the Geller case. It doesn't make sense that Briggs would have wanted her there if he was going to talk about Insufort."

Amanda was quiet for a moment. Daniel thought that she looked worried and he began to get nervous. Then she brightened and Daniel leaned forward expectantly.

"You have a motive to murder Briggs because Briggs fired you and threatened you, but the message on your answering machine shows that he changed his opinion about you for some reason. There's a chance I might be able to persuade Mike to hold off on an indictment if he hears the tape."

Daniel's face fell. "I erased it."

"What?"

"I panicked and I erased the answering machine tape just before the police came. It was proof that I was at Starlight Road when the murder occurred."

Amanda failed to conceal her disappointment and Daniel knew he'd screwed up.

"How long do I have to stay in jail?" he asked nervously.

"You're not going to get out quickly. Bail isn't automatic in a murder charge. I have to ask for a bail hearing and they're hard to win. If you had to stay in jail for a week or more, do you think you could handle it?"

Daniel felt sick, but he nodded.

"I've been in jail before."

Amanda tensed. "Tell me about that."

Daniel looked down at the tabletop. "My . . . my home life wasn't good. When I was a kid I ran away a lot." He shrugged. "When you're living on the streets there are a lot of opportunities to get in trouble."

"What kind of trouble were you in?"

"Burglary, assault. The cases never stuck, but I was arrested twice and I stayed in jail both times."

Daniel told her the approximate dates of his arrests and Amanda made some notes on her pad. Then she asked him several other background questions. When she was finished, she put her pad in her attache case.

"I'm going back to my office to meet with my investigator. You'll make your first appearance in court at two this afternoon and I'll be there. This appearance will be over quickly. The judge will read the formal charges against you and make sure you have counsel. I'll ask him to set a date for a bail hearing and we'll request a preliminary hearing. Then we'll go from there. Do you have any questions?"

"No, not now. I'm too numb."

"I don't blame you. If I were in your position I'd be scared to death. But you have one thing going for you that gives me hope." Daniel looked up expectantly. "You've told me you're innocent and I do believe that the truth will come out."

Daniel should have found Amanda's words reassuring, but he remembered an editorial about the death penalty he had read recently. It had called for a moratorium on executions because of all the innocent people who were languishing on death row.

Kate Ross was waiting in the public reception area. She stood up the moment Amanda got out of the jail elevator.

"How is Daniel?" she asked anxiously.

"He's holding up okay. I get the impression that he's pretty tough. If I can't get him out on bail before the trial I don't think being in jail will break him."

"Will you be able to get him out?"

"I don't know, Kate. Mike Greene told me a little about the state's case. It's not airtight, but it's strong."

"What have they got?"

"Briggs fired Daniel and they argued in front of witnesses, so Daniel had a reason to shoot Briggs. They haven't recovered the murder weapon and they didn't find it when they searched Daniel's apartment, but Mike Greene will just argue that he threw the gun away. The really bad news is that an eyewitness saw Daniel running from the scene of the murder."

"Who is it? Give me the name. If there's evidence that the witness is lying, I'll find it."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid you're not going to be able to work on Daniel's case."

"Why not?"

"Conflict of interest. The eyewitness is Dr. April Fairweather, a Reed, Briggs client."

Kate's mouth dropped open. "You're kidding?"

"Daniel had the same reaction. She was supposed to meet with Briggs at eight-fifteen at the cottage where he was killed. She says she saw Daniel run out and drive away."

"You can't take Fairweather's word for anything, Amanda. She's-" Kate stopped suddenly. "Damn."

"What?"

"You're right. There is a conflict."

"Do you know something about Dr. Fairweather that I should know?"

Kate nodded. "But I can't talk about it. I learned it while working on her case. All I can tell you to do is dig deep."

"For what?"

"I'm sorry, Amanda. I'll have to talk to one of the partners before I can say anything. I suspect the partner is going to tell me that Fairweather will have to give her okay before I can talk to you, and I doubt she'll do it."

"Daniel will understand why you can't get involved. He knows you're helping him with expenses and he's very grateful."

"I wish there was something else I could do."

"Well, there isn't, for now, but don't worry. Herb Cross will conduct the investigation, and you know how good he is. If you want to show your support, be in court at two for Daniel's arraignment."

"I plan to be."

The offices of Jaffe, Katz, Lehane and Brindisi, one of Oregon's premier law firms, took up the eighth floor of the Stockman Building in downtown Portland. Amanda's father, Frank Jaffe, and two law-school classmates had started their practice as soon as they passed the bar. Amanda had joined the firm six years ago after graduating with honors from New York University School of Law and serving a two-year clerkship at the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals. As a reward for solving the Cardoni serial murder case, the firm's members had voted to make her a partner. Six months ago she had moved from one of the small offices used by the associates to a larger office with a view of the West Hills. Amanda had decorated her new office with two abstracts she'd purchased at a gallery near her condominium in the Pearl District and several photographs of Broadway that had been taken shortly after the First World War around the time that the Stockman Building had been constructed.

As soon as she returned from her meeting with Daniel, Amanda started making notes about her new client. She liked Daniel and she hoped that he was innocent, but she had been practicing criminal law long enough to know that you never took your client's word for anything, no matter how sincere they seemed. Daniel had a strong motive to murder his ex-boss, he had admitted being at the scene of the crime, and he had destroyed the answering-machine tape-the evidence that Daniel claimed would have proved his relationship with Arthur Briggs had changed.

Amanda leaned back and tapped her pen against her palm. What did Kate know that would help her cast doubt on the eyewitness identification made by April Fairweather? What difference would impeachment evidence make, anyway? Daniel was at the cottage. He'd told her so. That meant that Daniel could not testify, because he would have to admit that Fairweather had seen him. She sighed. This was not going to be easy. She was going to have to work very hard and be very lucky if she was going to keep Daniel Ames off of death row.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

At Daniel's arraignment, Amanda Jaffe asked for a bail hearing and the judge set it for Friday. Daniel made a plan for getting through the week. It involved staying in his cell as much as possible and being as inconspicuous as possible when he was in the presence of other prisoners.

Every morning at ten o'clock the guards unlocked the bottom tier of cells and let the prisoners watch television, talk, and walk around in the glassed-in recreation area. This was the most frightening time for Daniel. He had found a corner of the room from which the television was not visible and he had stayed there until it was time to return to his cell. On Thursday morning Daniel made for his corner only to find a wiry white man with a shaved head and swastika tattoo on his muscled biceps headed the same way. Daniel tried to avoid him, but he did not move fast enough and they collided. Daniel's stomach clenched.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

The man glared. When Daniel did not look away fast enough, he moved close to him.

"What are you lookin' at, pussy?"

"Nothing," Daniel answered, praying that he could avoid a fight.

"You sayin' I'm nothing?"

Daniel had been a civilized human being for many years, but the next second he was back on the street, he was fifteen, and he was listening to George, an ex-con who had been kind to him until Daniel rebuffed his sexual advances with a broken bottle. George had tried to seduce Daniel with tales of life in the Joint that had been filled with survival tips. The tips had come in handy on the other occasions he'd spent time in jail and Daniel flashed on them now.

"I . . . I said I'm sorry," Daniel apologized again in a voice intentionally meek and subservient. The prisoner took a step forward.

"That ain't good enough," he was saying when Daniel stomped hard on his foot. When the inmate bent forward reflexively Daniel snapped a hard elbow into his face. Blood sprayed from the man's nose. Before he could get his bearings Daniel struck him again, this time in the throat. The inmate went down hard and his head made a hollow sound as it bounced off the concrete floor.

Daniel turned to see if anyone else was going to come for him. Most of the inmates gave the fallen man and his assailant a wide berth, but two prisoners with shaved heads started across the room. One man was slightly shorter than Daniel and had a weight lifter's build. His biceps expanded and contracted as he flexed his fists. The other man was tall and flabby, but he had pit bull eyes and huge hands.

Daniel knew there was no way he could take out two men, but he was poised to go at the weight lifter when the skinheads stopped abruptly. That's when Daniel noticed the four Hispanics who stood beside him. One was his cellmate.

"Whas up, bro?" Pedro asked the weight lifter.

"Get out of the way, monkey," he answered.

Pedro smiled, but he did not move. The weight lifter started forward.

"Break it up," a guard shouted from the door to the rec room. Three guards armed with truncheons backed him up.

"We ain't through with you, fucker," the fat skinhead said to Daniel, spitting on the floor between them. Then he touched the weight lifter on the arm and the two men backed into the crowd.

One of the guards knelt to check the unconscious man, who was covered with blood from his broken nose.

"Who did this?" he demanded. No one answered.

"All right, that's it. No more rec time. Get back in your cells."

The room cleared quickly.

"Thanks, man," Daniel said when he and Pedro were locked up. "I'd have been dead if you hadn't stepped in."

Pedro shrugged. "I don' like those skinhead motherfuckers."

"Well, it's appreciated."

Pedro smiled. "I didn' figure you for no fighter, but you clocked that Nazi good."

"Lucky punch."

Pedro's smile widened. "Sucker punch."

They both laughed. Then Pedro's smile fell away abruptly and he wagged a warning finger at Daniel.

"You watch your back. Those are bad people. They gonna hurt you if they get the chance."

Daniel nodded. Then he climbed onto his upper bunk. As soon as he was certain that Pedro could not see him, he let go of his self-control and started to shake.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Herb Cross, a slender African-American in his late thirties, led Amanda Jaffe up a narrow stairway to the second-floor office of Dr. April Fairweather. Fairweather worked over a hardware store in a low-rent building on Stark. The stairwell was dingy and poorly lit, as was the hall in front of the doctor's office.

Herb had briefed Amanda on what little he had discovered about the therapist during the ride from their law office. Fairweather did not have a criminal record. She had a single credit card and never let the charges get too high. Fairweather advertised herself as a consulting therapist and claimed to have a doctorate, but she was not licensed by any state agency. Then again she didn't have to be to practice her kind of New Age therapy. Fairweather lived in a cheap garden apartment in Beaverton, and Herb had talked to a few of her neighbors, but all he'd learned was that she never said more than an occasional hello.

The investigator opened a wooden door with a frosted-glass window. On the other side was a small reception room. As Amanda closed the door, a short, mousy woman in a frayed gray business suit walked out of the interior office. Amanda noticed that Dr. Fairweather had not done much with her light brown hair. She didn't see any jewelry, either. The lawyer concluded that the psychologist was not someone who gave a lot of thought to her looks.

"Can I help you?" Fairweather asked as she eyed the investigator warily. She seemed frightened, so Amanda stepped forward and smiled.

"I'm Amanda Jaffe, the attorney representing Daniel Ames. This is my associate, Herb Cross. If you have a few minutes we'd like to talk to you."

Fairweather grew rigid. "No, I can't do that."

"I'm going to have a chance to talk to you in court, Dr. Fairweather," Amanda pressed. "I might be able to save some time if we clear up a few things here."

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," Fairweather answered. Her shoulders hunched and her gaze drifted toward the floor.

"Did the district attorney tell you that? Because you have the right to talk to anyone you want to. Talking to me would be the right thing to do."

"I don't want to do that and I'd like you to go."

"Okay." Amanda held out her card and Fairweather took it reluctantly. "If you change your mind please call me."

"That is one uptight lady," Herb Cross said as soon as the door closed behind them.

"Yes, she is," Amanda mused, "and I'd love to know why."

On the way back to the office, Amanda and Cross brainstormed about ways to get through Fairweather's armor. When they walked into the firm's waiting room, the receptionist handed Amanda a small box wrapped in brown paper.FOR AMES BAIL HEARING was written on the paper in block letters with a Magic Marker. There was no return address.

"This isn't how the DA's office sends discovery," Amanda said as she stripped away the wrapping paper. "Who brought it over?"

"A messenger," the receptionist answered.

"Did he say who sent it?"

"No."

The box was cardboard without any markings. Amanda lifted the lid. There was no note inside, but there was a videocassette. Moments later Herb Cross and Amanda Jaffe were sitting in the conference room in front of a VCR. A title informed the lawyer and the private investigator that they were going to see a speech that Dr. April Fairweather had given at a conference devoted to abuse survivors three years before. On the screen, a distinguished gentleman stepped behind a podium and introduced Dr. Fairweather in glowing terms. After the introduction Dr. Fairweather took the man's place at the podium and began to speak. A few minutes into the tape, the investigator and the attorney turned to each other.

"Is this for real?" Cross asked.

"I certainly hope so," Amanda answered.

Chapter Twenty-five.

Daniel barely slept Thursday evening worrying about what would happen the next day in the rec room. Fortunately, his bail hearing was set for Friday and early the next morning he was placed in chains and transported two blocks to the Multnomah County Courthouse, where he was lodged in a large open cell in the courthouse jail with other prisoners awaiting court appearances. At 9:45, two sheriff's deputies gave Daniel a suit that Amanda's investigator had brought to the jail for the hearing. As soon as he was dressed the deputies escorted him from the seventh-floor holding area to the courtroom where his case was to be heard.

The Multnomah County Courthouse is a blunt, functional building constructed of gray concrete whose exterior makes no pretensions to art. The interiors are another matter. The Honorable Gerald Opton's fifth-floor courtroom had grand, high ceilings, ornate molding, marble Corinthian columns, and a polished wood dais. The spectator section consisted of several rows of hard wooden benches set back behind a low wooden fence that separated the public from those having business before the court. The benches were packed because of the publicity Daniel's case had received, but Daniel spotted Kate Ross easily. She smiled at him. Daniel was embarrassed to have her see him in chains and all he could manage was a restrained nod.

Several partners from Reed, Briggs occupied the front row of the courtroom. Daniel wondered if the DA was going to use them as witnesses. Seated behind the partners with two other associates was Joe Molinari. He gave Daniel a thumbs-up, which made Daniel smile. The other associates nodded at him and he was relieved to see that some of his friends from the firm were still standing by him. Susan Webster was conspicuously absent.

Daniel scanned the crowd for other familiar faces and was surprised to see a young black man in a charcoal-gray business suit, armed with a pen and a legal pad, whom he recognized as one of the associates Aaron Flynn had brought to Kurt Schroeder's deposition.

When his guards brought Daniel into the courtroom Amanda Jaffe was talking to Deputy District Attorney Mike Greene, a large man who looked like a football or basketball player. Looks were deceiving. Greene was a gentle soul who played competitive chess and the saxophone instead of sports. The defense attorney and the DA had faced each other in court several times and they had started dating after the violent resolution of the Cardoni case.

Amanda heard one of the deputies unlock Daniel's handcuffs and hurried to her client. With his suit on, Daniel looked like any other young attorney, but three days in jail had taken their toll. As soon as his manacles were removed, Amanda led him to the defense table, where they conferred in whispers.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Daniel shook his head. "You've got to get me out of jail. I've been in a fight and the guy has friends. They're going to come after me as soon as I'm back at the Justice Center. What are my chances of making bail?"

Amanda was about to answer when the bailiff rapped his gavel. She touched Daniel on the forearm.

"You're going to be okay."

The Honorable Gerald Opton entered the courtroom and everyone stood. Jerry Opton was one of three judges in the homicide rotation. These judges heard murder cases exclusively for one or two years so they could develop an expertise in this area of law. Assignment to the homicide rotation was usually reserved for experienced judges. Opton had only been on the bench for five years, but he had been a homicide specialist in the Multnomah County District Attorney's Office for ten years. He was a stocky, balding man whose features bore a faint resemblance to the actor Jack Nicholson. Despite being a career prosecutor before his elevation to the bench, Opton was a favorite of defense attorneys and prosecutors alike. He was scrupulously fair, well versed in the law, and ran his court with a firm hand that was softened by a wry sense of humor.

"Are we ready to go?" the judge asked the attorneys.

"Ready for Mr. Ames," Amanda said.

"Ready for the state," Greene intoned.

"Bailiff, please call the case."

The bailiff read the name and number of Daniel's case into the record. For purposes of the bail hearing, the parties had entered into a stipulation that Arthur Briggs had been shot with a .45-caliber bullet and a person other than Briggs had intentionally caused the death. This helped speed up the hearing because the prosecutor did not have to call the medical examiner as a witness. The parties had further stipulated that Daniel worked at Reed, Briggs until the week before the murder when Briggs had fired him. After reading the stipulation into the record, Mike Greene called his first witness.

In response to Greene's questions, Zeke Forbus told the judge that he had been summoned to the crime scene at Starlight Road and had interviewed Dr. April Fairweather. Dr. Fairweather had given him the name and description of a man she had seen leaving the crime scene and the car in which he had driven away. Forbus testified that he ran a check on the car owned by the man Dr. Fairweather named and he discovered that the car was the make and color that Dr. Fairweather had described. Finally, Forbus described Daniel's arrest.

"Good morning, Detective Forbus," Amanda said when the witness was turned over to her for cross-examination. Forbus did not answer. He distrusted defense attorneys and he especially disliked women lawyers.

"Were you present during the arrest of Mr. Ames and the search of his apartment?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did Mr. Ames make any incriminating statements to you or any other police officer or detective following his arrest?"

"He asked for an attorney, right away."

"Can I take it that means that Mr. Ames did not make any statement that incriminated himself in the murder of Mr. Briggs?"

"That is correct."

"Have Mr. Ames's fingerprints been found at the crime scene?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"When Mr. Briggs was found he was lying in a pool of blood, was he not?"

"Yes."

"Did you find any blood on Mr. Ames or his clothing?"

"Mr. Ames washed his clothes. We found them in a washing machine in the basement."

"Your Honor, would you please instruct Detective Forbus to answer my questions?"

Judge Opton smiled. "Come on, Detective. You're not going to score any points this way. Do everyone a favor. Listen to the question and answer it, okay?"

"Sorry, Judge," Forbus answered. "No blood was found on Mr. Ames or his clothing."

"Did you find the murder weapon on Mr. Ames or in his apartment?"

"No."

"You searched his car?"

"Yes."

"Find any blood or guns?"

"No."

"Would it be fair to say that the only evidence you have connecting Daniel Ames with the scene of the crime is the statement of Dr. Fairweather?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. No further questions."

"Mr. Greene?" Judge Opton said.

"We call Dr. April Fairweather to the stand."

Daniel turned sideways and watched Fairweather walk down the aisle toward the witness box. Whenever he saw her he got an impression of a person in hiding. Fairweather kept her eyes front and avoided looking at Daniel. When she took the oath she continued to look away from him.

"Dr. Fairweather," Mike Greene began as soon as the witness was sworn, "what is your profession?"

Fairweather sat erect with her hands folded in her lap and her eyes glued on the deputy district attorney. Her response was so soft that Daniel strained to hear her. The judge asked her to raise her voice and repeat her answer.

"I am a counselor."

"Is that what your doctorate is in?"

"Yes, and my master's degree."

"Is it as a result of your practice that you came to be a client of Arthur Briggs?"

"Yes, sir. A patient sued me. My insurance company employed Mr. Briggs to represent them in cases of this sort."

"Did you ever meet with Mr. Briggs at his office to discuss your case?"

"We met on several occasions."

"While at the office, did you ever meet the defendant, Daniel Ames?"

"Yes. Mr. Briggs introduced me to him. He told me his name and we shook hands."

Daniel remembered that Dr. Fairweather had also refused to meet his eye when Arthur Briggs had introduced them. When he'd shaken her hand it had been damp and cold, and she'd jerked it away as if she was afraid Daniel would trap it.

"Did you see Mr. Ames a second time at the Reed, Briggs offices?"

"Yes."

"When was that?"

"The Friday before Mr. Briggs was killed."

"Please describe that occasion for the judge."

"I was sitting in the waiting area in front of Mr. Briggs's office when the door opened. Mr. Ames stood in the doorway with his back to me speaking to Mr. Briggs."

"Can you remember anything he said?"

"No, but I could tell that he was angry."

"How do you know that he was angry with Mr. Briggs?"

"I could hear Mr. Briggs shouting at him, then Mr. Ames slammed the door. When he turned around he looked furious. Then he saw me and Mr. Briggs's secretary and he rushed away."

"Did you have a third occasion to encounter Mr. Ames?"

"Yes, sir."

"When was that?"

"The night of the murder."

"Where were you?"

"At a cottage on Starlight Road."

"What time was it?"

"A little after eight."

"How do you know that?"

"Mr. Briggs's secretary called me earlier in the day and told me that there had been a development in my case and Mr. Briggs needed to meet with me at the Starlight Road address at eight-fifteen that evening. I'm always punctual and I checked the clock on my dashboard when I turned into Starlight Road."

"What did you see as you approached the cottage?"

"I saw Mr. Ames. He was running and he looked upset. When he saw my car, he threw his arm in front of his face. Then he dashed to his own car and drove away at a high rate of speed."

"How can you be sure that it was Mr. Ames you saw at the cottage?"

"As I said, I'd met him before and he ran right into my headlight beams. It was like watching someone on a stage standing in a spotlight."

"And there is no doubt in your mind that it was Daniel Ames, the defendant, whom you saw running from the cottage on Starlight Road?"

"None."

"For the record, do you see Mr. Ames in court today?"

"Yes."

"Please point him out for the judge."

Fairweather shifted in her seat and pointed her finger at Daniel, but she still would not look him in the eye.

"After Mr. Ames drove away, what did you do?"

Fairweather paused before answering the prosecutor's question in the same soft monotone in which she had spoken during all of Greene's direct examination.

"I parked my car and entered the house. The lights were off and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Then I saw Mr. Briggs lying on the floor. I walked over to him and I knew at once that he was dead."

"How did you know that?"

"He was lying in a pool of blood. I knelt down and felt for a pulse, but there was none."

"What did you do next?"

"I left the house and used my cell phone to call 911."

"Thank you, Dr. Fairweather. Your witness, Ms. Jaffe."

"What is your date of birth, Dr. Fairweather?" Amanda asked in a friendly tone.

"July twenty-ninth, 1957," Fairweather answered, averting her eyes.

"And where were you born?"

"Crawford, Idaho."

"What is your father's name?"

Daniel thought he saw Fairweather flinch.

"Herman Garlock," she answered, her voice dropping again.

"And your mother?"

"Linda Garlock."

"If your parents are both named Garlock, why are you named Fairweather?"

"I changed my name legally five years ago."

"What was your given name?"

"Florence Garlock."

"When is the last time you spoke to either of your parents?"

"I don't know the exact date. It would have been around 1978."

"You haven't had any contact with them for more than twenty years?"

"That's correct."

"Can you tell me why?"

"I did not wish to contact them."

"Wouldn't you agree it's rather unusual for a daughter to have no contact with her parents for twenty years?"

"Objection, relevance," Mike Greene said.

"Is the witness's relationship to her parents relevant to this case, Ms. Jaffe?" Judge Opton asked.

"It is, Your Honor, but I'll withdraw the question for now."

Amanda turned her attention back to the witness.

"Do you have any siblings?"

"I have a younger sister, Dorothy."

"Has your sister maintained a relationship with your parents?"

"Yes."

Amanda made a few notes, then switched to another subject.

"I'd like to talk to you about your educational background. What school or schools awarded you your master's and Ph.D.?"

"Templeton University."

"Where did you receive your undergraduate degree?"

"I don't have one."

Amanda looked surprised. "I'm a little confused," she said. "Before you can get a master's and a doctorate, don't you have to graduate from college?"

"That was not a requirement at Templeton."

"Is Templeton University a regular school with a campus and a football team?"

"Templeton is a correspondence university. I attended by mail."

"How long did it take you to get a master's degree and a Ph.D. by mail?"

"About three years."

"Each?"

"Total."

Amanda had Judge Opton's attention and Daniel noticed that Mike Greene was starting to look nervous.

"What major are your degrees in?"

"Theocentric counseling."

"I don't believe I've heard of that. Could you explain theocentric counseling to Judge Opton?"

"Theocentric is God-centered. There's no specific religious connection," Fairweather said without turning to the judge. Daniel had the impression that she was not speaking to anyone in particular, as if she was distancing herself from what was happening in the courtroom.

"Dr. Fairweather, is Templeton an accredited university like Oregon State?"

"I don't believe so."

"And you're not licensed by any state agency, are you?"

"No."

"Let's go back to your parents. Was your father abusive to you when you were a child?"

"Objection. This is totally irrelevant."

Amanda stood. "To the contrary, Your Honor. If you will give me a little leeway here, you will see that this line of questioning goes directly to the issue of this witness's credibility and competence."

Judge Opton took a moment to decide what to do. He did not look happy.

"I'm going to let you continue based solely on your assertion that you can prove relevance. If I'm not convinced pretty quickly, I'll uphold Mr. Greene's objection."

"Thank you, Your Honor. Dr. Fairweather, was your father abusive?"

"Yes."

"In what way?"

"Sexually, physically, and emotionally."

"Since what age?"

"I don't know exactly. My earliest memory would be somewhere around four or five."

"When you say `physical abuse' what do you mean?"

"Hitting, choking, being locked in closets," she answered in a flat, emotionless tone that reminded Daniel of the way he might describe something he saw on the evening news.

"And `sexual abuse'?"

"Touching, intercourse."

"He had intercourse with you at four?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

"Sodomy, oral sex. He . . . he used objects. Bottles, other things."

"How long did this go on?"

"Until I left the family."

"How old were you then?"

"Twenty-one."

"So this went on for 17 years?"

"Yes."

"Every year?"

"Every week."

"Did you report this physical and sexual abuse to anyone?"

"I . . . I may have tried to report it to my teachers. I can't remember."

"Would it surprise you to learn that my investigator has spoken to several of your teachers and they have no memory of your making any such complaint?"

"Like I said, I can't remember if I did or not."

"Did your mother know what was going on?"

"She participated."

"How?"

"She performed oral sex on me, inserted objects in my vagina, my rectal area."

"What kind of objects?"

"A broom handle, a gun."

"A gun?"

"Yes."

"What kind of gun?"

"I don't know."

"Was it a rifle or a pistol?"

"I can't remember."

"Was your sister also molested?"

"I think so."

"Did she ever complain about this abuse?"

"She has no memory of it."

"But you think she was abused sexually?"

"We shared a bedroom from six to seventeen or eighteen and I believe my father came into the bedroom and had sex with my sister."

"How often?"

"Two to three times a week."

"And she doesn't remember this?"

"She denies it."

"Ms. Jaffe," Judge Opton interrupted. He was obviously upset. "Where are you going with this?"

"A few more questions and it will all be clear, Your Honor. I promise."

"It better be, because I am this close to ending this examination."

Amanda turned her full attention to the witness and went for the kill.

"Other than your parents, were you ever sexually abused by anyone else?"

"Yes."

"How many people molested you?"

"I'm not exactly certain."

"Can you give the judge a ballpark figure?"

"Maybe fifteen. Maybe as many as thirty-five."

Judge Opton frowned.

"Can you identify any of the other people who sexually molested you, these fifteen to thirty-five people?"

"No."

"Were they men or women?"

"It's hard to say."

"Why is that?"

"They were wearing robes with hoods. They wore masks."

The judge leaned forward.

"Can you describe these costumes?"

"They were black-hooded robes, they reached the floor. When I was little it seemed to me that the people could fly, that they floated instead of walking. Now I realize that it just seemed that way because the robes covered their feet."

"Can you remember anything else about the costumes?"

"They had circular medallions."

"Did the medallions symbolize something?"

"They symbolized the fact that these people worshiped Satan."

"So you were molested by Satan worshipers?"

"Yes."

Amanda now had the judge's full attention. Mike Greene struggled to appear nonchalant, as if mass molestations by devil worshipers were a commonplace occurrence in his life.

"Where did these attacks take place?"

"Sometimes in a barn. I also remember the basement of a church."

"Can you give the judge some idea of what happened at these meetings? For instance, why don't you tell him the worst experience you can remember."

"One time I was taken to the barn and tied down to a table and an abortion was performed on me . . ."

"An abortion? You were pregnant?"

"Yes."

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen."

"And they aborted you?"

"Yes. And then I was forced to eat the fetus of my . . . my child."

Judge Opton struggled to maintain his judicial composure.

"How often were you taken to these satanic group meetings?"

"About once a month."

"And how old were you the last time you went?"

"I believe I was eighteen or nineteen."

"Was your sister also taken to these ceremonies?"

"Yes, but she denies it. She says she has no memory of them."

"Were other people's children at these meetings?"

"I remember two or three."

"Was anything done to these other children?"

"They were put in boxes with insects," Dr. Fairweather answered in the same monotone she'd used to answer all of Amanda's questions. "Snakes were made to crawl on them, electric shock was used, they were made to eat parts of animals, photographs were made of them having sex with adults."

"Were there animal sacrifices at these meetings?"

"Yes. I remember cats, dogs. Once there was a sheep."

"What did they do?"

"They cut the belly of the animal open. Sometimes they hung it from the ceiling, cut open the belly, the organs would fall on the people, or the children were forced to eat it."

"Were there human sacrifices?"

"Yes."

"Where were they?"

"In a barn."

"Do you know where the barn was?"

"It was in the country, way out. There were high trees all around and the only light was in the barn from lanterns. Inside, there were blackout curtains to keep out sunlight or to prevent people from seeing in."

"What happened in the barn on the first occasion when you saw a human sacrifice?"

"This man was tied up from the rafters with his hands above his head."

"Was he clothed?"

"No, he was naked."

"Was he screaming or fighting?"

"Yes."

"What happened to this man?"

"The people took knives and flayed his skin off."

"Was he alive when this happened?"

"Yes."

"How many people were involved?"

"I can't remember. More than fifteen."

"And they all were involved in skinning this man alive?"

"Some were chanting and playing drums and calling on demons."

"Do you know why the victims were selected for the ritual?"

"They were selected because they were Christians."

"What happened to the body after it was taken down?"

"There was a ceremony in which the blood was drunk from a chalice, people had sex, that kind of behavior."

"What did the blood represent?"

"Whoever drank the blood of a Christian got that person's power."

"What were these satanic cult members hoping to achieve by following Satan?"

"They wanted to live with Satan for eternity and have everything they wanted, and when Satan overcame the world, you would be a chosen one."

"How were the victims found?"

"The way I understand it, there were people in the cult who were programmed to capture Christians for these ceremonies."

"Were they captured at random off of the street?"

"That's how I understood it."

"Flaying someone alive is murder, isn't it, Dr. Fairweather?"

"Yes."

"And these people probably had families who would worry about them?"

"I suppose."

"Did you ever tell the police about these horrible things that happened to you and these other people?"

"No, I couldn't."

"Why is that?"

"I was terrified and scared for my life."

"Well, you left the cult at twenty-one and you're in your forties now. So you've been away from your parents and these people for twenty years. Didn't it ever occur to you to tell anyone about this after you broke away?"

"I wasn't able to tell anyone."

"Why is that?"

"I was led to believe from the time I was very young that there were members of the cult who could read my mind and that I was constantly being watched and . . ."

"Yes?"

"I believe there were some medical mind-control experiments performed on me by doctors who were members of the cult."

"What was the purpose of these experiments?"

"To make me behave and do what they wanted."

"What were these experiments?"

"I remember having electrical shock. I remember people giving me certain words or codes or phrases and then telling me what I needed to do when I heard them."

"Where did this happen?"

"In a place that was like an operating room. There were bright lights over my head. I was naked and strapped down. They attached electrodes to my head. That's all I remember."

"How did these experiments work? What did they do to you?"

"There was a phrase said and they would say, `When you hear this phrase you will do thus and such. Do you understand?' And no matter what I said, they would say, `We don't believe you,' and I would get more shocks. And at some point they would stop. I guess when they thought I was under control."

"Were you ever given these codes or phrases?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"On the phone or someone in the street would give me a sign. They might say the phrase and I would have to do what I was told."

"What types of things were you told?"

"If I saw red I was supposed to try and kill myself, but not succeed."

"Fake a suicide?"

"Yes."

"Were you ever ordered to do this?"

"Yes, several times."

"How did you attempt suicide?"

"I cut my wrists."

"How many times?"

"I can't say for sure."

"Were you ever hospitalized for this?"

"Twice. I was sent for psychiatric treatment."

Amanda Jaffe was about to ask another question when Mike Greene stood and buttoned his suit jacket.

"Your Honor, I think this might be a good time for a recess."

"I agree, Mr. Greene. We'll recess for fifteen minutes. Dr. Fairweather, you can step down, but you'll have to be back in court when we reconvene. I'll see counsel in chambers."

The judge left the courtroom through a door behind the dais. Daniel turned to Amanda and looked at her wide-eyed.

"She's nuts," he said.

"Yes, she is," Amanda answered with a comforting smile. "And we are sitting in the catbird seat. You hang tight while I talk to the judge. Hopefully, I'll have good news when I come out."

"How did you know about that Satan stuff?"

"I'll tell you later."

Amanda and Mike Greene left the courtroom and Joe Molinari walked up to the bar of the court. One of the guards told Joe they could talk across the low fence but could not touch or exchange anything.

"Thanks for coming," Daniel said.

"Hey, dude, this is the best show in town, and your lawyer kicks ass. You and me are going to be at happy hour this afternoon."

Daniel knew better than to get his hopes up, so he just smiled.

"What is going on here?" Judge Opton asked Mike Greene as soon as the judge and the two attorneys were seated in his chambers.

"Believe me, I had no idea she was going to say that stuff."

Opton shook his head. "Just when you thought you've seen it all. Well, Mike, what are we going to do?"

Greene exhaled. "Fairweather and Forbus are my only witnesses. You've heard everything I've got."

"Are you going to argue that you've proved by clear and convincing evidence that Mr. Ames murdered Arthur Briggs? Because you've got to do that before I'll deny bail."

"She still saw what she saw, Judge," Greene answered halfheartedly.

"Your witness sees a lot of things. What's your position, Amanda?"

"The only evidence connecting Daniel to the murder is the testimony of Dr. Fairweather and I don't believe she's a credible witness."

"You don't have to be diplomatic. We're not on the record. The woman is a total fruitcake. Fucking electrodes. Jesus, Mike, where did you dig her up?"

Greene didn't answer.

"Okay, here's what we'll do when we go back outside," Opton said. "You'll end your cross, Amanda, and you'll rest, Mike. You can argue against bail, but I'm going to grant it, understood?"

Greene nodded. Opton turned to Amanda.

"What can your client afford?"

"Daniel's on his own and he's almost broke, Judge. As you heard, Reed, Briggs just fired him. His mother doesn't have a dime and he doesn't know where his father is. He worked his way through college and law school, so he's up to his nose in debt and he doesn't have much in savings. I'm taking the case pro bono."

Opton's eyebrows raised. Amanda ignored his surprise and continued.

"I think you should release him on his own recognizance. Daniel swears he's innocent and there isn't any credible evidence that links him to the murder. Even if you believed Dr. Fairweather, the best you have is Daniel running from the scene, but no evidence that he had a murder weapon or shot Briggs."

"Mike?"

Greene looked defeated. "I'll go on the record against recog, but I can't make a great argument against it, right now."

"Okay. I'll let you protect your office. You can make an impassioned plea. Just don't go on too long." Opton stood up. "Let's get this over with."

Mike Greene looked grim when he emerged from the judge's chambers and Amanda Jaffe's face betrayed no emotion. As soon as Amanda sat down she turned to Daniel.

"Judge Opton decided that Fairweather is nuts. He can't take her word for the ID, so Mike has no evidence connecting you to the scene of the crime. You'll be out of jail by noon."

"It's over? I'm free?"

"Don't get too excited. You're still charged with murder, but the judge is going to release you on your own word. You're going to be recogged, so you won't have to post bail."

"Thank you," Daniel said. "You're amazing."

"I am good," Amanda replied, "but we wouldn't have won without your guardian angel."

"Did you have any idea this was going to happen?" Mike Greene asked Zeke Forbus. "Because I love to have a little advance notice whenever I'm going to make a total fool out of myself in court. It gives me time to buy a disguise so I can make a quick escape."

Greene rarely got upset and Forbus was rarely embarrassed, but today had not been a normal day.

"Believe me, Mike, I was as surprised as you are. Fairweather seemed a little uptight when I talked to her, but I had no idea she was crazy."

Greene turned his chair toward the window in his office so he would not have to look at the homicide detective. A chessboard on his credenza displayed a position in the Queen's Gambit Declined that the prosecutor was studying. He stared at it for a moment in hopes of distancing himself from his real-life problems, but it was no use. He swung his chair back so he was face-to-face with Forbus.

"Where do we go from here, Zeke?"

"I still think he did it, so I'm going to try and find a way to prove Ames was really at the cottage."

"Any idea how you're going to do that?"

Forbus shook his head.

"Well think, damn it. We've got to move. The preliminary hearing is set for next week. Normally, I'd bypass it by getting a secret indictment out of the grand jury, but I've got nothing to show them. I'm going to have to dismiss the charges against Ames if we don't come up with something fast."

Chapter Twenty-Six.

Daniel was so stunned at the speed with which his bail hearing ended that he barely heard the legal arguments. As soon as the judge ruled, the guards took him back to jail, where he waited to be processed out. Daniel had spent the past week tamping down his emotions, but he finally let himself believe that he would soon be out of jail. When the numbness wore off he became euphoric and he stayed high until it dawned on him that he was still the defendant in a murder case. He had been freed because there was no corroboration for April Fairweather's testimony, but what would happen when the police talked to Renee Gilchrist? Would she tell them about his phone call on the afternoon of the murder? Was that enough evidence to change the judge's mind about bail? By the time Daniel's property was returned, depression had set in.

Amanda had arranged to have the jail release Daniel through the garage so he could avoid the press. She told him that someone would be waiting for him. Daniel expected to see Amanda's investigator, but Kate Ross was standing in the shadows of the garage when he walked out of the jail. She flashed a big smile and Daniel's depression evaporated as soon as she hugged him.

"You don't smell too bad," Kate joked after she let him go.

Daniel's face split with a huge grin. "Neither do you."

"Come on. Let's get something to eat," Kate said. Daniel had not thought about food all day, but he was suddenly famished.

"You up for baloney on white or something a little more exotic?" Kate asked.

"I'm up for anything that is not baloney on white."

Kate's car was parked a block away. As they walked to it Daniel savored the heat of the sun, the brush of the breeze on his face, and the knowledge that he could walk to Kate's car or not, as he chose.

"How are you feeling?" Kate asked when they were on the road.

"Okay. I sort of shut down when I was in jail. It's going to take me a while to believe I'm really out."

"Amanda's good," Kate reassured him. "She'll keep you out."

"I'll say she's good." Then Daniel remembered Amanda's cryptic remark. "When I thanked her for winning the bail hearing Amanda said that I have a guardian angel. Do you know what she meant?"

Kate's smile disappeared. "Yeah, I do. We talked about it this morning. Amanda destroyed Fairweather because she received a videotape of a speech Fairweather gave a few years ago. She was talking to a group of so-called satanic ritual abuse survivors and she told them that she had been a victim of a satanic cult. Most of what Amanda used in her cross was in Fairweather's speech."

"Who gave Amanda the tape?"

"It was sent anonymously. She thought that I sent it."

"But you didn't?"

"I've seen the tape. It was in Fairweather's case file at the office," Kate said in obvious distress. "I wanted to tell Amanda about it, but I couldn't for the same reason I couldn't investigate Fairweather for Amanda."

"Hey, you've done more for me than anyone could," Daniel reassured her. "I'd still be in jail if you didn't ask Amanda to take my case."

"Then you understand? Fairweather is a client. There's a conflict."

"I would have thought less of you if you'd violated your trust."

Kate looked relieved.

"Does Amanda have any idea who sent the tape?" Daniel asked.

"No, but everyone at the conference knew about it. So did everyone at Reed, Briggs who was working on the case and anyone they told. Then there's Aaron Flynn and the people in his firm. I don't know if they were aware of the tape before the hearing, but Flynn's investigators are good."

"Boy, you've certainly narrowed the number of suspects."

Kate smiled, relieved that Daniel was not mad at her.

Daniel became quiet.

"What are you thinking?" Kate asked.

"That this isn't the first anonymous message someone has sent recently."

"You're talking about the Kaidanov study."

Daniel nodded.

"I thought about that," Kate said. "We don't know that the same person sent both packages. Is there a connection between the Insufort case and Fairweather's?"

"I can think of two. Briggs was the defense attorney in both cases. He told Fairweather to come to the cottage at eight-fifteen and he wanted me there at eight, which means he wanted us there at the same time."

"What's the other connection between Fairweather and the Insufort litigation?"

"Aaron Flynn. He represents the plaintiffs in both cases."

Daniel suddenly noticed that they were almost at Kate's house.

"I thought we were going to lunch."

"We are. Amanda didn't want you out in public, so we're eating at my place. You're staying with me, too. Your place is a mess. The cops trashed it when they searched. I didn't think you'd want to spend your first day of freedom with a mop and dustpan. I've got a nice guest room and Herb Cross brought over a valise with clothes and other things. You'll even be able to use your own toothbrush."

Kate pulled into her driveway and parked.

"You're a good friend," Daniel said warmly.

"That I am, and you'll need a few if we're going to get you out of this mess."

_ _ _

Daniel showered and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. When he opened the bathroom door he smelled brewing coffee. He followed the aroma into the kitchen and found Kate reading the afternoon edition of the newspaper. She looked up and smiled.

"Can I fix you some eggs and toast?"

"Yeah, thanks."

Kate walked to the stove. "How do you like your bacon?"

"On a plate," Daniel cracked. Kate's laugh brought Daniel an unexpected degree of pleasure.

Kate took three thick strips and laid them in a pan. Daniel sat at the kitchen table and read the story about his case in the late edition of the paper.

"I thought The Oregonian was fair," Kate said as she scrambled the eggs. "They wrote that Amanda cast serious doubts on Fairweather's identification and they pointed out that there wasn't any other evidence connecting you to the murder."

That should have made Daniel happy, but it didn't. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop when the police interviewed Renee.

Kate placed a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and toast in front of Daniel, then brought him a cup of coffee.

"I'd never guess that you had this domestic streak," Daniel joked.

"Don't get used to it," Kate answered, tossing a set of keys next to Daniel's plate. "You're on your own after tonight."

"What are these?"

"A spare set of keys to my house. I'm going to be away for a few days and you'll need them."

"Where are you going?"

"To Arizona."

Daniel looked confused.

"While you were getting yourself arrested the cops found out the identity of the dead man at the lab. It wasn't Dr. Kaidanov."

"Who was it?"

"An Arizona lawyer named Gene Arnold."

"What was he doing at the lab?"

"No one knows. His partner doesn't even know what he was doing in Oregon. Arnold went to New York on business, saw a photograph in an art gallery of two people walking across Pioneer Square, and flew here. He checked into the Benson and disappeared. Now we know where he went, but not why. I'm betting the answer is in Arizona."

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

Kate rented a car at the airport and drove to Desert Grove under a vast blue sky along a desolate highway surrounded by desert and red-rock mesas. She appreciated the stark beauty of the scenery, but for someone who had spent her life in the Pacific Northwest there was too much sun and too little green. Shortly before one, Kate parked in front of a flat, modern, one-story building on the outskirts of town arnold & kellogg, attorneys-at-law was stenciled in gold on a plate-glass window that fronted the street.

Benjamin Kellogg, a big-boned Scandinavian in his early thirties with wheat-colored hair, ushered her down the hall to his office.

"Thank you for meeting with me on a Saturday," Kate said when they were seated.

"Gene wasn't just my law partner, Ms. Ross. I'd appreciate hearing anything you can tell me that will help me understand what happened."

"Quite frankly, no one-the police, my firm, no one-has any clue to why your partner died where he did. That's why I'm here."

"I'll help if I can," Kellogg assured her.

"My firm is defending Geller Pharmaceuticals in a lawsuit that questions the safety of Insufort, one of its products. Information about a study allegedly conducted by our client surfaced during a deposition. The results of the study supported the plaintiff's claim that the drug is harmful. Soon after the existence of the report was discovered, the lab where the study was conducted was destroyed in an arson fire. Your partner's body was found in the ruins. Was Gene Arnold or your firm connected in any way with this litigation?"

"No."

"Can you think of any reason for Mr. Arnold to come to Oregon?"

Kellogg looked completely baffled. "I'm sorry, Ms. Ross, but I have no idea why Gene was in Oregon. We don't have any cases there."

"Has Mr. Arnold ever mentioned friends or business acquaintances who live in Oregon?"

"No, but Gene hired me six years ago, fresh out of law school. I only made partner last year. I don't know much about things that happened here before I moved from Phoenix, except for the murders, of course. They were news statewide."

"What murders?"

"Gene's wife and the wife of our biggest client were kidnapped and murdered. It probably wasn't a big deal out of state, but it was major news in Arizona." Kellogg shook his head. "It was really horrible. First, Martin's wife was killed, then Gene's. Neither one of them ever really got over it."

Kate leaned forward. "This is the first I've heard about these murders. Can you fill me in?"

"I don't know much more than what I read. Like I said, this was before I moved to Desert Grove, about seven years ago. I didn't know Gene then, or Martin Alvarez."

"Who is Martin Alvarez?"

"He's the wealthiest man in Laurel County. A year or so before I got here his wife was murdered during a bungled kidnapping attempt. Paul McCann, a local guy, was arrested. Then Gene's wife was kidnapped and murdered. For a while Gene was a suspect in his wife's murder, but they dropped the charges. It was a horrible time for Gene. He was still a mess during the first year I worked here."

"Did they ever catch Mrs. Arnold's killer?"

"No."

"Can you give me any more details?"

"Not really. It was all over by the time I started working for Gene and he never talked about it."

"Who would know more about the murders?"

Kellogg hesitated. "There's Martin, but I'm not certain he'll see you."

"Why is that?"

"Martin worshiped his wife. He was devastated by her death. From what I hear he was very gregarious before she was killed. Everyone says that he threw the best parties; he was very active in the community and a great contributor to local charities. That all changed after his wife died. He's very reclusive now. He rarely leaves his hacienda, even to conduct business."

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

The Alvarez ranch was several miles out of town. There was no marker on the highway and Kate would have missed the turn onto the dirt track that led to the hacienda if Benjamin Kellogg had not given her precise directions. Kate drove on through a swirl of dust, but there was no sign of civilization. On both sides of the road clumps of desert plants clung to the arid and rocky ground and giant cacti stretched their arms toward a blue sky marred only by occasional wisps of clean white cloud. Kate was beginning to wonder if she'd made the right turn when an expanse of brown adobe walls materialized in the distance.

A guard inspected Kate's identification before directing her to a parking area in front of a massive whitewashed Spanish-style house with a red tile roof. She noticed another armed guard as she walked up a flagstone path to a front door of carved oak, which opened before she could knock.

"Miss Ross?" asked a slender, light-boned woman of middle age dressed in a plain dress and comfortable shoes.

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman smiled. "I'm Anna Cordova, Mr. Alvarez's assistant. He's out at the pool."

Cordova inquired politely about Kate's plane trip as she led the investigator across a tiled entryway, down four wide hardwood steps, and across a sunken living room. A blanket with an intricate American Indian design decorated one wall and an oil painting of a cattle drive decorated another; a glass case in a corner displayed pre-Columbian art. Kate walked by a stone fireplace and a painting that looked like a Georgia O'Keeffe.

Outside, into the heat again. But this time there was shade from a roof that overhung a wide patio of brownish-red Spanish tile. At the end of the patio was a pool wide enough for six lap lanes and deep enough at one end for a diving board. An armed guard stood in the shadows created by the high wall that surrounded the compound. His eyes followed Kate as she crossed the veranda, but Kate lost interest in him quickly. Her attention was drawn to a heavyset man in white cotton pants and a loose-fitting short-sleeve shirt who was seated under an umbrella at a circular glass table, staring toward the pool.

Martin Alvarez stood when he heard the women approach. Kate guessed that he was six two. A black eye patch covered his right eye and a scar ran across his temple, reddish white against his dark, pockmarked skin. There were streaks of gray in his jet-black hair. A bushy mustache covered his upper lip. Alvarez's shoulders were thick and his forearms were heavily muscled. The investigator's immediate impression was that he was a hard, unforgiving man.

"Martin, Miss Ross is here," Anna Cordova said.

Alvarez crossed the pool deck with a determined stride.

"Gene is dead?" he asked without preliminaries.

Kate nodded.

"There is no mistake?" Alvarez asked. His face betrayed no emotions.

"No."

"The details, please. And do not spare my feelings. I am hardened to violence. Nothing you tell me will be worse than what I've already experienced."

"Mr. Arnold was killed with a sharp instrument, probably a knife. He didn't suffer. His death would have been quick."

"Why did it take you so long to identify him? Kellogg reported him missing weeks ago."

"His body was found in the ruins of a laboratory in the woods, several miles from downtown Portland. Mr. Arnold's body had to be identified through dental records because the body burned with the building."

There was a quick intake of breath.

"He was dead before the fire was set," Kate added quickly to put Alvarez's mind at ease.

"Why don't you continue your conversation by the pool." Cordova pointed to the glass-topped table. "I'll have Miguel bring you some refreshments. Would you like an iced tea?" she asked Kate.

"That would be fine, thank you."

Alvarez walked back to the table. Kate sat across from him under the shade of a large umbrella.

"Do you have any suspects?" Alvarez asked.

"No. The police don't even know what Mr. Arnold was doing in Oregon."

"I don't either. Gene was in New York to obtain financing for one of my business ventures. I expected him back as soon as he was finished."

"So he wasn't supposed to go to Portland after he was through in New York?"

"No."

"Have you ever had any dealings with the Geller Pharmaceutical Company?"

"No."

"Can you think of any reason why Mr. Arnold would be interested in primate research?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

Kate gave Alvarez a brief explanation of the Insufort case. Alvarez blanched when she mentioned Aaron Flynn's name.

"Is something wrong?" Kate asked.

"Seven years ago a man named Paul McCann murdered my wife. Aaron Flynn was his attorney."

"Was Flynn a big man with red hair?"

"Yes."

Kate told Alvarez about the Bernier photograph.

"My best guess is that Mr. Arnold came to Oregon to talk to one of the people in the picture. Maybe Flynn is in it. Do you know why that would have been such a shock?"

Alvarez's brow furrowed and Kate thought that he looked genuinely perplexed.

"I can only guess that seeing Flynn brought back memories of his wife's murder," Alvarez answered after some thought.

"Were the murders of your wife and Mr. Arnold's related?"

"Yes."

Kate let that rest for a moment.

"How did Mr. Arnold get along with Flynn when they were living in Desert Grove?"

"I don't think they saw much of each other outside of professional meetings," Alvarez answered stiffly. Then he paused, lost in thought, before shaking his head. "None of this makes sense."

"It might help me to make sense of it if I knew more about what happened here, seven years ago."

Alvarez hesitated. Kate could only guess at how painful his memories must be. After a moment he fingered his scar.

"If you think it would help . . . ?"

"I don't know if it will, but we have nothing to go on now."

"I've spent seven years thinking about the murder of my wife, trying to piece together what happened. I'll tell you what I know and what I learned from others if it will help you catch the person who murdered Gene." He pointed at his sightless eye. "He may be the same person who did this to me."

Chapter Twenty-Nine.