Wild Justice

S8, signorina.

Tony opened the front door and flipped on the lights.

This is lovely, Amanda said as she admired the stained-glass windows above the front door.

It was the windows that sold me. The place was built in 1912, and those are original.

There was a television, a VCR and a stereo in the living room, but most of the furnishings in the house were in keeping with its age. Tony led Amanda through the dining room. The dining table was polished mahogany, ornate molding created a border for the high ceiling and the cherrywood mantel over the fireplace was decorated with intricately carved cherubs, dragons and devils.

Is all this original, too?

Mostly, yeah. It's all from the general period.

Tony flipped on the kitchen light and pointed to a table near the stove. Why don't you sit over there while I prepare spaghetti and meatballs alla Fiori. Do you like garlic bread?

I love it.

Then you're in for a treat.

This was as good as advertised, Amanda said after finishing a second piece of garlic bread. She felt fat and drowsy after consuming too much pasta and two glasses of Chianti.

Some more wine?

Just a little. I've got to drive home.

Tony topped off her glass and watched as Amanda took a sip. She caught him looking and smiled to let him know that she didn't mind. Amanda could not remember spending a more relaxing evening with a man.

They carried their wineglasses into the living room.

How's work coming? Tony asked as he lit the logs in the fireplace.

I' m pretty busy.

You seem to like what you're doing.

Yeah, for the most part, she answered wistfully. I' d like more responsibility.

You're working on the Cardoni case, aren't you?

A little. The motion to suppress is set for Monday, and Dad's got me researching it. And I've gone out with Herb Cross, our investigator, the guy you met at the hospital.

How's it going? Tony asked when they were settled on the couch.

I think we're going to get clobbered at the motion.

How come?

Do you understand what happens at a motion to suppress?

I watch The Practice when I get a chance.

Amanda took another sip of wine. Her stocking feet were up on Tony's coffee table and she could feel the heat from the fire on her soles. She decided that she wouldn't mind staying like this for a long time.

Police usually need a warrant when they search a house, but there are exceptions. One of them comes into play when an officer doesn't have time to get a warrant because the evidence he's looking for might be destroyed or moved while he goes to a judge. That's what the cop who searched the cabin is claiming, and we can't find a way of getting around that.

Tony was curled up on the couch beside Amanda. His hair was mussed, and the wine had put a glow in his cheeks. Amanda had a hard time keeping her eyes off him.

What happens if you lose? Tony asked.

The state gets to introduce all of the evidence it took from the mountain cabin and Cardoni's house in Portland, and our case is in big trouble.

If Cardoni killed all of those people, maybe that isn't such a bad thing.

That's one way to look at it.

But really, if he's that cold, that cruel, wouldn't you want him locked away someplace where he couldn't hurt people?

That's a question of punishment. It's for a judge to decide. You don't ask for the personal history of everyone you operate on, do you? If you found out a patient was a serial killer, would you refuse to treat him?

I guess not. Tony looked at the fire for a moment. I wonder how a guy like that thinks. I mean, if he did it. Everyone has a dark side, but what he did ...

Some people just aren't made like the rest of us, Tony. I sat in when Dad talked to Albert Small. He's a psychiatrist Dad consults with on tough cases.

What did he say?

The serial killer who murdered the people at the cabin is called an organized nonsocial. They are very adept at fitting into society and have above-average intelligence, respectable looks and an uncanny ability to tune in to the needs of others, a skill they use to manipulate people and disarm potential victims. They also have active fantasy lives and visualize their crimes in advance. That helps them anticipate errors that could lead to their capture.

I guess Cardoni fits that profile, right? He's a medical doctor and a good-looking man with above-average intelligence, and he was able to convince a bright woman like Justine Castle to marry him.

That's true, but there are several differences between the profile and Cardoni. His outrageous behavior attracts attention. He botched operations, used drugs blatantly and made himself generally hated.

I see what you mean, Tony said thoughtfully. He sure didn't anticipate errors that could lead to his capture. Leaving that mug and scalpel with his fingerprints at the scene of the murder was really dumb.

If he left them.

What do you mean?

Cardoni claims that he's being framed. Planting those objects at the scene would be a smart move if Cardoni isn't the killer and the real killer wanted to set him up.

Do you believe him? Do you think that's what's happening?

Amanda sighed. I don't know. We pointed this out to Dr. Small, and he had an alternative explanation. Organized nonsocials are people who have never grown out of the ' me' stage that most children are in until they're socialized. They think only of their own needs and see themselves as the center of the universe. They can't conceive of themselves as ever being wrong, which leads them to have very poor judgment on occasion. Their very belief in their own infallibility leads them to make mistakes. Add cocaine use to an already impaired ability to make sound judgments and you end up with someone who leaves incriminating evidence at a crime scene because he can't conceive of being caught.

Amanda stifled a yawn, then blushed and laughed.

Oh, my gosh. I' m boring you, Tony said with a grin. Should I tell you some dirty jokes or juggle?

Amanda gave him a sleepy smile. It's not you. I' m just wiped from the workout and my trial.

She yawned again.

Tony laughed. Time for you to go home. Do you feel awake enough to drive?

Amanda wondered if Tony would offer his guest bedroom if she answered in the negative and where that might lead. Before she could get too deep into those woods, Tony stood up.

Let me fix you a cup of espresso, he said. I make it strong enough to get you to the moon and back without blinking.

Frank was working in the den when Amanda came home a little after eleven. She stuck her head in the door and said, Hi.

Frank looked up and smiled. Where've you been?

Remember Tony Fiori?

Dominic's son?

I had dinner with him.

Really? I haven't seen Tony since ... It must be at least ten years. How did you two get together?

I talked to him at the Y a few weeks ago. Then we bumped into each other at St. Francis after Herb and I interviewed Justine Castle. We had coffee and he asked me out a few days later.

What was he doing at St. Francis?

He's a doctor.

No kidding.

Why are you so surprised?

He had a tough time after Dom died. I heard he dropped out of school. I' m glad to hear that things have worked out for him. Did you have a good time?

Very.

How' d your trial go?

Amanda gave Frank a thumbs-up, then told him about the case.

All right, Frank answered enthusiastically just as the phone rang.

Frank held up his hand and answered it.

Is this Frank Jaffe? a man asked.

Amanda looked at him expectantly, hoping that Tony was calling to say good night. Frank said, This is he, as he shook his head.

I' m beat, Dad. I' m going to hit the hay, Amanda told him, and headed to her room. Frank waved at her, then returned to the phone.

What can I do for you? Frank asked the caller.

It's what I can do for you.

Oh?

I know something about the Cardoni case. We should talk.

Chapter 20

On hot summer nights the Carrington, Vermont, marching band performed concerts in a gazebo on the town square, and you could lie back in the grass, look up at the stars and believe that you were living in a slower, more peaceful time when kids ate ice cream and played tag and adults whiled away the time strolling arm in arm down by Hobart Creek. On those nights the darkness hid the fact that many of the quaint nineteenth-century shops that surrounded the square were out of business or barely hanging on. In daylight there was no way to hide the poverty of the town where Justine Castle had grown up.

As Herb Cross drove to James Knoll's farmhouse, he wondered what Justine's life had been like in this town of trailer parks, taverns and failing mills, and he hoped that the former chief of police could give him the answer. Knoll had seemed excited about the opportunity to talk about police work when Cross phoned him from the police station. He had even offered lunch.

A tall, lanky man with a full head of snow-white hair, leathery skin and bifocals walked down from the porch as soon as Herb parked. Cross shook hands with Knoll.

Come on inside. My wife fixed us some sandwiches and coffee.

When they were seated at the kitchen table, Knoll studied the investigator.

Portland to Carrington is a long way to travel.

Our client is facing the death penalty.

Knoll nodded to indicate that no other explanation was necessary.

It's been some time since I've thought about Justine Castle. Knoll shook his head. That was a bad business.

What happened, exactly? I read a newspaper account, but the details were sketchy.

We kept it that way. Didn't want a scandal. Gil was dead and there was a young woman's reputation at stake.

Knoll took a bite of his sandwich and a sip of coffee before going on.

Gil Manning was our star quarterback and star basketball player ... and a star asshole. ' Course, everyone overlooked the asshole part because he was ...

A star? Herb smiled.

Exactly. Justine was the prettiest girl in school, and they were an item starting in their junior year. Justine was our valedictorian. They were a glamorous couple. Homecoming weekend their senior year, Gil won the game with a ninety-yard run in the final minutes. It was all anyone talked about until they announced their engagement.

Gil was a good high school athlete, but he wasn't good enough for a college athletic scholarship. He didn't have the grades, anyway. Justine could have gone to any college. She was accepted at quite a few, if I recall. Then she got pregnant and that was that. She and Gil were married the day after graduation and they moved in with his parents. That's when the trouble started.

Gil couldn't handle life after high school. He wasn't important anymore. He always drank a lot, but that was boys-will-be-boys stuff while he was the big man on campus. After high school he was just another town problem when he got tanked up.

The real trouble began when he started taking out his frustrations on Justine. One night Gil beat her up so bad she lost the baby. I tried to get her to tell the truth about what happened. It was pretty obvious that she hadn't fallen down any stairs. But Gil was at the hospital, hovering over her, real solicitous, and she wouldn't speak against him.

Knoll shook his head sadly. Justine had always been so pretty and so bright, but the woman I saw at the hospital looked dragged out and used up, and she was only eighteen. It would have given me great pleasure to haul Gil's sorry ass to jail, but we had no case without Justine.

Knoll paused to take a bite from his sandwich.

Two months later we got a nine-one-one from the Manning place. It was Justine, scared to death. She was gulping air and could hardly speak. I got there about one in the morning. Gil was stretched out by the front door, facedown. She' d killed him with his hunting rifle, one shot, right through the heart. When I got to the farm Justine was sitting at the kitchen table. She was still holding the phone. Dispatch had told her to stay on the line until we got there. I had to pry the receiver out of her hand. She was shaking like a leaf.

Did she tell you what happened?

Oh, yeah. We talked about it once I got her settled down. Gil had insisted she go drinking with him. She didn't want to, but he made a scene. Gil got drunk and nasty at Dave Buck's tavern, and Dave tossed him after he tried to start a fight with some kid from a rival high school. On the way home Gil started blaming her for his life being shit. He said she was a fat pig, claimed she was holding him back. Knoll shook his head. From what, I could never guess. Then he cracked her on the jaw. There was a bad bruise. We took pictures. He hit her in the eye, too. Then he pushed her out of the car and tried to run her down.

Justine ran away, and Gil was too tanked to catch her. When he stopped looking she headed home in the dark. By the time she reached the farm she was hysterical and scared to death. She said that she was certain that Gil would kill her when he came home. Gil's folks were visiting their other son in Connecticut, so she was all alone. She grabbed Gil's rifle and sat on the couch in the front room.

Meanwhile Gil had crashed the car. He wasn't hurt, but the car was totaled. Gil got a ride home from Andy Laidlaw, one of his drinking buddies. Andy told me that Gil admitted trying to run down Justine, but he also said that Gil was real remorseful about what he' d done. When they got to the farm, Andy offered to go inside with Gil, but Gil sent him off. Andy said that Gil was standing in the front yard when he drove away.

How did Gil end up dead?

Justine said she heard the car drive in and thought it was Gil' s. She didn't know he had wrecked it. When he came through the door, she told him to leave or she would shoot him. He took a step forward, she fired and that was that.

How close to town was Justine's parents' house?

Closer than the farm, but she said that she was so scared after Gil tried to kill her that she just ran back to the farm without thinking. She didn't want her parents to know, anyway. She was ashamed that the marriage wasn't working.

Didn't she cool down while she was sitting there with the gun?

Didn't have time.

When did they leave the bar?

About eleven o' clock.

When did she phone in the nine-one-one?

About one.

That means there was probably an hour and a half between the time she ran away from her husband and the time she shot him.

We knew that, but you have to remember that she ran the four and a half miles from town. It took her close to an hour. During that time, Gil was wrecking the car, going to Andy's house and getting a lift. Justine said that Gil walked in about five to ten minutes after she got home.

So you figured the shooting was justifiable?

I talked it over with the county prosecutor, and he didn't want to go with it, Knoll said, not answering Herb's question. Justine was a good girl who was stuck with a bad man. Everyone knew it. Everyone knew about the baby, too. There wasn't much sympathy for Gil. The only ones who wanted Justine prosecuted were Gil's parents, but that's to be expected. They claimed that Justine murdered Gil to get the insurance.

Cross raised an eyebrow. How much was that?

About a hundred thousand dollars, if I recollect correctly.

That's a lot of money for a farm girl.

That's a lot of money for anyone.

Cross watched Knoll carefully when he asked his next question.

Did you believe Dr. Castle's story?

Knoll never broke eye contact. I never had any reason not to, but then I never pushed much to prove she was lying. It was one of those times when no one wanted me to be much of a detective.

Chapter 21

The Cardoni case had created big-city parking problems in Cedar City, and Amanda drove around town for fifteen minutes looking for a space. At the courthouse, Amanda went to the head of the line of people waiting for the first available seat in Judge Brody's courtroom and showed her bar card to the guard. Frank was conferring with Cardoni at the defense counsel's table while they waited for the judge to make his entrance. Their client was wearing a charcoal gray business suit, a white silk shirt and a blue tie with narrow yellow stripes. Amanda could understand why someone as sophisticated as Justine Castle would fall for the surgeon. He had rugged good looks and broad shoulders. He also looked dangerous, leaning slightly forward, tense, like a hunted animal.

You made it, Frank said with a smile.

I almost didn' t. There isn't a place to park in the whole town. I got lucky over by Stokely' s.

Vince, you remember my daughter, Amanda? She helped me research the motion, and I wanted her as second chair in case we're faced with a tricky legal issue.

Cardoni barely acknowledged Amanda. She forced herself to smile at him and took her seat. She was glad that her father was sitting between her and their client.

Amanda had barely gotten her papers out of her attachT case when a door opened behind the dais and the judge entered the courtroom. The bailiff rapped his gavel, and everyone stood until Judge Brody indicated that they could be seated.

Are you gentlemen ready to proceed? Brody asked. Scofield nodded from his counsel table.

Ready for Dr. Cardoni, Your Honor, Frank Jaffe said.

Opening statement, Mr. Jaffe?

A brief one, Your Honor. We are seeking to suppress every piece of evidence gathered at a cabin in Milton County and Dr. Cardoni's home in Multnomah County. The state searched the Milton County house without a warrant, so it bears the burden of convincing the court of the existence of an exception to the state and federal rules requiring government agents to procure a warrant before searching a citizen's home.

The search of Dr. Cardoni's Portland residence was conducted pursuant to a warrant, but the warrant was issued because of information in an affidavit. We contend that the evidence discussed in the affidavit was obtained during an illegal warrantless search of the Milton County home. If the court agrees, we ask you to suppress the evidence gathered in Portland under the ' fruit of the poisonous tree' doctrine, which I have discussed in the memorandum of law submitted by me in support of this motion.

Very well. Mr. Scofield, what is your position?

Scofield rose slowly. He rocked in place as he spoke.

Well, Judge, Detective Robert Vasquez, a Portland police detective, received an anonymous tip informing him that the defendant was holding two kilos of cocaine in his home up here in Milton County. He'll tell you that he corroborated the tip, then had to act fast because he learned that the sale of the coke was imminent. He rushed up here and searched the house without a warrant because he had established exigent circumstances. As it was, he missed the sale.

As the court knows, a police officer does not have to stop and get a search warrant if he has reason to believe that stopping to get the warrant will lead to the loss or destruction of the very evidence that he wants to seize. Of course, if the search here in Milton County was okay, there was nothing wrong with using the evidence found in the mountain home as the basis for probable cause in the warrant affidavit for the defendant's Portland house.

Who's your first witness, Mr. Scofield? Judge Brody asked.

The State calls Sherri Watson.

Watson was the receptionist at vice and narcotics who had transferred the anonymous call to Vasquez. After she testified that the call had in fact been phoned in to police headquarters, Scofield called Bobby Vasquez to the stand.

Vasquez was wearing a navy blue sports jacket and tan slacks. Amanda thought he looked nervous when he took the oath. He took a sip of water as he waited for the district attorney's first question.

Please tell the court the circumstances that led you to search the Milton County cabin without a warrant, Scofield asked after the detective recounted his background in police work.

I was at my desk in vice and narcotics writing a police report when the receptionist put through a caller who wanted to report a crime. I was the only one available, so it was chance that I caught the call.

What did the caller tell you? Scofield asked.

The informant said that Dr. Vincent Cardoni was going to sell two kilos of cocaine.

Did the caller tell you where the defendant was keeping the cocaine?

Yes, sir. In a mountain cabin here in Milton County.

Did you obtain a warrant to search the cabin?

No, sir. The caller never identified him- or herself. The tip was anonymous. I knew I needed corroboration before I could go to a judge.

Did you try to corroborate the call? Scofield asked.

Yes, sir. I confronted a known drug dealer who knew the person who had sold Dr. Cardoni the cocaine, and he confirmed that Cardoni was going to sell the two kilos.

Did your informant know who was buying the two kilos of cocaine from the defendant?

No. Just that Dr. Cardoni was selling and that the two kilos were supposedly in the doctor's cabin.

So he corroborated the anonymous caller's statement that the drugs were in Milton County?

Yes, sir.

Now that you had corroboration, why didn't you get a warrant?

There wasn't time. I talked to this informant in the afternoon. He said the sale was going down that day. It takes about an hour and a half to drive to the defendant's house from Portland. I was afraid that I would miss the sale if I waited for a judge to issue a warrant.

Tell the judge what happened when you arrived at the cabin.

I gained entry to the house. Once I was inside I noticed a padlock on one of the doors on the bottom floor. This made me suspicious, and I concluded that it was probable that the defendant had locked the room to protect his contraband.

How did you open the lock?

With a lock pick I had with me.

Did you find cocaine in the ground-floor room?

Yes, sir, Vasquez answered grimly.

What else did you find?

The severed heads of two Caucasian females.

There was a stir in the courtroom, and Judge Brody rapped his gavel. While order was being restored, Vasquez took a drink of water.

Can you identify these items, Detective Vasquez? Scofield asked.

Vasquez took three photographs from the district attorney and identified them as different views of the refrigerator and its contents. Scofield handed the photos to the judge and moved to enter them into evidence for purposes of the hearing. Brody's face drained of color when he saw the pictures. The judge looked at the evidence quickly, then turned the photographs facedown.

After finding the severed heads, did you call the Milton County Sheriff's Department?

Yes, sir.

What happened then?

Representatives of that department, the Oregon State Police, and the Portland Police Bureau arrived at the scene and conducted a thorough examination of the premises.

Were a number of physical items, including numerous pieces of scientific evidence, seized from the cabin?

Yes, sir.

Your Honor, I am handing you State's exhibit one. It is a list of all the items seized from the cabin. Rather than having Detective Vasquez take up court time, Mr. Jaffe and I have stipulated that this is the evidence that the defendant wishes to suppress.

Do you so stipulate, Mr. Jaffe? the judge asked.

Yes, Your Honor.

Very well, the stipulation will be accepted and the list will be admitted into evidence. Proceed, Mr. Scofield.

Scofield walked Vasquez through the search of the Portland home, then concluded his questioning.

Your witness, Mr. Jaffe.

Frank leaned back in his chair and studied the policeman. Vasquez sat quietly, looking very professional.

Detective Vasquez, how many other officers accompanied you to the cabin when you made the search?

None.

Frank looked bewildered. You expected to meet two or more men who were trafficking in cocaine, did you not?

Yes, sir.

You presumed that they would be dangerous, didn't you?

I didn't know.

Isn't it true that drug dealers often carry guns?

Yes.

Are they frequently violent men?

They can be.

And you went to meet these drug dealers, who were most probably armed, without backup?

It was stupid. In retrospect, I guess I should have brought help or called on Sheriff Mills to assist me.

So you lay your failure to bring backup to stupidity?

Vasquez nodded. I should have known better.

Could there have been another reason why you drove to the cabin alone?

Vasquez thought for a moment.

I' m afraid I don't understand the question.

Well, Detective, if there had been other officers there, they would have witnessed your illegal entry into the cabin and could have testified against you, couldn't they?

Objection, Scofield said. The court will decide if the entry was illegal.

Sustained, Judge Brody agreed.

Detective Vasquez, have you read the fingerprint report from the Oregon State Police?

Yes, sir.

Were your prints lifted from the crime scene?

No.

And why is that?

I wore latex gloves.

Why would you do that?

Vasquez hesitated. He had not anticipated this question.

I, uh ... It was a crime scene, Counselor. I didn't want to confuse the forensic experts.

What confusion could there be? Your prints are on file. It would be very easy to eliminate them.

I didn't want to cause the lab extra work.

Or leave incriminating evidence of an illegal break-in? Frank asked.

Objection, Scofield said.

Sustained, Brody said. Stop throwing mud on this officer's reputation and move on, Mr. Jaffe.

Yes, Your Honor. Detective Vasquez, you testified that you met the informant who corroborated the anonymous caller on the afternoon of the day you searched the cabin?

That's correct.

As soon as you had your corroboration, you drove to Milton County?

Yes. I felt I had to go immediately or risk missing the sale of the cocaine.

I gather that the informant who corroborated your information was the only witness you talked to that day before heading for Milton County?

Right.

What is the name of the person who corroborated your information on the day of the search?

I' m afraid I can't reveal that, Mr. Jaffe. He spoke to me on a guarantee of confidentiality.

Your Honor, I ask the court to instruct the witness to answer. Otherwise you will be in the position of having one anonymous informant corroborating another.

Brody turned to Vasquez. Why won't you reveal this man's name?

He would be in great danger, Your Honor. He could even be killed.

I see. Well, I' m not going to risk that, Mr. Jaffe. If you are implying that no such witness exists, I'll just have to judge Detective Vasquez's credibility.

And I assume that you will suppress all of the evidence if you conclude that the officer is lying?

Of course, Brody answered with a scowl, but you're a far way from establishing that, Mr. Jaffe.

The ghost of a smile played on Frank's lips as he told the court that he had no more questions of the witness.

After a brief redirect examination of Vasquez, Fred Scofield summoned several more police witnesses. Judge Brody called a halt to the proceedings a little before noon, and the spectators rushed for the door. Frank and Fred Scofield walked over to the judge and had a quiet conversation at the bench while Amanda started collecting her papers.

How do you think your father did? Cardoni asked.

I think he scored some points, Amanda answered without looking at the doctor.

Cardoni grew quiet. Amanda finished packing her attachT case.

You don't like me, do you?

The question startled Amanda. She forced herself to look at Cardoni. He was slouched in his chair, studying her.

I don't know you well enough to like you or dislike you, Dr. Cardoni, but I am working very hard to help you.

That's nice of you, considering the fee I' m paying your firm.

This has nothing to do with the fee, Doctor. I work hard for all of our clients.

How hard can you work when you think I killed those people?

Amanda colored. My belief in your guilt or innocence has no effect on my professional performance, she answered stiffly.

Well, it matters to me, Cardoni said just as the guards who were going to escort him to the jail appeared. Cardoni turned away from Amanda and put his hands behind his back. Amanda was relieved that their conversation was over. Frank returned to the table while the guards were securing Cardoni's handcuffs.

The judge has some matters in other cases at one-thirty, he said to his client. We should start at two. Fred is resting, so it's our turn to put on witnesses after lunch. I'll see you in court.

The guards led Cardoni away.

You going to Stokely' s? Frank asked Amanda.

Where else? Want to join me?

Sorry, I can' t. I have a lot to do during the lunch hour. Eat a big slice of pie for me.

You bet, Amanda said. Just as she reached the courtroom door she turned slightly and saw Cardoni watching her. His scrutiny unsettled her, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. For a moment she refused to back down. Then a thought occurred to her. It did not take much courage to confront a prisoner in manacles who was surrounded by guards. Would she have the courage to stare him down if he was loose? The odds were that Cardoni would be convicted, but Frank was very good. What if he won freedom for the surgeon? Would he remember her brazen stare?

Amanda's mouth went dry. She decided that she did not want to antagonize Cardoni; she did not want him thinking about her at all. Amanda broke eye contact and hurried out of the courtroom.

Chapter 22

Any witnesses for the defendant, Mr. Jaffe?

I do have a witness, Your Honor. He's waiting in the hall. May I get him?

Amanda watched her father walk up the aisle and into the courthouse corridor and return with a hulking, bald-headed man. Fred Scofield frowned, and Bobby Vasquez turned ash gray.

Please state your name for the record, the bailiff instructed the witness after swearing him in.

Arthur Wayne Prochaska.

Mr. Prochaska, how are you employed? Frank asked.

I manage a couple of bars in Portland.

Would one of those bars be the Rebel Tavern?

Yeah.

Mr. Prochaska, Frank asked, do you know a police officer named Robert Vasquez?

Sure, I know Bobby.

Can you point him out for the record?

Prochaska grinned and pointed directly at Vasquez.

He's the good-lookin' fella sitting behind the DA.

When is the last time you spoke with Officer Vasquez?

Prochaska looked thoughtful for a moment. We met at the Rebel the day he found those heads. It was afternoon. I read about them heads in the paper the next day.

Why did you meet with Officer Vasquez on that day?

He asked me to, Prochaska answered with a shrug. I wasn't doing anything, so I said okay.

Did Officer Vasquez explain why he wanted to talk to you?

Yeah. He said a friend of mine sold some doctor cocaine. I told Bobby I didn't know anything about it. To tell the truth, I was pissed off that he would ask me to rat out a friend.

Was the doctor he asked you about Vincent Cardoni?

Right. That was the guy. Cardoni.

Did you know Dr. Cardoni?

Never heard of him until Bobby showed up.

Did you tell that to Officer Vasquez?

Yeah.

Did Officer Vasquez try to bribe you?

I don't know if you' d call it a bribe. The cops do it all the time. You know, they bust you, then they tell you they'll go easy on you if you'll tell them about someone else.

And Officer Vasquez tried to bargain with you in that manner?

Yeah. I was waiting on charges of possession with intent. He said he' d talk to the feds if I told him about this doctor. Only I couldn' t, because I didn't know him.

Mr. Prochaska, Officer Vasquez has testified under oath about a conversation he alleges occurred on the afternoon of the day that he discovered the heads of the dead women. Was anyone else with you when you spoke with Officer Vasquez?

No.

Officer Vasquez testified that the person he talked to said that Dr. Cardoni purchased two kilos of cocaine from someone the informant knew. Dr. Cardoni allegedly was holding the cocaine in a cabin in Milton County and was going to sell it that afternoon. Do you remember saying anything like that to Officer Vasquez?

Prochaska laughed. I think Bobby got caught with his pants down when he broke into the cabin, so he made this stuff up.

Objection, Your Honor, Scofield said. Speculation, nonresponsive. I move to strike the answer.

Objection sustained, Brody said. He looked angry, and his tone was harsh when he ordered Prochaska to confine his answer to the question he had been asked.

Mr. Prochaska, do you deny that you gave Officer Vasquez information about Dr. Cardoni?

Yeah, absolutely. That's why I' m testifying. I don't want no one spreading lies about me.

Your witness, Mr. Scofield.

Fred Scofield's lips formed a grim smile as he studied Art Prochaska. The dealer's reputation was well known, and he could not wait to get at him.

Have you ever been convicted of a crime, Mr. Prochaska? he asked calmly.

Yeah, several. But none lately.

Why don't you tell Judge Brody your criminal history?

Okay. Let's see. I got a couple of assaults. I was down at the state pen for two years. There's some drug stuff. I was busted a few times, but they didn't prove it except once. I did do a few years on that.

Mr. Prochaska, you are the right-hand man of Martin Breach, a notorious drug dealer, are you not? His enforcer?

Martin is my business partner. I don't know about that other stuff.

Mr. Breach has a reputation for killing people who inform on him, doesn't he?

I never seen it.

If you admitted that you informed on Mr. Breach, it would put you at some risk, wouldn't it?

I would never do something like that. I don't believe in it.

Not even to save yourself from serving a fifteen-year sentence in a federal penitentiary?

No, sir. Besides, those charges are gonna be dropped.

But you didn't know that when Officer Vasquez talked to you.

I suspected they might be, Prochaska answered with a smirk.

Isn't it true that you did corroborate Officer Vasquez's information but are afraid to admit it for fear that Martin Breach will kill you?

Vasquez was lying if he says I told him that stuff.

Scofield smiled. We have only your word for that against the word of an officer of the law, don't we?

Hey, I got proof he lied.

Scofield paled. What proof?

Do you think I' m dumb enough to meet a cop and not protect myself? Bobby and me had our chat in the men's john, where I got surveillance equipment. I taped the whole conversation.

Scofield turned toward Vasquez. The policeman looked sick. Frank leaped to his feet, a cassette in his hand. He had been waiting for this moment.

I have the tape of the conversation, Your Honor. I think we should play it and resolve this dispute between the witnesses.

Objection, Your Honor, Scofield said. His voice was shaking.

On what grounds? Brody asked angrily.

Uh, if ... if there is such a tape, it was recorded surreptitiously. That violates Oregon law.

Brody glared at the district attorney. Mr. Scofield, your question opened the door for this evidence. And I'll tell you something else: If someone is lying in my courtroom, I want to know about it. I don't care if that tape was made by Iraqi terrorists. We are going to hear it right now. Play the tape, Mr. Jaffe.

Frank placed the cassette in a boom box that he had brought with him from Portland. When he hit the play button, everyone in the court heard a door slam shut and the sound of a brief struggle. Then Bobby Vasquez said, Long time, Art.

The tape spun along. When Prochaska turned down Vasquez's offer to help him with his federal charges, Judge Brody's eyes narrowed, and he cast a withering glance at Vasquez. Then Prochaska told Vasquez that he did not know Vincent Cardoni and refused to talk about Martin Breach. By the time the tape wound to a halt Judge Brody was furious, Scofield was shell-shocked and Vasquez was staring at his feet. Vincent Cardoni smiled triumphantly.

I want Officer Vasquez back on the witness stand immediately, Brody ordered Scofield.

I believe Officer Vasquez should seek counsel before answering any questions about the tape we've just heard, Scofield said, casting a quick, angry look at the detective.

Quite right, quite right, Mr. Scofield. Thank you for correcting me. Officer Vasquez better get one hell of a lawyer, because his criminal conduct has forced me to suppress every piece of evidence seized at the house in Milton County and every piece of evidence seized from Dr. Cardoni's home in Portland. I grant this motion regretfully, but I have no choice, Mr. Scofield, because your star witness is a damned liar.

Judge Brody glared at Vasquez.

Nine people have been slaughtered, Detective. Horribly butchered. I make no pronouncement as to the guilt or innocence of Dr. Cardoni. I haven't heard the evidence in this case. I do know that the person who killed those people is probably going to escape his justly deserved punishment because of you. I hope you can live with that.

Frank stood up to speak. Your Honor, will you reconsider your decision on bail for Dr. Cardoni? In order for bail to be denied in an aggravated murder case it must appear to the court that the state will be able to prove its case at trial by clear and convincing evidence. Now that the court has suppressed all of the state's evidence, it is unlikely that the case will go to trial. I don't even see how Mr. Scofield can appeal your ruling in good faith. I ask that the court release Dr. Cardoni on his own recognizance.

I am also putting Mr. Scofield on notice that I am moving against his indictment on the grounds that it was obtained through the submission to the grand jury of illegally obtained evidence and police perjury.

Frank handed the original of his motion, which he had prepared in advance of the hearing, to Judge Brody and gave a copy to the district attorney. As soon as Brody finished skimming the new motion his head dropped. When he raised it, his eyes blazed with anger.

You have tied my hands with your unprofessional conduct, Mr. Scofield. I have no idea how Vasquez took you in. Your preparation for this motion to suppress borders on the criminal. You won your motion to deny bail by promising that you would produce all sorts of evidence against Dr. Cardoni. Now you can't present any of it.

Your motion to release Dr. Cardoni on his own recognizance is granted, Mr. Jaffe. I will take the motion to dismiss under advisement. Mr. Scofield, you have thirty days to file a notice of appeal from any of my rulings or they will become final. Court is in recess.

Judge Brody fled to his chambers.

Thank you, Frank, Cardoni told Amanda's father. Then he looked at her. And thank you, Amanda. I know you think I' m guilty, but Frank's told me how hard you've worked for me, and I appreciate it.

Amanda was surprised at how sincere Cardoni sounded, but it didn't change her opinion. What had just happened frightened her. Frank was a magician in the courtroom, but his latest trick could have horrifying consequences.

Reporters mobbed Frank in the corridor outside the courtroom. Amanda forgot her misgivings as she was caught up in the action. Some of the reporters directed their questions to her, and it dawned on Amanda that she was a celebrity, if only for the length of a sound bite. After the furor died down, father and daughter walked to Stokely's to eat dinner. Frank was uncharacteristically quiet after a victory of this magnitude.

What happens to Cardoni now? Amanda asked.

He'll be processed out of jail, Herb will drive him home and he'll try to put his life back together.

So it's over?

It should be. Art Prochaska's testimony was the legal equivalent of a nuclear weapon. There isn't any evidence left for the State to use.

How long have you known about Prochaska?

He called Friday evening.

So you knew we' d win all along.

There's no such thing as a sure thing, but this is as close as I've ever gotten. Frank noticed the look on Amanda's face and added, I hope you're not upset that I didn't tell you about Art.

No, that's okay, Amanda answered, but she was upset. They walked in silence for half a block. Then Amanda's thoughts shifted to Cardoni.

I know I should be excited because we won, but I just ... I think he killed those people, Dad.

I don't feel so good about this one myself, Frank admitted.

If he's guilty, they can't try him, can they?

Nope. I did too good a job. Vincent's free and clear.

What if he does it again?

Frank put his arm around Amanda's shoulders. His closeness was comforting, but it could not make her forget the videotape or the still pictures of the nine corpses.

About three years after I started out I second-chaired a terrible case with Phil Lomax. Two young children and their baby-sitter were murdered during a home burglary. The crime was brutal. The defendant was a very bad actor. Totally unrepentant, cruel, with a long history of prior vicious assaults. The DA was certain she had the right man, but the evidence was paper thin. We fought our guts out, and the chances of conviction were about fifty-fifty by the end of the trial.

After the jury went out, Phil and I went to one bar to wait and the DA and her staff went to another. The jury came back four hours later with a guilty verdict. About a month later I bumped into one of the DA's investigators. He told me that Phil and I had been the subject of discussion while the prosecutor and her assistants were waiting for the verdict. They thought that we were very ethical lawyers who had fought hard but had also fought clean. They respected us as people and they had come to the conclusion that we' d sleep better with a conviction than an acquittal. They were right. I was actually relieved that we had lost, even though I gave one hundred and ten percent for our client.

Do you feel bad now?

Do you hear me bragging about our victory, Amanda? As a professional, I' m proud that I did my job. As an officer of the court, I feel good about exposing perjury by someone who is sworn to protect us and uphold the Constitution. What Vasquez did was inexcusable. But I' m also a human being and I' m worried. So I pray that Vincent Cardoni is an innocent man who has been wrongly accused. If he's guilty, I pray that this experience has frightened him so much that he won't hurt anyone else.

Frank gave Amanda's hand a squeeze.

This is not an easy business, Amanda. It's not easy at all.

Chapter 23

Martin Breach was hunkered down over a slab of ribs when Art Prochaska walked into the restaurant. He motioned Prochaska into a chair with a hand stained with barbecue sauce.

You want a plate? Breach asked. His mouth was stuffed with meat, and the question was barely intelligible.

Yeah.

Breach waved. A waiter appeared immediately.

The deluxe combo and another pitcher of beer, Breach said. The waiter scurried away.

So? Breach asked.

Cardoni is out.

Good work. I was worried that puke would cut a deal with the DA if he went down. Breach ripped a chunk of meat off a long bone. A sloppy scarlet ring of sauce circled Breach's mouth. Now I want my money. Put Eugene and Ed Gordon on Cardoni. The first chance they get, I want him snatched.

Prochaska nodded. Breach handed Prochaska a fat rib. The enforcer started to protest, but Breach insisted.

Take it, Arty. I'll get one of yours when your order comes.

Breach wiped his face with a napkin, then reached for another rib.

I want Cardoni in good enough condition to chat, he told Prochaska between bites. No brain damage. Tell the two of ' em. If Cardoni is too fucked up to tell me where my money is, I'll take it out on them.

Chapter 24

There was a message from Herb Cross on the answering machine when Frank and Amanda arrived home from Cedar City. Frank shucked his jacket and tie, fixed himself a glass of scotch and dialed a number in Vermont.

What's up? Frank asked when he was connected to Cross's hotel room.

I may be on to something.

Oh?

Frank listened quietly while Herb told him what he had learned during his meeting with James Knoll.

It doesn't sound like there's anything we can use, Frank said when Herb was through. Evidence that Dr. Castle shot an abusive husband in self-defense when she was in her teens isn't going to be admissible to prove that she kidnapped and tortured people.

I' d agree if that was all I found. Gil Manning was insured for one hundred thousand dollars. When the police cleared Castle, the insurance company paid off. She used the money to pay her tuition at Dartmouth. In her senior year she married a wealthy classmate, and they moved to Denver after graduation. Eight months later Castle's husband was dead.

You're shitting me.

It was a one-car accident. He was heavily intoxicated. He was also heavily insured and he had a fat trust fund. Castle inherited the money from the trust fund and she received the insurance money.

Now that is interesting.

I phoned the dead husband's parents in Chicago. They swear that their son was never more than a social drinker. They pressed for an investigation, but the cops told them that they were satisfied that their son's death was an accident. Castle's in-laws think that Justine was a gold digger. They were opposed to the marriage.

Was there any evidence of foul play?

I haven't looked into the accident yet. Do you want me to go to Denver?

No, come home.

I think I' m on to something with this, Frank. I think we should pursue it.

That's not necessary. I won the motion to suppress. Cardoni is free and it's unlikely he'll be prosecuted.

What! How did that happen?

If you've got a few minutes, I'll tell you.

Chapter 25

Granite cherubs and gargoyles peered down on passersby from the ornate stone scrollwork that graced the fatade of the Stockman Building, a fourteen-story edifice that had been erected in the center of downtown Portland shortly after World War I. The law firm of Jaffe, Katz, Lehane and Brindisi leased the eighth floor. Frank Jaffe's spacious corner office was decorated with antiques. He sat behind a partner's desk that he had picked up for a song at an auction. Currier and Ives prints graced one wall, and a nineteenth-century oil of the Columbia Gorge, which Frank had discovered at another auction, hung across from him over a comfortable sofa. The only jarring note was the computer monitor that sat on the edge of Frank's desk.

Vincent Cardoni showed no interest in the dTcor of Frank's office. The physician's attention was riveted on his attorney, and he shifted anxiously as Frank explained Fred Scofield's latest legal maneuver.

So you're saying we have to go back to court?

Yes. Judge Brody has set the hearing for next Wednesday.

What kind of bullshit is this? We won, didn't we?

Scofield moved to reopen the motion to suppress. He has a new theory, inevitable discovery.

What's that mean?

It comes out of Nix v. Williams, a United States Supreme Court opinion. Around Christmas of 1968 a ten-year-old girl disappeared from a YMCA building in Des Moines, Iowa. Shortly after she disappeared, Robert Anthony Williams was seen leaving the YMCA carrying a large bundle wrapped in a blanket. A young boy who helped Williams open his car door saw two skinny white legs under the blanket.

The next day Williams's car was found a hundred and sixty miles east of Des Moines in Davenport, Iowa. Later clothing belonging to the child and a blanket similar to the one Williams carried from the Y were found in a rest stop between Des Moines and Davenport. The police concluded that Williams had left the girl's body between Des Moines and the rest stop.

The police used two hundred volunteers to conduct a large-scale search in an attempt to find the body of the victim. Meanwhile, Williams surrendered to the police in Davenport and contacted an attorney in Des Moines. Two Des Moines detectives drove to Davenport, picked up Williams and drove him back to Des Moines. During the trip, one of the detectives told Williams that snow might cover the little girl, making it impossible to find her body. Then he said that the girl's parents were entitled to a Christian burial for the little girl who had been snatched away from them on Christmas Eve. Later in the ride, Williams told the detectives how to find the body.

Before trial, Williams's attorney moved to suppress evidence of the condition of the body on the ground that its discovery was the fruit of Williams's statements and those statements were the product of an interrogation that was illegal because it had been conducted out of the presence of his attorney.

I' m not going to bore you with all the in and outs of the appeals that eventually brought the case to the United States Supreme Court twice. What you need to know is that the justices adopted the inevitable-discovery rule. They concluded that the evidence supported a finding that the search party would inevitably have discovered the body of the little girl even if Williams had not led the police to it. Then the Court ruled that evidence that would normally be excluded because of police misconduct is still admissible if it would have been discovered inevitably.

How does that help Scofield?

The cabin is on private land, but the graveyard is on a trail that goes through national forest land. Scofield is arguing that the graveyard was so obvious that Vasquez, a hiker, a forest ranger, somebody would inevitably have discovered it, giving a judge grounds to issue a search warrant for the cabin.

Cardoni laughed. That's bullshit. Vasquez never went back there and there wasn't anyone near the cabin until Vasquez called the cops.

You're right, Vince. The argument is total horseshit, but Brody might jump on this with both feet. There's an election coming up. Word is that Brody is going to run for one more term, then retire. If he lost the election, he would be humiliated. Granting Scofield's motion would get him off the hook for the most unpopular decision that he's ever made. Most Milton County voters don't understand the subtleties of search-and-seizure law. All they know is that Brody let you out and that the cops think you're Jack the Ripper's meaner cousin.

Even if that tub of lard does rule for Scofield, you' d win on appeal, wouldn't you?

I' m pretty sure I would. The problem is that Brody will put you back in jail pending trial.

Cardoni's toe tapped rapidly.

I pay you to anticipate things like this.

Well, I didn' t. Hell, Vince, there's no way I could.

Cardoni glared at Frank. He was rigid with anger.

I am not going back to jail because some fat-ass judge wants to win an election. Either you handle this or I will.

Chapter 26

Eugene Pritchard and Ed Gordon were intelligent muscle whom Martin Breach used when more than simple violence was needed. Pritchard had been a professional fighter with a decent record until he was busted smuggling cocaine into the country after a fight in Mexico. Gordon was an ex-marine. He had been dishonorably discharged for assaulting an officer.

At eight o' clock on the day that Frank Jaffe told Cardoni about Scofield's motion to reopen, Pritchard and Gordon were debating the pros and cons of a home invasion when Cardoni's car drove out of his garage. They followed without lights until Cardoni turned onto a major thoroughfare. Then they stayed a few cars behind the doctor and tried to guess where he was headed. After a while it got confusing. Cardoni seemed to be wandering aimlessly. He cruised the streets of downtown Portland for a while, then headed out of town along Burnside. Several miles later Cardoni turned onto Skyline Boulevard and followed it past the cemetery until he reached a bumpy dirt track that ended abruptly at Forest Park, a vast wooded area.

Gordon turned off the headlights and followed at a safe distance. Cardoni got out of his car and started off along a narrow trail.

What's he doing out here? Pritchard asked.

Maybe he's got a few more bodies stashed in the woods.

Pritchard shook his head. He is one sick fuck.

Don't make disparaging remarks about someone who's making our job so easy. We'll take him here. It's isolated and there are no witnesses.

Pritchard grabbed a flashlight and they set off after Cardoni.

The Wildwood Trail runs for more than twenty miles through Portland's park system. The part of this trail Cardoni was walking led into the deep central section of Forest Park, far from roads or houses. Even though Pritchard was in the middle of a big city, he felt that he was standing in the dark heart of an unexplored jungle. Gordon had hiked and camped in the army, but Pritchard was a city boy who preferred watching TV and drinking in bars to trekking through the forest primeval. He definitely did not like wandering through the woods in the dark.

Following the faint glow of the doctor's flashlight was easy, and Pritchard kept his off. The rotting corpse of a tree felled by the violent storms of winter blocked part of the trail, and Gordon tripped over a root. He swore under his breath and squinted, trying to make out the floor of the forest in the dark. Pritchard turned his head and told his partner to shut up and watch where he was going. When he looked forward he could not find Cardoni's light. The men froze. The only sounds they heard were the swish of tree branches and the scratch of tiny claws in the underbrush.

Then Pritchard heard a crack, a grunt and a second sharp blow. He spun toward the sound and turned on his flashlight. Gordon was down and blood was pooling under him. Pritchard felt for a pulse. Gordon was breathing, but he was not moving.

It's spooky in the woods at night.

Cardoni was behind him. Pritchard pulled his gun and spun around.

Do you feel like Hansel and Gretel all alone in the forest of the wicked witch?

You can stop with the games, Pritchard said, fighting hard to keep the fear out of his voice.

You're the one who's been playing hide-and-seek all week, or didn't you think I' d notice? Cardoni answered from a new location. Pritchard had not heard him move. He aimed his flashlight at Cardoni's voice. The beam cut between a western hemlock and a red cedar, but it did not find the surgeon.

Let's cut the shit, Pritchard shouted into the darkness. He waited for an answer, but none came. Pritchard turned slowly in a circle, pointing his gun and the flashlight at the trees. A twig snapped and he almost fired. Two tree limbs rubbed together and he jumped sideways off the trail.

That's enough, goddamn it. Get out here, Pritchard yelled, but he heard only the sound of his own labored breathing. He began backing down the trail toward the car, shifting the gun back and forth across the path every time he heard a sound. The muscles in his shoulders and arms ached from tension. His heel caught on a tree root. Pritchard flailed his arms to arrest his fall, and the gun flew from his hand. He landed hard on the packed earth and rolled toward the gun. He expected to feel a knife blade slice into his body or a club smash across his back as he groped for his weapon, but the only sounds he heard were those he made.

Pritchard could not find the gun, and he was too vulnerable on his hands and knees. He got to his feet and spun in place, keeping the flashlight in front of him to use as a weapon. Something hard smashed into Pritchard's right kneecap. His leg gave out and toppled sideways. As he fell, Cardoni broke his right shoulder. Pritchard's eyes squeezed shut involuntarily from the intense pain and he almost blacked out. When he opened them Cardoni was standing over him, tapping a tire iron against the palm of his hand.

Hi, the surgeon said. How you doing?

Pritchard was in too much pain to answer. Cardoni added to his pain by breaking his left kneecap.

Rule number one: Remove your opponent's legs.

Cardoni walked around Pritchard slowly. He was sprawled on his back, gritting his teeth and fighting to stay conscious.

A blow to the kneecap ranks as one of life's most painful experiences. It rivals a thrust to the genital area. Shall we make a comparison test?

Cardoni's foot flashed. Boxers are used to pain, but this was pain on a new level. Pritchard made no effort to stifle his scream.

I bet that smarts. In fact, I know it does. Doctors know every place on the human body that can cause suffering.

Pritchard wanted to say something brave in response to Cardoni's taunts, but he was weak with fear. If Cardoni wanted to inflict more pain, he knew he would be helpless to stop him.

Do you know where you are, little man?

When Pritchard did not answer, Cardoni gave his right kneecap a casual tap. Pritchard arched his back as if electricity had shot through him.

You're in the House of Pain, and I run the establishment. There's one rule in the House of Pain: Anything I say goes. Disobedience is punished swiftly. Now, here's my first question. It's an easy one. What's your name?

Fuck you Pritchard started, but the sentence was cut short by a scream when Cardoni gripped his left wrist and extended his arm out at an awkward angle, forcing Pritchard to roll onto his injured knees.

The hand is a marvelous creation designed by God to do the most wonderful things, Cardoni said. I use my hand to wield instruments that save lives. I bet you use yours to pick your nose and beat off.

Pritchard tried to struggle, but Cardoni brought him to heel with a small amount of pressure on his wrist. Then the surgeon gripped the man's index finger tightly. He tried to resist, but Cardoni had no trouble prying it out straight.

There are twenty-seven bones in the hand. That gives me twenty-seven opportunities to inflict excruciating pain on you.

Cardoni tightened his grip on Pritchard's index finger.

The bones of the fingers and thumb are called phalanges. A single phalange is the length of bone from one knuckle to the next. There are three phalanges in your index finger. Cardoni bent the index finger backward. All of them are going to be broken if you don't become more cooperative.

Pritchard screamed.

Now, what is your name? Even a moron like you should be able to answer that question.

Cardoni applied pressure.

Gene, Gene Pritchard, he gasped.

Good boy.

Pritchard lunged suddenly. Cardoni backed away and jerked hard on his wrist. Pritchard's feet splayed out and he howled like a dog. Cardoni snapped Pritchard's index finger. As the bone cracked, the man sagged, almost passing out.

The next time you decide to pick on someone, make sure you're man enough for the job, Cardoni said as he pried Pritchard's pinkie away from his fist.

Now, Gene, who sent you to follow me?

Pritchard hesitated for a second and paid for it. The last time he remembered crying was when he was eight. Tears trickled down his cheeks.

Martin Breach, Pritchard gasped without having to be asked again.

That's a very good boy. And what does Martin want you to do besides tail me?

We're ... supposed to ... bring you ... to him.

Dead or alive?

Alive, in good condition.

Why?

The money he paid for the heart. He wants it back.

Cardoni studied Pritchard for what seemed like an eternity to the crippled enforcer. Then he released Pritchard's hand, backed into the shadows and disappeared without another word.

Chapter 27

Bobby Vasquez knocked an empty bottle of whiskey into two empty beer bottles as he rolled onto his side. The three bottles crashed to the floor, and the sound of breaking glass brought Vasquez partway out of his drunken stupor. He opened his eyes and blinked. His first thought was, What time is it? Then, What day? Then he wondered why he cared. Since his suspension every day had been shit.

Vasquez struggled into a sitting position, squeezed his eyes shut against the light and waited for the throbbing to subside. After his humiliation and destruction at the motion to suppress, action had been swift. Vasquez had been placed on suspension, and Internal Affairs was conducting an investigation. Milton County would probably indict him for perjury, obstruction of justice and any other crime they could stick him with. The union lawyer represented him in front of Internal Affairs, but he had to foot the bill for his criminal lawyer, and that would probably wipe out his savings. If he was convicted or thrown off the force, he could kiss his pension goodbye.

Vasquez looked for something to drink. All the bottles he could see were empty. He lurched to his feet and stumbled into the kitchen. He smelled. He had not shaved in days. He didn't care. He wasn't going to see anyone, and no one was going to see him. Yvette had called, but he had been drunk and insulted her. She did not call again. So much for true love. There had been calls from some of his cop friends, but he let the machine take them. What could he say? He had no excuses. He' d just gotten caught up in the thing. First there' d been his desire to avenge Mickey Parks. Then he' d found the heads, and he' d wanted Cardoni so badly that he had broken the law. To make matters worse, it was Breach's man who had brought him down. Now he was probably going to go to jail, and a man who had butchered nine human beings was walking free.

Vasquez went through the kitchen cabinets until he located the only liquor bottle left with something in it. He tilted it up and sucked down all of the remaining whiskey as his last thought echoed in his head. He would be in jail soon, and Cardoni would be free. His life was over, and Cardoni's would continue. The psycho fuck would kill again, and Vasquez would be responsible for each new death. Why go on? Why face disgrace and jail? He was starting to believe that the answer to his problems was a single shot through his brain when an alternative suddenly occurred to him. The brain in question did not have to be his own. If he was really willing to end his life, he could do anything he wanted to do. It was like having a terminal disease. No one could punish you worse than you were going to be punished. There was no threat that could deter you. The rules no longer applied. If he killed himself, Cardoni would still be free to cause untold suffering. If he killed Cardoni, he would be a hero to some and his conscience would be clear.

Chapter 28

Art Prochaska entered Martin Breach's office in the Jungle Club and yelled, Ed and Eugene are in the hospital, so that Breach could hear him over the blaring heavy metal music to which a buxom ecdysiast named Miss Honey Bush was disrobing.

What happened?

Cardoni surprised them.

Both of them? Martin Breach asked in disbelief.

Prochaska nodded. They're in pretty bad shape.

Motherfucker! Breach screamed as he leaped up from behind his desk and started pacing. When he stopped, he leaned forward on his knuckles and glared across the desk at his enforcer. Breach's fists were clamped so tightly that his knuckles were white.

You take care of this personally. When I' m through with Cardoni he's going to beg to tell me where he's hiding my money.

Chapter 29

The phone was ringing. Amanda sat up in bed and groped for it in the dark.

Frank, I' m in trouble.

It was Vincent Cardoni, and he sounded desperate.

This is Amanda Jaffe, Dr. Cardoni.

Put your father on.

He's in California taking depositions. If you give me a number where he can reach you, I'll have him call tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be too late. There's something that I have to show him right away.

The best I can do is give my father your message.

No, you don't understand. It's about the murders.

What about them?

Amanda heard heavy breathing as Cardoni whispered into the telephone.

I know who committed them. I' m at the cabin in Milton County. Get up here, right away.

The cabin? I don't

You're my lawyer, goddamn it. I pay your firm to represent me, and I need you up here. This is about my case.

Amanda hesitated. Frank would never refuse to help a client who sounded this desperate. If she didn't go, how could she explain her inaction to her father? How could she practice criminal law if she would not help a client because he frightened her? Criminal lawyers represented rapists, murderers and psychopaths every day. They were all frightening people.

I'll leave right away.

The line went dead, and Amanda instantly regretted telling Cardoni she would meet him. It was midnight, and it would take her a little over an hour to drive to the cabin. That meant that she would be alone with Cardoni in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. Her stomach churned. Amanda remembered what had happened in that cabin. She saw Mary Sandowski's face drained of all color and all hope. What if Cardoni had done those things? What if he wanted to do them to her?

Amanda went downstairs to the den. Frank liked guns, and he' d had her on a pistol range as soon as she was old enough to hold one. Amanda enjoyed target practice and knew her way around weapons. Frank kept a .38 snubnose in the lower drawer of his desk. Amanda loaded it and slipped it in her jacket pocket. She had never shot a handgun off a range. She' d heard and read that shooting a person was totally different from shooting at a metal cutout, but she was not going to meet Vincent Cardoni in the woods after midnight without protection.

The temperature was in the thirties, so Amanda had thrown her ski jacket over jeans and a dark blue turtleneck. The rain started shortly before one and changed to snow near the pass. Amanda had four-wheel drive, so she was not worried, but she was still relieved when the snow fell away to a light rain. She was within eyesight of the turnoff to the cabin when a car suddenly swept out of the narrow dirt road and sped past her. Amanda thought she recognized the driver in the brief moment when the two cars were side by side. Then the taillights of the other car faded in her rearview mirror.

As soon as her headlights illuminated the house Amanda was certain that something was wrong. The lights were on in the living room and the front door was wide open. The wind had picked up and was blowing sheets of rain slantwise into the house. Common sense told her that she should turn the car around and speed toward safety, but she knew her father wouldn't turn tail and run. Amanda sucked in a deep breath, took her gun out of her pocket and walked toward the cabin.

The first thing that Amanda noticed when she entered the house was the blood that dampened the planks of the hardwood floor in the living room. The stain was not large, but it was wide enough to let her know that something bad had happened in the room.

Dr. Cardoni, Amanda called in a trembling voice. There was no response. She scanned the large front room cautiously and saw nothing else that was odd. The other lights on the main floor were off, but the lights were on in the stairwell that led to the bottom-floor operating room. A blood trail led toward the stairs.

Amanda eased down the stairway, the .38 leading the way. The door to the operating room was wide open. Amanda edged along the wall. She stopped opposite the entrance to the horror chamber and stood in the door frame, her heart hammering in her chest.

It took a moment for Amanda to understand what she was seeing. The operating table was covered with a fresh white sheet. Drops of blood radiated outward from one large stain that covered the middle of the sheet. In the center of the stain was a severed hand.

Amanda bolted up the stairs and through the door. She covered the space between the house and her car in a flash and dove inside. The ignition would not catch. Amanda panicked. She looked toward the house while she fumbled with the key, half expecting to see an apparition streaking toward her, blood pumping from its severed limb.

The engine started. The car burned rubber. Amanda was shaking. She was cold. Terror forced her to drive faster, never slowing even when the road curved or the car went airborne after bouncing out of a pothole. She stared in the rearview mirror and almost fainted with relief when she did not see headlights bearing down on her. She brought her eyes forward and spotted the highway. The car careened onto it, and she drove as fast as she could for five minutes before her heart rate slowed and she started to think about what she would do next.

Amanda parked in front of the cabin and waited for the sheriff's deputies to pull in before getting out of her car. Fred Scofield had ridden from Cedar City to the cabin with her. He got out of the passenger side and turned up his collar against the wind, which had turned fierce while Amanda was giving her statement at the sheriff's office. The DA gestured through the storm toward the still-open front door.

Are you sure you want to go back in there? Scofield asked solicitously.

I' m fine, Amanda answered with more confidence than she really felt.

Let's go, then.

Clark Mills and four deputies fought their way through the gusts of snow and entered the cabin. Amanda and Scofield followed the policemen inside. Amanda surveyed the brightly lit front room. As far as she could see, except for a dusting of snow just inside the front door, everything was as she had left it.

Scofield looked over his shoulder at the front yard. It's too bad that the snow waited until after that car drove off. We might have gotten some tracks. He looked back at Amanda. How certain are you that the driver was Art Prochaska?

My window was streaked with rain, the interior of the other car was dark and it went by very fast. All I had was a momentary impression. I don't know if I could swear that it was Prochaska in court. But I think the man I saw was bald and his head was unusually large.

This floor is clear, Sheriff Mills said to Amanda and Scofield after his deputies completed a sweep. We're going downstairs. You can wait up here if you like, Miss Jaffe.

Let's go.

Amanda hung back and let the sheriff, the DA and two armed deputies precede her down the stairs. When she reached the lower hall, she saw that the door to the operating room was still open and the lights inside were still on.

Everyone but Clark please wait in the hall, Scofield said before entering the room. The men who crammed the narrow hallway blocked Amanda's view. She edged along the wall behind them until she found a spot where she could see between two of the deputies.

The hand still sat in the center of the operating table. Drained of blood, it looked chalky white. Scofield and Mills approached it cautiously, as if afraid that it might spring from the table and grab them. They leaned over it and stared intently. The amputated hand was large and a man' s, judging from the hair on the back. Scofield lowered his head until he could make out the letters on a ring that covered part of one finger. Vincent Cardoni had graduated from the medical school in Wisconsin whose name was engraved on the ring.

Amanda crossed the Multnomah County line a little after four in the morning and, without a second thought, headed toward Tony Fiori's house. The house was dark when she parked in Tony's driveway at four-thirty. She walked onto the porch and rang the doorbell. A light went on after the third ring, and Amanda heard faint footsteps coming down the stairs. A moment later Tony peered through the glass panel in the front door. Then he opened the door a crack.

What are you doing here? Tony asked uncomfortably, and she knew instantly that she' d made a big mistake. Over Tony's shoulder, Amanda saw a woman wrapped in a silk dressing gown descending the stairs. The gown parted to reveal bare legs. Amanda looked from the woman to Tony. Then she backed away from the door.

I' m sorry ... I I didn't know, Amanda stuttered, turning to go.

Wait, Tony said. What's wrong?

But Amanda was already opening the door of her car. As she backed out she saw Tony staring at her. Then the woman was beside him in the doorway, and Amanda got a second look at her. While she was finding Vincent Cardoni's severed hand in the cabin in Milton County, Tony Fiori had been spending the night with Justine Castle.

Chapter 30

Amanda spotted her father coming off the 9:35 P.M. plane from LA before he saw her in the crowd at the gate. He looked agitated, and his head swung back and forth as he searched for her. Amanda stepped forward, and Frank threw a bear hug on his daughter. Then he held her at arm's length.

Are you okay?

I' m fine, Dad. I was never in any danger. How was your flight?

Damn the flight. You don't know how upset I've been.

Well, you shouldn't have been upset. I told you I was fine this morning.

They started moving with the crowd toward the baggage claim. Now that he saw that Amanda was in one piece, Frank's face darkened.

What were you thinking, meeting Cardoni in that place in the middle of the night?

I was thinking of what you would have done. I even brought your thirty-eight with me.

You're not serious, are you? Did you think Cardoni would stand in front of you and let you shoot him?

No, Dad, I thought he was a client in trouble. Don't tell me that you would have stayed in bed with your covers over your head and told Vincent to come to your office in the morning. He sounded desperate. He said he knew who murdered the victims at the cabin. It looks like he may have been right.

Amanda had given Frank a capsule version of her Milton County adventure early Friday morning. He had wanted to fly straight home, but Amanda convinced him to finish his deposition. As they waited for Frank's luggage Amanda told him everything that had happened at the cabin.

Do they know yet if the hand is Cardoni' s? Frank asked as he hefted his bags and headed toward the parking garage.

Amanda nodded. Mr. Scofield called me at work. The prints match.

Jesus. Frank sounded subdued. You must have been scared out of your wits.

If I could move as fast in the pool as I moved when I ran out of the cabin, I' d have Olympic gold on my wall.

That got a grudging smile out of Frank.

What about the body? he asked.

They're digging up the property, but they hadn't found a thing when Scofield called.

Frank and Amanda walked for a while without talking. He loaded his bags in the trunk, and Amanda started the car. On the way back to town Frank told his daughter about the deposition and asked about the office. When they were halfway home on the freeway, he asked Amanda twice about a research project he' d given her before getting an answer.

Is something besides what happened at the cabin bothering you?

What?

I asked if something else is worrying you besides what happened to Cardoni.

What makes you think that? Amanda asked warily.

I' m your father. I know you. Do you want to tell me what's wrong?

Nothing.

You forget who you're trying to con. Some of the best liars in the state have tried to fool me.

Amanda sighed. I feel like such a fool.

And what's made you feel that way?

Not what, who. Last night the police let me go around three in the morning. I was still upset, and it was dark when I got back to Portland. I just didn't want to be alone, so I drove to Tony's house.

Amanda colored. It was so embarrassing. Frank waited patiently while she collected herself.

He wasn't by himself. He ... There was a woman with him.

Frank felt his heart tighten.

It was Justine Castle. I ... I ran off without talking to him. I shouldn't have. It was immature. We just went out a few times and we never ... We weren't intimate. It's academic now, anyway. Tony was just accepted into a residency program in New York and he's not even going to be here.

How do you know that?

Amanda's color deepened.

I called him to apologize. Amanda sighed. I really liked him, Dad. I guess I' m just disappointed, she said in a way that broke Frank's heart.

Tony might not be the best person for you to get serious with.

Amanda turned toward Frank for a moment before bringing her eyes back to the road.

You don't like Tony?

Did he tell you that he was seeing Justine Castle at the same time he was seeing you?

We weren't serious. He never even made a pass at me. If he was seeing Justine, that was his business. He didn't lead me on. I ... I just got my hopes up. Anyway, like I said, it's all over. Tony is going to New York.

Chapter 31

The first thing that Bobby Vasquez noticed when Sheriff Mills ushered him into the long, narrow interrogation room was the hand. It had been printed and cleaned up, then placed in a large jar, where it floated in preservative that gave the skin a faint yellow cast. The jar was at one end of a long table in front of Fred Scofield. Scofield was in shirtsleeves, his collar undone and his tie yanked down away from his fleshy neck. It was warm in the room, but Sean McCarthy was still wearing a suit jacket and his tie was knotted. To McCarthy's right was a guy named Ron Hutchins from Internal Affairs who dressed like a mortician and sported a goatee. Sheriff Mills was in uniform.

Scofield pointed at the hand. What do you think, Bobby?

Ugly mother, Vasquez answered. Whose is it?

Don't you know? Scofield asked.

What is this, Twenty Questions?

Sit down, Bobby, McCarthy said in a kind, nonthreatening way.

Vasquez slouched onto an unoccupied chair. The sheriff sat behind Hutchins's shoulder. They were all facing him now. The theory was that he would feel overwhelmed, but he didn't feel anything at all.

How are you doing? McCarthy asked with real concern.

As well as anyone whose career has been ruined and who's facing bankruptcy and jail, Vasquez responded with a weary smile.

The homicide detective smiled back. I' m glad to see you've kept your sense of humor.

It's the only thing I still own, amigo.

Where's your lawyer? Scofield asked.

He charges by the hour, and I don't need him. I know how to plead the Fifth if I have to.

Fair enough, Scofield said.

You want something to drink? McCarthy asked. Coke, a cup of coffee?

Vasquez laughed. Who's playing the bad cop?

McCarthy grinned. There isn't any bad cop, Bobby. Besides, how are we going to con you? You already know all the tricks.

I' m not thirsty. Vasquez turned his attention back to the hand. You still haven't told me who this belongs to.

This is the right hand of Dr. Vincent Cardoni, McCarthy said, watching closely for his reaction. We found it in the basement of the Milton County cabin.

You're kidding!

McCarthy thought that Vasquez's surprise was genuine.

Dr. Death himself, Scofield answered. The prints check out.

Where's the rest of him?

We don't know.

Poetic justice.

I call it cold-blooded murder, Scofield responded. We have the rule of law here, Bobby. Guilt is decided at a trial. You remember, a jury of your peers and all that shit?

You think I did this? Vasquez asked, pointing at the jar and its ghoulish resident.

You're a suspect, McCarthy answered.

Mind telling me why? Vasquez asked. He leaned back in his chair, trying to look cool, but McCarthy could read the tension in his neck and shoulders.

You had a real hard-on for Cardoni. You screwed up your career to get him. Then Prochaska shot you down and Cardoni walked.

What? I' m gonna kill everyone who beats one of my cases?

You wanted this guy bad enough to burglarize his house and lie under oath.

Vasquez looked down. I' m not sorry Cardoni is dead, and I' m not sorry he was chopped up. I hope the sick son-of-a-bitch suffered. But I wouldn't do it that way, Sean. Not torture.

Where were you on Thursday night and Friday morning? Scofield asked.

Home, by myself. And no, I don't have anyone who can vouch for me. And yes, I could have driven to the cabin, killed Cardoni and returned unnoticed.

McCarthy studied Vasquez closely. He had means, motive and opportunity, just like they say in the detective movies, but would Vasquez saw off a man's hand for revenge? There McCarthy was undecided. And if they could not decide, they were left where they started, with suspects but no grounds for an arrest. Art Prochaska denied murdering the physician and even had an alibi. Prochaska's lawyer had faxed over a list of five witnesses who would swear that they were playing poker with Prochaska from six P.M. on Thursday night until four A.M. Friday morning. The problem with the alibi was that all five witnesses worked for Martin Breach.

What's your next question? Vasquez asked.

We don't have any for now, Scofield answered.

Then let me ask you one. Why are you so certain that Cardoni is dead?

McCarthy cocked his head to one side, and Scofield and Mills exchanged glances.

Vasquez studied the hand. You've moved to reopen the motion to suppress, right, Fred?

Scofield nodded.

What's the chance that Judge Brody will grant the motion and reverse the decision to suppress?

Fifty-fifty.

If you win, Cardoni goes back to jail. What are your chances at trial?

If I get to trial with what we found in the cabin and his house in Portland, I'll send him to death row.

Vasquez nodded. There's a rumor that Martin Breach has a contract out on Cardoni because he thinks Cardoni was Clifford Grant's partner and stiffed him on the deal at the airport.

We've heard the rumor. Where is this going?

Can a doctor amputate his own hand? Vasquez asked.

What? Sheriff Mills exclaimed.

You think Cardoni chopped off his own hand? McCarthy asked simultaneously.

He's got a contract out on him placed by the most relentless son of a bitch I've ever dealt with. If he escapes Breach's hit men, he's looking at a stay on death row. The only way the law and Martin Breach will stop looking for Cardoni is if they believe that he's dead.

That's ridiculous, Mills said.

Is it, Sheriff? Vasquez paused and looked at the hand again. There are animals that will gnaw off their own limb to get out of a trap. Think about that.

Chapter 32

At eight o' clock on a blustery Friday evening, Amanda Jaffe parked on the deserted street in front of the Multnomah County courthouse, showed her bar card to the guard and took the elevator to the third floor. Two weeks ago it had taken only one hour for the jury to find Timothy Dooling guilty of a horrible crime. The same jury had been out two and a half days deciding whether Dooling would live or die. What did that mean? She would soon find out.

In the five years she had been working in her father's firm, the county courthouse had become Amanda's second home. During the day its corridors and courtrooms hummed with drama, high and low. Every so often there was even a little comedy. At night, absent the hustle and bustle, Amanda could hear the tap of her heels on the marble floor.

As Amanda approached Judge Campbell's courtroom, she remembered the mob of reporters that had filled the Milton County courthouse during State v. Cardoni, her first death penalty case. The sad truth was that death penalty cases had become so common that Dooling's case merited the attention of only the Oregonian reporter with the courthouse beat.

This was not the first time that Amanda had thought about Vincent Cardoni during the four years that had passed since his mysterious disappearance. The case had made her wonder whether she really wanted to practice criminal law. She stayed on the fence for two months. Then her legal arguments helped win the dismissal of unwarranted rape charges against a dirt-poor honor student who now attended an excellent college on scholarship instead of rotting in a cell for a crime he did not commit. The student's case convinced Amanda that she could do a lot of good as a defense attorney. It also helped her understand that every defendant was not like the deranged surgeon, although her present client came pretty close.

Amanda paused at the courtroom door and watched Timothy Dooling through the glass. He was sitting in his chair at the counsel table, shackled and watched by two armed guards. It seemed absurd that anyone would be wary of a slip of a man barely out of his teens who tipped the scale at 140 pounds, but Amanda knew the guards had good reason to keep a careful watch on her client. The slight build, the wavy blond hair and the engaging smile did not fool her, as it had the young girl he had murdered. Even during those times when she felt relaxed in his company, the presence of the jail guards made her feel a lot more comfortable. She liked to think that Tim would never hurt her even if he had the chance, but she knew that was probably wishful thinking. The psychiatric reports and the biography Herb Cross had compiled made it very clear that Dooling was so badly broken that he could never be put together again. From the earliest age, his alcoholic mother had abused him physically. When he was barely out of diapers, one of her boyfriends had sexually assaulted him. Then he' d been abandoned and placed in one foster home after another, where he had been the victim of more sexual and physical abuse. It was not an excuse for the rape and the murder, but it explained why Tim had become a monster. No one in her right mind would argue that Dooling should ever be let out of maximum security, but Amanda had argued that he should be allowed to live. There were good arguments against her position. Mike Greene, the prosecutor, had made all of them.

Dooling turned when Amanda walked in and looked at her expectantly with big blue eyes that begged to be trusted.

How are you feeling? Amanda asked as she set down her attachT case and took her seat.

I don't know. Scared, I guess.

There were times, like now, when Amanda actually felt sorry for Dooling, and other times when she actually liked him. It was the craziest thing, something only another criminal attorney would understand. He was so dependent on her; in all likelihood she was Tim's only friend. How pathetically sad must a man's life be, Amanda thought, when his attorney was the only person in the world who cared about him?

The bailiff rapped his gavel, and the Honorable Mary Campbell entered the courtroom through a door behind her bench. She was a bright, no-nonsense brunette in her early forties with short hair and a shorter temper who ran a tight ship. With Campbell running the show, her client had received a fair trial. That was bad news if the verdict was death.

Bring in the jury, the judge told the bailiff.

Across the way, Mike Greene looked grim. Amanda knew that he was feeling the tension as much as she was. She found this comforting, because Greene was a seasoned prosecutor. Amanda liked Greene, who had barely heard of her father when he moved to Portland from LA two years ago. It had been hard for Frank Jaffe's daughter to establish her own identity and reputation. Mike was one of the few DAs, lawyers and judges who did not think of her initially as Frank Jaffe's little girl.

When the jurors filed in, Amanda kept her eyes forward. She had long ago quit trying to guess verdicts by studying the expressions on the faces of the jurors.

What happens now? Dooling asked nervously, even though Amanda had explained the process to him several times.

The judge gave the jurors four questions to answer. The questions are set out in the statute that governs sentencing in an aggravated murder case. The jury's answer to each question must be unanimous. If all of the jurors answer all of the questions with yes, the court has to impose a death sentence. If the answer of any juror to any of these questions is no, the judge has to give you life.

A slender, middle-aged woman with gray hair stood up when Judge Campbell asked if the jury had a verdict. This was Vivian Tahan, a CPA with a large accounting firm. Amanda would never have let Tahan on if she' d had a choice, but she had run out of peremptory challenges by the time Tahan was called and she had discovered no reason to ask for her dismissal for prejudice. The fact that the strong-willed Tahan was the foreperson made Amanda very nervous.

Judge Campbell took the verdict forms from the bailiff and read through them. Amanda's eyes were riveted to the stack of paper.

I' m going to read the questions posed to the jurors and their answers to each, Judge Campbell said. I note for the record that each juror has signed the verdict form. On the first charge in the indictment, to the first question, ' Was the conduct of the defendant, Timothy Roger Dooling, that caused the death of Mary Elizabeth Blair committed deliberately and with the reasonable expectation that death of the deceased would result?' the jurors have unanimously answered yes.

During the guilt phase, the jury had found that Dooling acted intentionally when he strangled Mary Blair to death. There was a legal distinction between intent and deliberation, but it was the width of a hair. While the yes finding did not surprise Amanda, it still caused her heart to skip a beat.

On the second question, ' Is there a probability that the defendant, Timothy Roger Dooling, will commit criminal acts of violence that would constitute a continuing threat to society?' the jurors have unanimously answered yes.

There were still no surprises. Timothy Dooling's first violent act occurred in third grade, when he set a dog on fire. They had never stopped, and they had gotten progressively more serious.

The third question asked whether the defendant's action in killing the deceased was an unreasonable response to the provocation, if any, of the deceased. The only time this became an issue in a case was in situations of self-defense or long-term abuse. Dooling's victim had been kidnapped, held hostage for days and systematically raped and murdered. It was no shock that the jurors had unanimously found Dooling's conduct unreasonable.

Amanda and Mike Greene leaned forward when Judge Campbell started to read the last question and the jury's answer to it. Question four was the only important one in most cases. The question, Should the defendant receive a death sentence? opened the door for defense counsel to present any argument against death that could be supported by evidence. Amanda had presented witness after witness to attest to the horrors of Timothy Dooling's childhood, and she had argued that the mother who gave him life had handcrafted him from birth to be the monster he had become. If one of the twelve jurors agreed with her arguments, Tim Dooling would live.

To question four, Judge Campbell said, the jury has answered no by a vote of three to nine.

Dooling sat stone still. Amanda did not move either. It was only when she saw the prosecutor's head bow that she knew that she had convinced three of the jurors that Dooling's life was worth saving.

Did we win? Tim asked her, his eyes wide with disbelief.

We won.

Ain't that something. Tim was grinning. That's the first time I ever won anything in my whole life.

Amanda returned to her loft at ten-thirty, exhausted but ecstatic at having beaten back her first death verdict. The loft was twelve hundred square feet of open space in a converted red-brick warehouse in Portland's Pearl District. The floors were hardwood, the windows were tall and wide and the ceiling was high. There were two art galleries on the ground floor and good restaurants and coffeehouses nearby. She could walk to work in fifteen minutes when the weather was good.

Amanda had filled the loft with furniture and fixtures she loved. A solemn Sally Haley pear in a pewter bowl that cost a month's salary hung across from a bright and cheery abstract painted by an artist she had met in one of the street-level galleries. Amanda had discovered her oak sideboard in an antique store two blocks away, but her dining table had been crafted in a woodworker's studio on the coast. It was made of planks the artisan had salvaged from a fishing vessel that had run aground in Newport during a storm.

Amanda flipped on the lights and threw her jacket onto the couch. She was too excited to go to sleep and too distracted for TV, so she poured herself a glass of milk and put two slices of bread in the toaster before collapsing in her favorite easy chair.

Tim Dooling's case was her first capital murder as lead counsel. The pressure on her during the past nine months had been tremendous. Nothing had prepared her to handle a case where one mistake could result in the death of a client. When the verdict was read Amanda had not experienced the manic surge she' d felt when she won her first PAC-10 swimming title; she had simply felt relieved, as if someone had removed an immense burden from her shoulders.

The toaster dinged, and Amanda dragged herself to her feet. As she crossed the room she suddenly noticed how quiet it was in her loft. Amanda enjoyed her solitude, but there were times, like tonight, when it would have been nice to have someone with whom she could share her triumph. She had dated a few men since moving back to Portland. There had been a six-month affair with a stockbroker that had died a mutually agreeable death and a longer relationship with a lawyer from one of Portland's large firms who had asked her to marry him. Amanda had asked for time to consider the proposal, then realized that she wouldn't have to think at all if he was the one.

Amanda wouldn't have minded having Frank to crow to, but he was in California with Elsie Davis, a schoolteacher who had been a character witness for a student Frank had defended. While interviewing her, Frank discovered that she had lost her husband to cancer and had stayed single for twelve years because she had never found anyone to take his place. Their cautious friendship had blossomed into a serious relationship, and they were on their first vacation together.

Amanda buttered her toast at the kitchen table. While she sipped her milk she took stock of her life. On the whole she was happy. Her career was going well, she had money in the bank and a place she loved to live in, but she was lonely at times. Two of her girlfriends had married during the past year, and she was beginning to feel isolated. Couples went out with couples. Soon there would be children to occupy their time. Amanda sighed. She didn't feel incomplete without a man. It was more a question of companionship. Just having someone to talk to, who would be around to share her triumphs and help her up when she fell.

Chapter 33

Andrew Volkov performed his custodial duties at St. Francis Medical Center diligently. Tonight, as he cleaned the floor outside the offices of the Department of Surgery, he moved slowly and deliberately, making certain that his mop covered every inch of the corridor. Volkov was tall, but it was hard to guess his height because he slouched and shuffled as he worked. He rarely spoke and never met the eye of anyone who spoke to him. His own eyes were gray-green, his hair was close-cropped and blond, and he had the broad cheekbones, wide nose and brooding brow of a Slav. Volkov rarely showed any emotion, maintaining a stolid expression that reinforced the impression that he was as much a mule as a man. When told to do something, he obeyed immediately. His superiors had learned quickly to be precise in their instructions because Volkov demonstrated little imagination and followed orders literally.

The offices of the Department of Surgery were quiet and deserted at two A.M. Volkov pushed his cart against the wall and straightened slowly. He rested his mop against the wall, checked the corridor and shuffled toward the door to the next office. He opened it and turned on the light. The office was narrow and not very deep, a windowless cubicle, really, hardly wider than a closet. A gunmetal gray desk took up most of the floor. It was covered with medical journals, textbooks, mail and miscellany. Volkov was under strict instructions never to touch anything on a doctor's desk, but he was supposed to empty the wastebasket under the desk.

Volkov took a duster from his cart and ran it over the shelves of a bookcase that stood against one wall. When he was through dusting, he looked down at the patch of floor that was not covered by the desk, the bookshelves and the two visitor chairs. It was an area so small that it was hardly worth dealing with, but Volkov's boss had instructed him to clean any surface that could be cleaned, so Volkov shuffled outside, emptied the wastebasket, then took his vacuum cleaner off the cart. He plugged it in and ran it back and forth across the floor. When he was satisfied that he had done all he could do, Volkov placed the vacuum cleaner back on the cart.

Volkov reentered the office one last time. He closed and locked the door and drew a pair of latex gloves out of one pocket and a Ziploc bag out of the other. Then he stepped behind the desk and opened the bottom drawer. The coffee mug was right where he had seen it on other nights. Volkov placed the mug in the Ziploc bag, left the office and relocked the door. He placed the bag under a pile of towels along with the gloves. Then he grabbed his mop and began pushing it slowly and deliberately toward the next office.

Chapter 34

On this moonless Sunday night, even with his high beams on, all Multnomah County sheriff's deputy Oren Bradbury could see through his rain-streaked windshield was the yellow line that divided the two-lane country road and an occasional glimpse of farmland.

You know this is a bullshit call, don't you? his partner, Brady Paggett, griped. The place has been deserted since ... Hell, I can't remember when.

It could be kids.

On a night like this?

Bradbury shrugged. We weren't doing anything anyway.

They rode in silence until Paggett pointed toward a rusted mailbox whose post leaned precariously toward the tall grass on the side of the road.

There it is.

A dilapidated wooden fence bordered the road. Its slats were unpainted. Several had broken loose on one end and dangled from the few nails that were still in place. Bradbury spotted the break in the fence and turned through it. The patrol car bounced along a rutted dirt track. There were tall trees on either side. After a quarter mile the headlights picked up a farmhouse with peeling brown paint and a front yard overgrown with weeds. When they drew closer, the deputies could make out a dim glow through a front window.

Maybe this isn't a bullshit call, Paggett said.

What exactly did dispatch say again? Bradbury asked.

Someone phoned in to report screams.

Who?

Dispatch couldn't get a name.

The caller had to be right here. The next neighbor is half a mile down the road. There's no way you' d hear anything if you were driving by, and no one's gonna be walking along the road tonight.

As the patrol car swung into the front yard, its light swept across a dark blue Volvo that was parked at the side of the house.

Someone's here, Bradbury said just as a person in a hooded jacket and jeans burst through the front door and streaked for the Volvo. Bradbury hit the brakes, and Paggett jumped out of the car with his gun drawn.

Stop, police!

The runner skidded to a halt and froze in the police car's headlights.

Hands in the air, Paggett commanded.

Bradbury drew his weapon and got out, keeping the car between him and the hooded apparition. Paggett squinted to keep the rain out of his eyes.

Step over to our car, put your hands on the roof and spread your legs.

As soon as the person was in position, Paggett reached out and pulled back the hood. A cascade of honey brown hair fell across a woman's shoulders. The deputy kept his gun on her as he patted her down. He noticed that her chest was heaving, as if she had run a distance.

Is anyone else inside? Paggett asked.

The woman nodded vigorously.

I ... I think he's dead, she managed. The words came out in gasps.

Who's dead? Paggett demanded.

I don't know. He's in the basement.

And who are you? Paggett asked.

Dr. Justine Castle. I' m a surgeon at St. Francis.

All right, Dr. Castle, you can put your hands down. Paggett opened the back door of the police car. Why don't you get in out of the rain and try to calm down.

Justine sat down in the backseat. Bradbury walked around the car and joined Paggett at the rear passenger door.

What are you doing here, Dr. Castle? Paggett asked.

Justine's saturated hair hung along her damp face. Her breathing was still not under control.

There was a call. He said that he was from St. Francis, that it was about Al Rossiter.

Who is Rossiter? Bradbury asked.

One of the surgeons.

And who was the caller?

I' m not sure. I think he said that his name was Delaney or Delay. I really don't remember. It wasn't someone I knew.

Okay, go ahead.

The man said Dr. Rossiter was working on someone who was badly injured and needed my help. He said that it was urgent. He told me to come here and he gave me directions.

Do you usually drive to the scene of an injury?

No, it's definitely not routine. I asked why they didn't send for an ambulance. I said I would meet them at the hospital. That's where all our equipment and staff are. This Delaney or Delay said that he couldn't explain over the phone but that it was a matter of life and death and I would understand when I got here. He said that the man's condition was desperate. Then he hung up.

Where's everyone else? Where's Dr. Rossiter? Paggett asked.

Justine shook her head. She looked upset and confused.

I don't know.

Justine squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, shuddering breath.

Are you okay, Dr. Castle? Paggett asked.

Justine nodded slowly, but she did not look okay.

Is anyone besides the dead man inside? Bradbury asked.

I ... I don't know. I didn't see anyone. When I saw him ... Justine swallowed hard. I panicked. I ran.

You stay with Dr. Castle, Bradbury said. He walked toward the farmhouse, his gun at the ready.

Paggett closed the rear door of the patrol car. There were no handles on the inside. Justine was effectively a prisoner, but she made no protest and seemed content to sit with her eyes closed and her head against the back of the seat.

The drops were pounding harder. Paggett put on his hat to keep the rain off. He checked his watch and wondered what was keeping Bradbury. When Oren came out, he looked glassy-eyed and pale.

You got to see this, Brady. It's horrible.

Paggett and his partner had seen car wreck victims, abused children and other mangled and degraded human beings. It would take a lot to put Oren in this state. He headed for the farmhouse with Bradbury close behind. The first thing that struck him as odd was the cleanliness. Weeds ruled the front yard and the exterior walls were in disrepair, but every inch of the entryway and the front room appeared to have been vacuumed clean. There was no furniture in the entryway and only a cheap coffee table and a straight-back chair in the living room.

The stairs to the basement are in the kitchen, Bradbury said. The kitchen lights were on when I came in the house.

Those must have been the lights we saw when we drove up.

The kitchen was as clean as the other rooms. There was a card table and two straight-back chairs standing on the yellow linoleum floor. Paggett opened one of the cupboards and saw a few plastic plates and cups. A half-filled coffeepot and a coffee mug were on a drain board next to the sink. When Paggett drew closer, he saw that there was still some coffee in the mug.

The body is down there, Bradbury said, pointing through the open basement door. His voice was shaky.

What's it look like?

Bad, Brady. You'll see.

As Paggett walked down the wooden steps that led to the basement, he noticed the suffocating odor that permeates the air when death has been a visitor. A bare 40-watt bulb threw dim shadows over the unpainted concrete floor and walls. Paggett could see a mattress next to the furnace. Lying on the mattress was a figure. The light was too dim to make out details, but there was enough light to see that the body was naked and cuffed at the wrists and ankles by manacles that were attached to the wall by lengths of thick chain.

Paggett walked slowly toward the corpse. When he was a few feet away he saw the body clearly for the first time and almost lost it. The deputy blinked, not quite trusting his eyes. The mattress was saturated with blood; so much of the body was covered with dried blood that it was very difficult to tell its race. An ear and several digits were missing. Paggett's stomach heaved. He turned away, squeezed his eyes shut and took deep breaths. The smell almost overpowered him, but he struggled to keep his food down.

Are you okay? Bradbury asked anxiously.

Yeah, yeah. Paggett was bent over with his hands on his knees. Give me a second.

When he was ready, Paggett straightened up and took a closer look at the corpse.

Holy Jesus, he whispered reverently. Paggett had seen a lot of bad shit in his day, but nothing like this.

The deputy turned away from the body, relieved to have it out of his sight, and surveyed the rest of the basement. At first the dimensions of the room confused him. The basement seemed smaller than he expected. Then Paggett realized that a gray concrete wall with a narrow doorway divided the basement in half. He walked through the doorway. Inside a second room was an operating table. A tray of surgical equipment stood next to the table. Among the tools was a scalpel encrusted with blood. Paggett turned and headed back up the stairs.

I' m gonna check out the rest of this place. You call it in. We need homicide and forensics.

What about the woman?

After what we saw, I' m not letting her out until we know for sure that she didn't do this guy.

Paggett shook his head again, as if to clear it of the image of what he had just seen. Bradbury left the house. Paggett took a deep breath and started to explore the main floor. After taking a second look at the kitchen and living room, Paggett walked toward the rear of the house and found two empty rooms with closed doors. They had been vacuumed clean.

As he started to climb the stairs to the second floor, something occurred to Paggett. He turned around and went through the main floor again. He was right. There weren't any telephones in the house. The deputy wondered if he would find a phone on the second floor.

He didn' t, but the second floor did yield a discovery. In one of the rooms were a bookcase, an armchair and a single bed with a mattress and a pillow. A lamp stood between the bed and the armchair. There was no sheet on the bed and no pillowcase on the pillow. Paggett guessed that the killer had used the bed but had taken the sheet and pillowcase because they might contain trace evidence like hair or semen stains.

Paggett read some of the titles in the bookcase. He found The Torturer's Handbook, Cleansing the Fatherland: Nazi Medicine and Racial Hygiene, and Sweet Surrender: A Sadist's Bible mixed in with medical texts and other books on torture.

Also in the bookcase was a black three-ring binder. Paggett used his handkerchief to take it out of the bookcase and open it. A computer had generated the pages.

Tuesday: Watched from dark as subject revived. 8:17 P.M.: Subject disoriented. Realizes that she is naked and manacled to wall. Struggles for less than minute before commencing to sob. Screams for help commence at 8:20, end 8:25. Watched subject until 9:00. Went upstairs to eat. When kitchen door opened and closed, subject commenced begging. Listened from kitchen while I ate. No fighting spirit, pathetic, subject may provide little new data.

Wednesday: Approached subject for first time. Begging, pleading, questions: Who are you? Why are you doing this? etc. Subject is extremely docile, drew into fetal position at touch. Moved head slightly, but accepted training hood with little struggle. When released from manacles obeyed commands immediately. No challenge.

Saturday: After two days without food and with sensory deprivation, subject is weak and lethargic. I am disappointed at lack of resistance. Have decided to commence pain tolerance experiments immediately.

8:25: Remove manacles and lead subject to operating table. No resistance, subject obeys command to mount table and submits to restraints. 8:30: hood removed, subject's head secured to table. Begging, pleading. Subject sobs quietly. I have decided to start with the soles of the feet.

Paggett felt light-headed. He could read no further. Let the DA and the homicide detectives find out what happened to ... It hit him suddenly. The journal referred to the subject as she. The corpse in the basement was a male. Paggett flipped through the journal.

There were more entries.

Chapter 35

It took three rings to drag Amanda out of a deep sleep. The phone rang again, and Amanda groped for the receiver in the dark while reading the bright red 2:13 on her digital clock.

Miss Jaffe?

Yes? Amanda answered groggily.

This is Adele at the answering service. I' m sorry to disturb you.

That's okay.

Amanda swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up.

I have a woman on the line. She's calling from the police station. She asked for your father.

Mr. Jaffe is out of town.

I know. I told her that you were taking his calls. She said that was okay.

Did she say what this is about?

No. Just that she had to talk to you.

Amanda sighed. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was talk to a drunk driver at two o' clock on Monday morning, but middle-of-the-night calls came with the territory when you practiced criminal law.

Put her through, Adele.

Adele's voice was replaced by Tony Bennett singing I Left My Heart in San Francisco. Amanda closed her eyes and rubbed her lids.

Is this Amanda Jaffe?

Amanda's eyes opened. She knew that voice.

This is Justine Castle. We met several years ago.

Amanda felt a chill pass through her.

You're Vincent Cardoni's wife.

Amanda suddenly flashed on a vision of the doctor descending Tony Fiori's staircase on the evening she had discovered Cardoni's hand. Her hand tightened on the receiver.

Why are you calling my father at this hour?

Something terrible has happened.

Amanda detected a tremor when the doctor spoke.

I ... I've been arrested.

This time the tremor was more pronounced, as if Justine was barely holding herself together.

Where are you calling from?

The Justice Center.

Is anyone with you?

Detective DeVore and a deputy district attorney named Mike Greene.

Justine had her attention now. DeVore was homicide, and Mike rarely handled anything but capital cases.

Are DeVore and Greene listening to this call? Amanda asked.

They're in the room.

Answer my questions yes or no and do not say anything else unless I say it's okay. Do you understand?

Yes.

Have you been arrested for a serious crime?

Yes.

Some type of homicide?

Yes.

I' m coming down. From this point on you are not to speak with anyone but me. Is that clear?

Yes, but

Dr. Castle, Alex DeVore and Mike Greene are very nice men, but they are also specialists in sending people to death row. One way they do that is by befriending confused and frightened people who are under tremendous stress. These people trust them because they're so nice. They say things to Mike and Alex that they do not realize are going to be used to crucify them in court.

Now, I am going to repeat my instructions. Do not I repeat do not talk to anyone about this matter except me unless I say it's okay. Do you understand my instructions?

Yes.

Good. Please give Mr. Greene the phone.

Hi, Amanda, Mike Greene said a moment later.

Amanda was in no mood for small talk.

Dr. Castle says you've arrested her. Mind telling me what for?

Not at all. Two sheriff's deputies caught her fleeing the scene of a homicide.

Did she confess?

Claims she didn't do it.

But you arrested her anyway?

Of course. We always arrest people when we can prove they're guilty.

Chapter 36

Prior to 1983 the Multnomah County jail was an antiquated, fortresslike edifice constructed of huge granite blocks that was located several miles from the Multnomah County courthouse at Rocky Butte. When the Rocky Butte jail was torn down to make way for the I-205 freeway, the detention center was moved to the fourth through tenth floors of the Justice Center, a sixteen-story, state-of-the-art facility one block from the courthouse in the heart of downtown Portland. In addition to the jail the Justice Center also housed the Portland police central precinct, a branch of the Multnomah County district attorney's office, state parole and probation, the Portland police administrative offices, the state crime laboratory, two circuit courts and two district courts.

Before Amanda could visit Justine Castle she had to check in with a guard on the second floor of the Justice Center and go through the metal detector. The guard led Amanda to the jail elevator and keyed her up to the floor where Justine Castle was being held. When the elevator stopped, Amanda found herself in a narrow, brightly lit hallway. At one end a telephone without a dial was attached to the wall next to a massive steel door. Above the door was a surveillance camera. Amanda used the telephone to summon a guard. A few minutes later a corrections officer opened the door and let Amanda into another narrow corridor. On one side of this hall were three visiting rooms. Amanda could see into each room through a plate of thick glass. The guard opened the heavy metal door of the room nearest the elevators. On the other side of the room was another steel door that opened onto a hall that led to the cells. A black button stuck out from the bottom of an intercom that was recessed into the yellow concrete wall. The guard pointed to it.

Press that if you need assistance, he said as he closed the door behind him.

Amanda sat on an orange molded plastic chair. She took a legal pad and a pen out of her attachT case and placed them in front of her on a small, round table that was secured to the floor by iron bolts. From experience Amanda knew that it would take a while for the guard to bring Justine to her. While she waited Amanda thought about the last time she' d seen Justine Castle.

Four years ago, finding Justine with Tony Fiori had been a shock, but the incident was ancient history. There hadn't been anything between her and Tony, anyway. She was honest enough to admit that she wished that there had been but realistic enough to know that they had just been friends.

The locks snapped, and a uniformed jail matron led Dr. Castle into the visiting room. Amanda studied her for the changes that time might have wrought. Justine was exhausted, and no one looks chic in an orange jailhouse jumpsuit at three in the morning. Justine's hair, ruined by the rain, was unkempt, but Justine was still beautiful, even under these trying circumstances, and the strength was there, even if it was being sorely tested.

Thank you for coming, Justine said.

Dr. Castle

Justine, please.

My father's in California. He won't be back for a week. If you want another lawyer to represent you, I can give you a list of several excellent attorneys.

But you're a criminal lawyer, too, aren't you? Amanda sensed a hint of desperation in the question. The district attorney told me that you just beat him in a murder case. He thinks you're very good.

Mr. Greene was being kind. I didn't win the case. My client was found guilty. I just convinced the jury to give him a life sentence instead of a death sentence.

I read about what your client did to that girl. It can't be easy to convince a jury to save the life of someone like that.

No, it's not.

So Mr. Greene wasn't being charitable when he said you were good.

Amanda shrugged, uneasy with the compliment. I work very hard for my clients.

Then you're the lawyer I want. And I want you to get me out of here as soon as possible.

That might not be easy.

You don't understand. I can't be charged with murder. My reputation will be ruined, my career would be ...

Justine stopped. Amanda could see that she hated to sound needy and desperate.

This has nothing to do with my ability as a lawyer. It has to do with the way that the law is written. In Oregon every crime except murder has automatic bail. Remember your husband's case? My father had to ask for a bail hearing when the DA objected to release. We'll have to hold a similar hearing for you unless the DA agrees to release you.

Then get him to agree.

I'll try. We're meeting as soon as I finish talking to you. But I can't guarantee anything.

Justine leaned forward and focused all of her energy on Amanda. It made Amanda feel uncomfortable, but Justine's stare was so intense that she could not look away.

Let me make two things clear to you. First, I did not kill anyone. Second, I have been set up.

By whom?

I don't know, Justine answered with obvious frustration, but I do know that I was lured to that farm, and the police turning up when they did was no coincidence.

Justine told Amanda about the phone call that convinced her to rush to the farmhouse and what happened after she arrived.

Do you know the victim?

I don't think so, but I can't say for sure. I only had a brief look, and his face was so disfigured.

Amanda noticed that Justine's hands were folded in front of her on the table and she was clasping them so tightly that the knuckles were white. If the mental image of the dead man could freak out a surgeon, Amanda was not looking forward to viewing the autopsy pictures and crime scene photos.

Besides finding you at the scene, can you think of anything that would make the police believe that you killed the man in the basement?

No.

Did you say anything that could be interpreted as a confession?

Justine looked annoyed. I told you I didn't kill anyone. The man was dead when I got there.

Were you arrested at the crime scene?

No. The two officers who found me were very polite. Everyone was, Mr. Greene and the detective, too, after I arrived at the Justice Center. They brought me coffee, got me a sandwich. They were very sympathetic. Then they got a call from the crime lab and everything changed. DeVore and the DA went into the hall and talked. When they came back DeVore read me my rights.

Did they say what had happened?

They said that they knew I' d killed that man. They insisted I was lying when I denied it. That's when I called you.

Amanda made a few notes.

When did you get the call about Dr. Rossiter?

Around nine on Sunday night.

Where were you?

At my house.

Were you alone?

Yes.

Were you with anyone earlier in the day? Someone who can give you an alibi?

No. I was away for the weekend. I have a cabin on the coast. It's been hectic at the hospital, and I drove out Friday evening to get away from everyone and watch the storm. I got home shortly before the call.

You said that was about nine.

Justine nodded.

Where is the farmhouse located?

Out in the country on a two-lane road in the middle of nowhere. I got really concerned when I drove into the front yard. The place looked like it hadn't been lived in for years.

Justine looked unsettled again.

Go on, Amanda urged.

You were involved in Vincent's defense, weren't you?

I assisted my father.

And you've been to that cabin in Milton County? You're the one who found Vincent's hand?

Yes, Amanda answered softly.

Justine took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment.

It wasn't seeing the body that made me run.

Justine exhaled slowly and gathered herself while Amanda waited patiently.

The farmhouse basement is divided in two by a cement wall. There is a room on the other side of the wall. When I walked into the room I saw the table.

What table? Amanda asked as a sick feeling formed in her stomach.

An operating table.

Amanda's mouth gaped open. This sounds like ...

Justine nodded. It was the first thing I thought of. That's why I ran, and that's why I called your father.

Amanda stood up.

I've got to talk to Mike Greene. He was a DA in Los Angeles when Cardoni was arrested. He wouldn't know about the case.

Wouldn't DeVore have heard?

It wasn't his case, and most of the action was in Milton County.

Amanda rang for the guard, then turned to Justine.

The worst part of being in jail isn't what they show you on TV, she said. It's the boredom. Sitting around all day with nothing to do. I' m going to give you a job that will keep you occupied and help your defense. I want you to write an autobiography for me.

The request seemed to take Justine by surprise.

Why do you need that?

I' m going to be blunt with you. I hope I win this case and you go free, but a good lawyer always prepares for the worst. If you're convicted of aggravated murder, there will be a second phase to your trial: the penalty phase. That's when the jury decides your sentence, and one of the sentences that can be imposed is death. In order to convince a jury to spare you I'll need to get them to see you as a human being, and I do that by telling them the story of your life.

Justine looked uncomfortable.

If you don't use the biographical information unless I' m convicted, why don't I wait to write it?

Justine, I hope I never have to use any of the material you give me, but I know from experience that I can't wait until the last moment to prepare for the penalty phase. The judge usually gives you only a few days between the trial and the penalty phase. There won't be enough time to do a thorough job unless we start now.

How far back do you want me to go?

Start when you were born, Amanda answered with a smile.

The locks snapped, and the door started to open.

I'll come back this afternoon for the arraignment. While you're waiting, write the bio. You'll thank me for giving you something to take your mind off your troubles.

Chapter 37

Mike Greene dealt with rapists, killers and criminal defense attorneys all day but always seemed to be in a good mood. He had curly black hair, pale blue eyes and a shaggy mustache. His head was large but did not seem out of proportion because he was six-five with the kind of massive body that compelled males to ask if he had played basketball or football. He had not; he didn't even watch sports on TV. He did play chess and was a rated expert during his days on the chess team at the University of Southern California. Greene's other passion was tenor sax, which he played proficiently enough to be asked to sit in on occasion with a jazz quartet that entertained at local clubs.

Alex DeVore was a dapper little man who always dressed well and looked fresh and alert even at three-thirty in the morning. He had been the lead detective in two cases Amanda had cocounseled with Frank. She remembered him as being low-key and businesslike.

The deputy DA and the detective were sipping coffee from foam cups at DeVore's desk in the homicide bureau when Amanda walked in. A Dunkin' Donuts box with its lid folded back sat in front of them.

I saved a jelly doughnut and a maple bar for you, just to show that there are no hard feelings over Dooling, Greene told her.

Amanda was hungry and exhausted. Can I get some coffee? she asked as she grabbed the maple bar.

We'll even give you powdered creamer if you'll plead out your client.

No deal. I don't cop my clients for anything less than a grande caramel latte.

Damn, Greene answered with a snap of his fingers. All we've got is industrial-strength caffeinated.

Then it looks like we'll have to go to the mat.

Greene filled a cup with a sludgy black liquid. Amanda took a sip and grimaced.

What is this stuff? If I ever find out that you gave it to one of my clients, I'll sue you.

DeVore smiled, and Greene let out a belly laugh.

We brew this specially for defense attorneys.

Amanda took a big bite out of her maple bar to cut the taste of the coffee.

What do you say to some form of release for Dr. Castle?

Greene shook his head. Can't do it.

C' mon, Mike. She's a doctor. She has patients to tend to.

That's regrettable, but you have no idea what's going on here.

Tell me.

Greene looked at DeVore. The detective nodded. Greene leaned back in his chair.

Your client's been using the farmhouse as a torture chamber.

Greene waited for Amanda to react. When she didn' t, he continued.

We found a man in the basement. Greene shook his head and the pleasant smile disappeared. Count yourself lucky that you'll only have to look at the photos. What makes it even more evil is the journal.

What journal?

Your client has kidnapped other victims. The journal is an account of her torture sessions with each of them. She kept them in pain for days. It takes a lot to get to me, but I could not read the journal straight through.

Is the journal in Dr. Castle's handwriting?

Greene shook his head. No, the pages were generated by a computer. Her name's not in it, either. It would have made our job easier if Dr. Castle had signed it, but she didn' t.

So how can you be sure she wrote it?

We found a section of the journal in Castle's house when we executed a search warrant, earlier this evening. It contains a graphic description of what she did to the poor bastard we found in the basement. A copy will be included in your discovery. I' d wait a few hours after you eat to read it.

By the way, the medical examiner's preliminary finding is that our John Doe committed suicide by chewing through the veins in his wrist. When you read the journal entry you'll see why he killed himself. Can you imagine how desperate and how terrified a person has to be to kill themselves like that?

The blood drained from Amanda's face.

Did anything else at the crime scene connect Dr. Castle to the murder? she asked quietly.

You'll get our reports when they're ready.

Dr. Castle believes that she's been set up.

Does she have a suspect in mind? Greene asked skeptically.

Actually, we both do. You told Justine that the cops came to the farmhouse in response to an anonymous nine-one-one call. The farmhouse is a quarter mile from the road, isn't it? How did this anonymous caller get close enough to hear screams?

Good question. I' m sure you'll ask the jury to consider it.

Come on, Mike. Doesn't this sound like a setup to you? The police just happen to get a call that sends them to a murder scene at the precise moment that the killer rushes out.

You can argue that, too.

Amanda hesitated before plunging in.

You've found more victims at the farm, haven't you?

DeVore had been half listening, but the question got his attention. Mike's eyebrows went up.

Did you get that from your client?

So I' m right.

How did you know?

I'll tell you that if you'll tell me whether you arrested Justine Castle because you found items with her fingerprints in the house.

The detective and the DA exchanged looks again.

Yes, Greene answered.

What items?

A scalpel with the victim's blood and a mug half filled with coffee.

Amanda controlled her excitement. Was the mug found in the kitchen?

How did you know that? DeVore asked.

She ignored the question. Was there anything else with trace evidence on it?

We found a surgical gown, cap and booties in a closet in the bedroom. They're at the lab and the technicians are going over them for hair and fibers. Now it's your turn to answer a few questions. How did you know about the other bodies and where we found the mug?

Amanda took a sip of her coffee while she thought about the best way to answer Greene's question.

Do you know anything about the Cardoni case?

Mike Greene looked blank.

The guy in Milton County with the hand, DeVore said.

Amanda nodded. This was about four and a half years ago, Mike, before you moved up here. Dr. Vincent Cardoni was a surgeon at St. Francis, and he was married to Justine Castle.

That's right! DeVore exclaimed.

A Portland vice cop named Bobby Vasquez got an anonymous tip that Cardoni was storing cocaine in a home in the mountains in Milton County. He couldn't corroborate the tip, so he broke into the house. Guess what he found?

DeVore was sitting up, and Amanda could see that he was remembering more and more about the Cardoni case.

What are you getting at? the homicide detective asked.

There was a graveyard in the woods near the house with nine victims. Most of them had been tortured. There was an operating room in the basement and a bloody scalpel with Cardoni's prints on it. Cardoni's prints were also found in the kitchen on a coffee mug. A videotape that showed one of the victims being tortured was found in Cardoni's house. Is this starting to sound familiar?

Are you suggesting that Cardoni killed the people at the farmhouse? Greene asked.

Before she could answer, DeVore said, He couldn' t. Cardoni is dead.

We don't know that, Amanda said to the detective before turning back to Greene. Not for sure.

You guys are going too fast for me, Greene said.

My father represented Dr. Cardoni. There was a motion to suppress. Vasquez lied under oath to cover up his illegal entry, and Dad proved that he perjured himself. The state lost all its evidence, and Cardoni was released from jail. A week or so later Cardoni called me at home, at night, and said that he had to meet me at the house in Milton County.

I remember now, DeVore said. You found it!

Found what? Greene asked.

Cardoni's right hand. It was on the operating table. Someone cut it off.

Who? Greene asked.

No one knows.

So it's an unsolved murder?

Maybe, maybe not, Amanda said. Cardoni's body was never found. If he cut off his own hand, it wouldn't be a murder, would it?

Chapter 38

By the time Amanda staggered home to her loft it was almost five in the morning. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her head felt as though it were stuffed with cotton. Amanda would have given anything to dive under the covers, but there was too much to do, so she tried to fool her body into believing that she had slept by following her morning routine. She doubted that she would have been able to sleep, anyway. Her head was spinning with ideas for Justine's defense, and the possibility that Vincent Cardoni was back made her skin crawl.

After twenty minutes of calisthenics and an ice-cold shower, Amanda donned one of her dark blue court suits and walked two blocks to a hole-in-the-wall cafT that had been in the neighborhood since the fifties. It was still pitch black outside, and the raw, biting wind helped her stay awake. So did the flapjack breakfast she ate hunkered down in one of the cafT's red vinyl booths. As a swimmer, Amanda always stoked up on carbohydrates the night before a big race. Swimming distance and trying cases were a lot alike. You stored up as much energy as you could, then you dove in and kept driving.

During breakfast, Amanda could not stop thinking about Cardoni. What if he was alive? What if he was lurking in the dark, killing again? The idea terrified her, but it also thrilled her. If Cardoni was back from the dead if Justine was an innocent woman, falsely accused this case would make her reputation and bring her out of her father's shadow.

The moment that thought intruded Amanda felt guilty. She focused on the torment Cardoni's victims had to have experienced and forced herself to remember what she' d seen on the Mary Sandowski tape, but she could not suppress the excitement she felt when a secret part of her whispered about a future in which she would be as acclaimed and sought after as Frank Jaffe.

Amanda fought down these thoughts. She told herself that she was ambitious but that she also cared more for her clients than she did for success. Saving Justine Castle was her first, and only, priority. Fame might follow, but she knew that it was wrong to take a case for the notoriety it would bring. Still, the idea of her name in headlines was tough to ignore.

Then a disturbing thought occurred to her. Her father would be back from his vacation in a week. What would she do if he tried to grab her case? Could she stop Frank from moving her aside? She was only an associate at Jaffe, Katz, Lehane and Brindisi. Frank was a senior partner. If Frank wanted the Castle case, Amanda could not stop him from taking over. Maybe Justine would insist on Frank's being lead counsel. When Justine phoned from the Justice Center she had asked for Frank Jaffe, not his daughter.

Amanda chastised herself for thinking this way. She was putting her needs ahead of her client' s. If Justine wanted her father to represent her, she would step aside. Right now she shouldn't even be thinking about anything but getting Justine out of jail.

By six-forty-five Amanda was in the basement of the Stockman Building looking through the firm's storage area. The files in State v. Cardoni filled three dusty, cobweb-covered cartons. There would have been many more boxes if the case had gone to trial. Loading the boxes on a dolly while keeping her suit clean was not easy, but Amanda managed. As soon as she rolled the boxes into her office she stripped off her suit jacket and started piling their contents on her desk.

Frank's case files were always well organized. One three-ring binder was for memos discussing legal issues that might be raised in the case. After each memo there were photocopies of the cases and statutes that supported each argument. Another binder contained police reports arranged chronologically. A third binder held reports generated by the defense investigation. A fourth binder was set up alphabetically for potential witnesses and contained copies of every report generated by either side that made any reference to the witness. A typed sheet with potential direct or cross-examination questions and areas of investigation that needed to be pursued preceded the reports. A final binder contained press clippings about the case.

Amanda opened the binder that had been compiled for the motion to suppress. It contained an inventory of the items found at the Milton County house. There was also an envelope with photographs of the crime scene. Amanda spread the photos across her desk and referred to the report. It took her only a moment to find the coffee mug and scalpel in the inventory and the photographs that showed where each item had been found in the house. Mike Greene had promised to give Amanda a set of crime scene photographs this afternoon at Justine's arraignment. She was willing to bet that those photographs would be similar to the photos spread across her desk.

At eight o' clock Amanda sent her secretary to the district attorney's office to get the keys to Justine Castle's house so that she could select clothes for Justine's court appearance. At eleven-thirty she wolfed down a sandwich and drank more coffee at her desk. By the time Amanda headed to the Justice Center at one o' clock for Justine's arraignment, she was exhausted but up to speed on Vincent Cardoni's case.

Amanda made it through the glass-vaulted lobby of the Justice Center and up the curving marble stairs to the third floor before someone from KGW-TV called her by name; instantly she became the focus of a mob of shouting reporters. An attractive brunette from KPDX asked Amanda if she was a stand-in for her famous father, and a short, disheveled reporter from the Oregonian wanted to know if there was a connection between the murders at the farmhouse and the infamous Cardoni case. Amanda ducked to avoid the mikes and the glare of the TV lights while repeating No comment to each question. When the doors of the arraignment court closed behind her, sealing her off from the press, she sighed with relief.

The courtroom was packed. Attorneys sat with their clients. Anxious wives bounced children on their knee, trying desperately to keep them quiet so the guard would not expel them before their husbands were brought out of the holding area. Mothers and fathers held hands, watching nervously for a child who had gone wrong. Girlfriends and gang members shifted in their seats while they enjoyed the excitement of seeing someone they knew in court, just like on TV.

A row of chairs inside the bar of the court was reserved for lawyers from the public defender's office, private attorneys who were waiting for court appointments and retained counsel. Amanda took a seat in this section and waited for Justine's case to be called. Arraignment, a defendant's first court appearance, was the time when the judge informed the accused about the nature of the charges filed against him and his right to counsel. If the defendant was indigent, counsel was appointed at the arraignment. Release decisions were sometimes made. Amanda had been to arraignments many times, and they were all the same. She paid attention to the first few cases because it gave her something to do, but she soon lost interest and glanced back at the spectator section out of boredom.

Amanda was about to return her attention to the front of the room when she sensed someone watching her. She scanned the crowd and was ready to chalk up the incident to her imagination when she noticed a large, muscular man with close-cropped blond hair. The man sat with hunched shoulders and his hands folded tightly in his lap, giving the impression that he was uncomfortable being in court. He wore a flannel shirt buttoned to the neck, khakis and a stained trench coat. Something about him was vaguely familiar, but Amanda had no idea where, or if, she had seen him before.

The door to the hall opened, and Mike Greene fought his way past the reporters. Once inside, he used his height to scan the room and spotted Amanda. Greene was still dressed in the brown tweed sports coat, rumpled white shirt and gray slacks that he had been wearing at three in the morning.

I see you went home, Mike said when he was seated beside Amanda.

I've got on new duds, but I never got to sleep.

That makes two of us. The sleep part, that is.

Mike handed Amanda a thick manila envelope.

The complaint, some of the police reports and a set of the crime scene photographs. Don't say I never gave you anything.

Thanks for not being a hard-ass.

Mike smiled. It's the least I can do after making you drink that foul sludge the homicide dicks call coffee.

Have you given any more thought to release?

Can't do it. Too many bodies, too much evidence.

State v. Justine Elizabeth Castle, the bailiff called out.

Mike Greene walked to a long table at which another assistant district attorney sat. Its top was almost obscured by three gray metal tubs filled with case files. While Greene took out Justine's file, Amanda went to the other side of the room. A guard led Justine out of the holding area. Her client had on no makeup, but she looked good in her dark suit and silk shirt.

The arraignment moved swiftly. Amanda entered her name as attorney of record and waived a reading of the complaint. While the judge conferred with his clerk about a date for a bail hearing, Amanda explained what was going on. Justine listened carefully and nodded in the appropriate places, but Amanda had the impression that her client was barely holding herself together.

Are you okay? Amanda asked.

No, but I won't break. You do your best to get me out as fast as you can.

The judge ended Justine's arraignment, and the guard started to lead her away.

I' m working on your case full time, Amanda told her client. I won't see you again today, but I'll be by tomorrow. Don't lose faith.

Justine held her head high as she walked through the door that led to the elevator that would transport her back to jail. Amanda wondered if she' d be able to carry herself with that much dignity if she was in Dr. Castle's shoes.

The reporters swarmed around Amanda in the corridor outside the courtroom. She refused to comment and fought through the crowd to the street. The rain had stopped but it was still cold and blustery. Amanda hunched her shoulders and crossed the street to Lownsdale Park, hurrying past the war memorial and the empty benches. While she waited for the light at Fourth and Salmon to change she cast a glance behind her and thought she saw movement near the small red-brick rest room on the edge of the park. The light changed and Amanda crossed the street, heading down Fourth toward her office. She had the sense that someone was behind her. Could one of the reporters be following her? Amanda stopped and turned around. A man in a trench coat ducked into the entrance of the office building across the way. Amanda stared at the entrance. She even walked back up the block a few steps for a better view. Two women walked out of the building. Amanda stared at the door they exited, but no one else came out. Suddenly a wave of fatigue hit her, and she leaned against a parking meter. She closed her eyes for a moment and still felt a little dizzy when she opened them. She chalked up her feeling of being followed to exhaustion, took a deep breath to clear her head and walked down Fourth to the Stockman Building.

Chapter 39

Mike Greene grew up in Los Angeles, married his high school sweetheart and graduated from the law school at UCLA. Everything was going wonderfully, his life was perfectly on course. Then one day in his fourth year as a prosecutor for the Los Angeles district attorney's office Mike ate a bad burrito for lunch. When court resumed he was too sick to go on, so the judge recessed for the day. Mike thought about calling his wife, Debbie, but he didn't want to worry her, so he rested for an hour and drove home.

Mike walked through the door of his split-level three hours earlier than usual and found Debbie astride his next-door neighbor. He stood in the bedroom doorway, too stunned to speak. While the guilty couple scrambled for their clothes, he turned without a word and left.

Greene moved in with a fellow DA until he found a gloomy furnished apartment. He' d loved his wife so much that he blamed himself for her betrayal. The divorce was over in a flash. Debbie got the house, most of their savings and everything else she wanted because Mike would not fight. After the divorce, Mike tried to concentrate on his job, but he was so depressed that his work suffered. His supervisor recommended a leave of absence. Mike had never been out of California except for his honeymoon in Hawaii and a vacation or two in Mexico. He sold his car and bought a ticket to London.

Six months in Europe, which included a brief fling with a lovely Israeli tourist, gave Mike some perspective. He decided that Debbie's extracurricular sexcapades were not his fault and that it was time to get on with his life. A friend in the Multnomah County district attorney's office set up a job interview. Now Mike lived in a condo near the Broadway Bridge, across the Willamette River from the Rose Garden, where the Trailblazers played.

As Greene walked from the Justice Center to the Multnomah County courthouse after Justine Castle's arraignment, he fantasized about showering, eating a light meal and going to sleep on the flannel sheets of his king-size bed. That dream went up in smoke when he found Sean McCarthy waiting for him in the reception area of the district attorney's office, his nose buried in a book.

A cop who reads Steinbeck, Greene said. Can't that get you fired?

McCarthy looked up, amused. He was just as gaunt as he had been four years before, but his red hair was thinner.

How you doing, Mike?

Dreadful. If I don't get some sleep soon, you're going to be investigating my demise.

McCarthy marked his place in The Grapes of Wrath and followed Greene through a waist-high gate and down a narrow hall to Mike's small office. A poster advertising last year's Mount Hood Jazz Festival adorned one wall. It showed a tenor sax superimposed on the snow-covered mountain. Mike had sat in for a set with a local trio during the festival. A chess set decorated a credenza that ran under Greene's window. The deputy district attorney was studying a variation of the king's Indian defense in his spare time, and the position reached by white after thirteen moves was displayed on the board.

Sean McCarthy took a chair opposite Mike's desk. Greene closed the door to his office and slumped in his chair.

About four years ago a doctor named Vincent Cardoni was accused of torturing several victims in a house in Milton County. That was your case, right?

It was a Milton County case, but I assisted, McCarthy answered.

Frank Jaffe represented Cardoni. His daughter, Amanda, is representing Justine Castle, Cardoni's ex-wife, in a case with several similarities to the old case. Amanda thinks her client has been set up by Cardoni.

Cardoni is dead.

That's what Alex DeVore said, but Amanda says that no body was ever found.

That's true.

So ... ?

McCarthy was quiet for a moment. How similar are the crime scenes?

Amanda says they're almost identical.

Really. Identical how?

Greene found the crime scene photographs and handed them to McCarthy. The detective shuffled through them slowly. He kept one picture and set the stack down on Greene's desk.

What do you think? the deputy DA asked.

McCarthy turned over the picture he was holding. It showed the half-filled coffee mug that had been found on the drain board in the farmhouse kitchen.

Did the lab find Justine Castle's fingerprints on this mug? McCarthy asked.

Greene nodded. They were on a scalpel with the blood of one of the victims on it, too.

That really bothers me.

Why?

We found more or less the same thing in the house in Milton County four years ago. The press knew about the scalpel, but we never told them about the coffee mug.

What about the motion to suppress?

A list of the items seized was submitted, but there was no mention that prints were found on any of them.

So you think that someone who knew about the mug set up Justine Castle?

Or she poured herself some coffee while she was working. A year or so after Cardoni disappeared I had a drink with Frank Jaffe. At one point the conversation turned to the Cardoni case. Frank told me that Justine Castle had given the coffee mug to Cardoni as a present and Cardoni claimed the mug had been stolen from his office at St. Francis. Cardoni thought that Justine Castle had used the mug and the scalpel to set him up.

Chapter 40

The weather front that had bedeviled Oregon for the past week was attacking again. Sheet after sheet of heavy rain bombarded Amanda's car. Even with the wipers on full, the visibility was so poor that Amanda counted herself lucky when she spotted the gap in the fence that bordered the farm. As soon as she turned onto the driveway the car started hitting puddles and potholes. Rain pounded the roof. Amanda's high beams raked the darkness, illuminating trees and shrubs before spotlighting the yellow crime scene tape that stretched across the door to the farmhouse.

Amanda shut off the engine and sat listening to the rain. She had convinced herself that she would know if Cardoni had created both chambers of horror simply by walking through the farmhouse. Now that she was here, the idea sounded ridiculous. Amanda turned on the interior light and took another look at the pictures that Mike Greene had given her. One showed the graveyard surrounded by trees and far from the boundaries of the property: a place that would be hard to find accidentally. She flipped to the next shot. Three bodies, all showing marks of torture, lay stretched out on a ground sheet. A tarp had been erected over them to keep the corpses as dry as possible. A close-up of a female victim showed the abuse the frail body had taken in the days before she died.

Another set of photographs showed the interior of the farmhouse. Amanda shuffled quickly past the close-ups of the body in the basement. One long look when she first saw the photos had been enough. She reviewed the other pictures before realizing that she was stalling. Amanda grabbed a flashlight and ran through the rain until she reached the overhang that covered the front door. She ripped away the bright yellow tape and walked inside.

Amanda played the beam of her flashlight over the entryway and the living room. They were as bare and sparsely furnished as the house in Milton County had been. Amanda found the bedroom. The police had left the furniture after dusting it for prints and scouring it for trace evidence, but they had taken the books and the journal from the bookcase. Amanda tried to imagine the killer sitting in the armchair and thumbing through the manuals in preparation for the next torture session. What type of monster could coldly plan the ritual degradation of another human being?

Amanda walked back through the living room to the kitchen. Outside, the wind gusted, rattling the shutters and skittering across the roof. Amanda felt a flutter in her stomach when she turned the knob of the basement door and looked into the dark space below. She flicked a light switch, and a bare bulb lit the lower part of the basement stairs. An oil-burning furnace stood in one corner. In another corner a rectangular patch of floor, cleaner than the area surrounding it, told her where the mattress had lain before forensics had removed it. She saw holes in the wall where the manacles had been secured; these too had been moved to the crime lab. Then she noticed the crudely mortared concrete wall that divided the basement in half.

The wall looked as if it had been constructed by a do-it-yourselfer from a how-to book. Amanda descended the stairs and peered through an opening that led into a dark space where the light from the 40-watt bulb barely reached. Amanda turned on her flashlight and shone it through the doorway. The operating table was there. Above it was another bulb. Amanda pulled the string attached to it, and the light illuminated a space bare except for the operating table. Everything else from the room had gone to the crime lab. Suddenly she flashed on an image of Mary Sandowski's tearstained face, and a wave of nausea surged through her. She shut her eyes for a moment and breathed deeply. There was no way that she could prove it, but there was absolutely no doubt. The person who had turned the mountain cabin into a place of horror had been at work here.

Amanda circled the table. Fingerprint powder darkened the steel legs. She knelt down and saw a dark brown fleck. Was that blood? She stared at it for a moment, then stood up.

A man was standing in the doorway.

Chapter 41

The man stepped out of the shadows, blocking the only way out. He was wearing a rain-drenched trench coat. Amanda raised the flashlight and retreated.

I' m not here to hurt you, the man said, raising an empty hand, palm outstretched. I' m Bobby Vasquez.

It took a moment, then Amanda recognized the intruder. Vasquez's face was fleshy. Rain dripped from his long, unkempt black hair; a bushy mustache covered his upper lip. Under the open raincoat Amanda could see faded jeans, a flannel shirt and a threadbare sports jacket.

I didn't mean to scare you, Vasquez told her. I tried to talk to you at the Justice Center, but I couldn't get close with all the reporters.

Vasquez paused. He saw that Amanda was frightened and wary.

Do you remember me? he asked.

The motion to suppress.

Not exactly my shining hour, Vasquez said grimly. But I was right about Cardoni. He killed those people in Milton County and he killed these people, too. You know it, don't you? That's why you're here.

Amanda forgot her fear. What makes you think he's alive?

Look at this place. When I read about the graveyard and the operating room, I knew.

What about the hand? Cardoni was a surgeon. He wouldn't cut off his hand.

Cardoni counted on everyone buying into that notion, that a surgeon would never amputate his own hand. But most surgeons aren't being hunted by a maniac like Martin Breach.

Or facing a death sentence.

That too. Plus, this guy is flat-out insane.

Amanda shook her head. I want to believe Cardoni did this. The crime scenes are so alike. But I always come back to the hand. How could he do it? How could he cut off his own hand?

It's not as difficult as you might think. Not for a doctor, anyway. I asked around. All Cardoni had to do was tie a tourniquet around his biceps and run an IV filled with anesthetic into his forearm. That would put his arm to sleep. He could amputate the hand without feeling a thing. After the hand was off he would have covered the stump with a sterile cloth until the bleeding stopped, then bandaged it and used more anesthetic to block the pain.

Amanda digested what Vasquez had said, then made a decision.

Okay, Mr. Vasquez, I'll level with you. I am here because of Cardoni.

I knew it! So tell me, what else was in the police reports? You're not just here on a hunch.

Amanda hesitated.

Look, Miss Jaffe, I can help you. Who knows more about Cardoni than I do? I never believed that he was dead. I still have my file on him. I know Cardoni's life story; I can tell you what the police knew four years ago. You'll need an investigator.

Our firm has an investigator.

This will just be another case for him. It's my chance at redemption. Cardoni ruined my life.

You ruined your own life, Amanda answered curtly.

Vasquez looked down. You're right. I have to take the blame for what I did. It took me a while to figure that out. Vasquez swung his arm across the operating room. I take the blame for this, too. If I hadn't screwed up, Cardoni would be in prison and these people would be alive. I've got to make this right. He paused. Besides, if we prove that Cardoni killed these people, your client goes free.

Vasquez sounded desperate and sincere. Amanda took a final look around the operating room.

Let's get out of here, she said. We'll talk upstairs.

Amanda pulled the cord attached to the lightbulb and plunged the makeshift operating room into darkness.

What can you tell me? Vasquez asked as they climbed the stairs. Are there other similarities between the crime scenes?

I don't think I should get into that.

You're right. Sorry. I' m just anxious. You have no idea how I felt when I saw Dr. Castle's name in the paper this morning and read about the operating room. All of a sudden there was hope that this nightmare might finally end.

Amanda turned off the basement light and shut the door behind her.

Look, Mr. Vasquez, let's be straight here, okay? I heard rumors about you after you were fired. My father heard them, too. If I ask my father to let you work with us on this case, he's going to want to know if you're reliable.

Vasquez looked as though he had been down this road before.

What do you want to know? He sighed.

What did you do after you were kicked off the force?

I drank. That's what you're after, right? Being a cop was my whole life. One moment I was and the next I wasn' t. I couldn't cope. There's a year and a half in there that's still very blurry. But I came out of it and I stopped drinking on my own. I don't drink anymore, not even a beer. Tell your father that I' m a licensed investigator. It's how I've been earning my living. I' m good at it, and believe it or not, there are still some people on the job who'll talk to me.

We'll have to see.

When you're thinking about hiring me, think about this. I've already got a jump on the cops.

What do you mean?

Four years ago I figured I' d nail Cardoni by tying him to the Milton County house. You know, get the deed, show he owned it. Only I couldn' t. He was very clever. The property was owned by a corporation, and the corporation was set up by a shady attorney named Walter Stoops, who was hired by someone he never met and paid in cashier's checks. The whole thing turned out to be a dead end, because we couldn't identify the person who purchased the cashier's checks. But it did establish an MO.

This morning, as soon as I read about the farmhouse, I went through the records for this property. Guess what I found?

The land is owned by a corporation and was purchased by a lawyer.

Bingo. The sale went through two years ago, which would give Cardoni enough time to set up a new identity and prepare for his return to Portland.

Is the purchaser the same corporation that bought the land in Milton County?

No. And the lawyer's different. But the MO's the same.

What makes you think you'll be able to prove who purchased the property this time?

I don't know that I can, but Cardoni screwed up four years ago and we almost got him. I' m hoping he'll screw up again.

Chapter 42

That night Amanda slept like the dead and through her alarm. It was too late for her morning calisthenics or breakfast, so she took a fast shower and picked up a latte and a piece of coffee cake to go. When she walked into her office at eight-thirty her father was sitting behind her desk reading through the file on Justine Castle. He looked up and smiled. Amanda froze in the doorway.

Good morning, Amanda.

You're supposed to be on vacation. What are you doing here? she asked, fighting to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Didn't you think I' d be interested in your latest case?

I was sure you would be. That's why I left strict instructions that no one was to tell you about it if you called in.

No one did.

Then how did you find out?

It's in the California papers. Somebody figured out the connection to the Cardoni case and, presto, we've got another sensation on our hands. Did you check your phone messages?

Not yet.

I glanced through them. If you want to be a media celebrity, 20/20, 60 Minutes, Larry King and Geraldo are all standing by.

You're kidding.

Amanda set her attachT case, the latte and the bag with the coffee cake on the edge of her desk and sat in one of her client chairs.

Isn't Elsie pissed that you've ruined her vacation?

Elsie is a wonderful woman. She ordered me to come back and help you.

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Amanda answered sarcastically. I was perfectly able to save Dooling's ass all by myself. What makes you think I' m not competent to represent Justine Castle?

Hold on, Frank said, raising a hand defensively. No one's saying you're incompetent, and don't get huffy on me. You know damn well that it takes two lawyers to handle something this complex.

Are you going to be lead counsel? Amanda asked, bracing for the worst.

I wouldn't think of it.

Amanda tried to hide her surprise, but she must have failed, because Frank's lips twitched as if he was suppressing a grin.

Justine might want you to be, Amanda said warily. She asked for you when she was arrested.

Is she satisfied with you calling the shots?

I think so.

Then let's see how things go. Right now it's your case. Why don't you bring me up to speed?

Between sips of her latte and bites of her coffee cake, Amanda laid out the details, starting with Justine's late-night phone call. When she told Frank about her visit to the farmhouse she didn't mention her encounter with Vasquez.

I wish you hadn't gone inside, Amanda, Frank said when she was finished. It was a sealed crime scene.

I know, but the forensic experts had gone through it already, and I had to see the place before it changed too much.

Frank leaned back. What was your impression?

It's either the same killer or someone who knows an awful lot about the Cardoni case. I' m sure of it.

Amanda paused a moment to think of how to broach the subject of Vasquez. She decided to plunge in.

When I was looking over the basement at the farmhouse, Bobby Vasquez showed up.

The cop who lied at Cardoni's motion?

Amanda nodded. He wants to work with us on the case. He's convinced that Cardoni faked his death four years ago and is responsible for the new murders.

Did you know that Vasquez was one of the leading suspects in Cardoni's disappearance? He was obsessed with Cardoni. The theory is that he went vigilante when the court set him free.

Amanda tried to picture Vasquez as Cardoni's killer.

It makes no sense for Vasquez to tell me that Cardoni killed the people at the farm if he knows that Cardoni is dead. Why would he follow me to the farmhouse? Why would he offer to work on the case?

I don't know and I don't care, Frank snapped.

You have every right to be angry about what Vasquez did in Cardoni's case. But you shouldn't let that stop you from thinking about what he can do in this one.

He's dishonest, Amanda. He's a drunk.

He says that he's not drinking anymore, and he looked sober. I think you should remember why Vasquez lied under oath. He did it because he thought it was the only way to put a very bad person in prison.

That doesn't excuse what he did.

I' m not saying it does. I just think you should look at this with an open mind. Vasquez knows everything the police knew about Cardoni, and he's already uncovered some useful information.

Such as?

Amanda told Frank about Vasquez's investigation into the ownership of the farm.

That's nothing Herb or the cops wouldn't have discovered, Frank said dismissively. I don't know why Vasquez wants to work this case, but I' m not going to associate with a perjurer and a drunk.

Amanda gathered herself. Then she looked directly at her father.

Either I' m lead counsel or I' m not. If I am, then I choose my team.

Frank wasn't used to being told what to do, and Amanda could see that he didn't like it.

I' m not sure about Vasquez myself, Amanda added quickly while she had the edge, but I want the right to decide if he's in or out.

Frank let out the breath he' d been holding.

Let's talk about this later.

I want it decided now. Do you think I' m competent to run this defense?

Frank hesitated.

Do you, Dad? We've worked together for five years. You've had a lifetime to evaluate my abilities. If you don't think I can hack it, I'll resign from the firm today.

Frank put his head back and roared with laughter.

You make me long for the good old days when little girls were courteous to their fathers and studied home economics.

Screw you, Amanda said, fighting hard but failing to suppress a triumphant grin.

Where did you learn such language?

From you, you old bastard. Now let's get back to Justine's case.

I' d better before you try to get a raise, too.

Amanda lifted an eyebrow. Not a bad idea.

Quit while you're ahead, you ingrate.

Amanda laughed. Then she grew serious. Were there other suspects in Cardoni's disappearance?

Frank nodded. Martin Breach's enforcer, Art Prochaska, the guy you thought you saw driving away from the cabin.

Of course.

Breach had a reputation for dismembering people he didn't like, and he had a contract out on Cardoni because he thought Vincent had double-crossed him in a deal involving the black-market sale of organs. The rest of Cardoni may have been in the trunk of Prochaska's car when he passed you.

That's a pleasant thought.

You asked.

Do you know Prochaska well enough so he would talk to you?

Why?

I' d like to know what he was doing at the cabin on the night I found the hand. If he didn't kill Cardoni, he might tell us.

Prochaska claimed that he wasn't at the cabin. He had an alibi.

He's lying, Dad. I couldn't swear in court that it was Prochaska I saw, but he was in that car.

Frank thought for a moment. Martin always trusted me. I' m certain he told Art to be a witness for Cardoni. Let me see what I can do. I'll let you know what Martin says as soon as I talk to him.

Frank left to work his way through the mail that had piled up while he was away. Amanda wandered out to the front desk, picked up a thick stack of phone messages and returned to her office. Frank hadn't lied about the calls from Geraldo and company, but the message that made her pause wasn't from New York or LA. Amanda tapped the slip against her palm, uncertain whether to call the number or not. She swiveled her chair and stared out the window. The name on the slip aroused mixed emotions. Suddenly Amanda said, Why not? and dialed St. Francis Medical Center. She told the operator her caller's name and was put on hold. After a moment the voice of Tony Fiori came on the line.

Amanda? he asked hesitantly.

Long time, Tony, Amanda said evenly. I didn't know you were in town.

Yeah. I' m back at St. Francis.

How was New York?

Good. Actually, I was so busy most of the time that I didn't take as much advantage of being there as I should have.

So, what's up? Amanda asked, dying to know why he had called but unwilling to ask.

I was in New Orleans since last Friday and didn't see a paper until this morning. I read about Justine being charged with those killings.

Amanda flashed on a vision of Justine and Tony standing side by side in Fiori's doorway four years ago.

So that's why you called, because of Justine? she asked, fighting to mask her disappointment.

Your name was in the paper, too, Amanda. He paused. Look, I've got to be in surgery in three minutes, so I don't have much time. I' d like to see you. Could we have dinner?

Amanda's pulse gave an unexpected flutter.

I don't know.

If you don't want to, I'll understand.

No, it's not that. She did want to see Tony. I'll be up to my neck in Justine's case for the next few days.

How about this weekend?

Okay.

I'll make a dinner reservation at the Fish Hatchery for Friday night. Is that okay?

Sure.

See you then.

Amanda hung up the phone. Tony Fiori. Wow! Now here was a blast from the past. Amanda laughed. She' d really acted like a schoolgirl when she found out he' d been sleeping with Justine, but that was years ago and she was a lot tougher now. And she had enjoyed the time they' d spent together. Amanda stared out the window for a moment. Then she smiled. It would be interesting to see how well Tony had aged in four years.

Chapter 43

The view from Carleton Swindell's office had not changed, but Dr. Swindell's blond hair was thinning, and Sean McCarthy suspected that a facelift had been performed on the hospital administrator of St. Francis Medical Center during the past four years.

Detective, Swindell said as he rose from behind his desk to extend a hand. The administrator's grip was still strong, and the detective noticed several new rowing plaques and medals had been added to the trophies that graced Swindell's credenza. I assume you're here about Justine Castle.

McCarthy nodded as he handed Swindell a subpoena for the doctor's records. Swindell examined it briefly. He looked as though he hadn't been sleeping well.

After that business with Vincent Cardoni I thought I' d seen everything. But this ... He shook his head in dismay. Frankly, Detective, I find it hard to believe that Justine could do the things I read about in the paper.

She was arrested at the scene of the murders, and we have other evidence connecting her to them.

Even so. Swindell hesitated. Then he leaned forward. I followed Cardoni's case. Of course, I only had access to the media accounts, but these new murders, aren't they similar to the murders Cardoni was supposed to have committed? The newspaper even commented on it.

I' m afraid I can't discuss the evidence.

Oh, of course. I didn't mean to pry. It's just that, well, when Cardoni was arrested, no one was shocked. But Justine ... We've never had any reason to suspect that she would be capable of anything like this. Her record is spotless.

Swindell shifted uncomfortably. I know this isn't my area of expertise, but with such bizarre circumstances, wouldn't you suspect that the person who committed one set of murders also committed the others?

That's a possibility that we're investigating, along with several others.

The administrator flushed. Yes, I should have guessed that.

Dr. Swindell, the last time we spoke, you mentioned a connection between Dr. Castle and Clifford Grant.

He was her attending, her supervisor during her residency.

So they would have been close?

Professionally, yes.

Four years ago, would Dr. Castle have had the skills to harvest a human heart for use in a heart transplant? If you know.

I trained as a surgeon before I decided to become a hospital administrator, so I' m well aware of the technique, Swindell said with some pride. Justine is a highly skilled surgeon. I believe she would have been able to perform the operation.

McCarthy considered Swindell's answer for a moment. Then he stood. Thank you, Doctor.

Feel free to call on me for help anytime.

We appreciated the way you sped things along the last time I asked for your help. If you could do the same with this subpoena ...

Swindell held up his hand. Say no more. I'll get on it immediately.

Chapter 44

The reservation at the Fish Hatchery was for eight, but Amanda was intentionally late. When she spotted Tony in the upscale crowd in the lounge at eight-twenty she was pleased to see him casting anxious glances toward the door. He was wearing a dark sports jacket without a tie, a white shirt and gray slacks, and he was every bit as handsome as she remembered. Amanda worked her way through the crush at the bar. Tony saw her and flashed a wide smile. Amanda extended her hand but Tony ignored it, pulling her into a quick bear hug.

You look great, Tony said enthusiastically. He pushed her back. God, look at you.

Amanda felt herself flush.

Our table won't be ready for a few minutes. Do you want a drink?

Sure.

Amanda ordered a margarita. The bar was packed, and she and Tony were pushed hip to hip. The contact felt good.

When did you get back to Portland? she asked while they waited for the drinks.

I've been at St. Francis for almost a year.

Oh, Amanda answered coldly, stung by the fact that he' d taken so long to call her. I guess you've been busy.

You've got every right to be mad. It's just that ... Well, I guess I was embarrassed because of what happened the night you showed up at my house. I didn't know if you' d want to hear from me.

You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Amanda said, keeping her tone neutral. I certainly had no right to assume that you would be alone.