He said that he enjoyed entertaining and that Suzanne often came to his cocktail parties and dinners, sometimes accompanied by Skip, but usually alone.

The investigator’s note showed that he had checked with mutual friends of both Suzanne and Arnott, and that there was no suggestion of any romantic interest between them. In fact one friend commented that Suzanne was a natural flirt and joked about Arnott, calling him “Jason the neuter.”

Nothing new here, Kerry decided when she had completed half the file. The investigation was thorough. Through the open window, the Public Service meter reader had heard Skip shouting at Suzanne at breakfast. “Boy, was that guy steaming,” was his comment.

Sorry, Geoff, Kerry thought as she went to close the file. Her eyes were burning. She would skim through the rest of it tomorrow and return it. Then she glanced at the next report. It was the interview with a caddie at the Palisades Country Club, where Suzanne and Skip were members. A name caught her eye, and she picked up the next batch of papers, all thought of sleep suddenly gone.

The caddie’s name was Michael Vitti, and he was a fountain of information about Suzanne Reardon. “Everybody loved to caddie for her. She was nice. She’d kid around with the caddies and gave big tips. She played with lots of the men. She was good, and I mean good. A lot of the wives got sore at her because the men all liked her.”

Vitti had been asked if he thought Suzanne was involved with any of the men. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said. “I never saw her really alone with anyone. The foursomes always went back to the grill together, you know what I mean?”

But when pressed he said that just maybe there was something going on between Suzanne and Jimmy Weeks.

It was Jimmy Weeks’ name that had jumped out at Kerry. According to the investigator’s notes, Vitti’s remark wasn’t taken seriously because, although Weeks was known to be a ladies’ man, on being questioned about Suzanne, he absolutely denied that he had ever seen her outside the club and said that he had been having a serious relationship with another woman at that time, and besides, he had an ironclad alibi for the entire night of the murder.

Then Kerry read the last of the caddie’s interview. He admitted that Mr. Weeks treated all the women pretty much alike and called most of them things like Honey, Darlin’ and Lovey.

The caddie was asked if Weeks had a special name for Suzanne.

The answer: “Well, a couple of times I heard him call her ‘Sweetheart.’”

Kerry let the papers drop in her lap. Jimmy Weeks. Bob’s client. Was that why his attitude changed so suddenly when Robin told him that Geoff Dorso had come to see her on business?

It was fairly widely known that Geoff Dorso represented Skip Reardon and had been trying doggedly, but unsuccessfully, for ten years to get a new trial for him.

Was Bob, as Jimmy Weeks’ counsel, afraid of what a new trial might entail for his client?

A couple of times I heard him call her Sweetheart. The words haunted Kerry.

Deeply troubled, she dosed the file and went up to bed. The caddie had not been called as a witness at the trial. Neither had Jimmy Weeks. Did the defense team ever interview the caddie? If not, they should have, she thought. Did they talk to Jason Arnott about any other men Suzanne might have seemed interested in at his parties?

I’ll wait for the pictures to come in from Suzanne’s stepfather, Kerry told herself. It’s probably nothing, or at least nothing more than what I told Joe today. Maybe Suzanne just had a good makeover done when she came to New York. She did have money from her mother’s insurance policy. And Dr. Smith did, in effect, deny that he ever did any procedure whatsoever on Suzanne.

Wait and see, she told herself. Good advice, since it was all she could do for the present anyway.

On Thursday morning, Kate Carpenter arrived at the office at quarter of nine. There were no procedures scheduled, and the first patient wasn’t arriving until ten o’clock, so Dr. Smith had not come in yet.

The receptionist was at her desk, a worried look on her face. “Kate, Barbara Tompkins wants you to phone her, and she specifically asked that Dr. Smith not be told about her call. She says it’s very important.”

“She’s not having any problems because of the surgery?” Kate asked, alarmed. “It’s been over a year.”

“She didn’t say anything about that. I told her you’d be along very soon. She’s waiting at home to hear from you.”

Without stopping to take off her coat, Kate went into the closet-sized private office the accountant used, closed the door and dialed Tompkins’ number.

With increasing dismay she listened as Barbara related her absolute conviction that Dr. Smith was obsessively following her. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I’m so grateful to him. You know that, Mrs. Carpenter. But I’m beginning to be frightened.”

“He’s never approached you?”

“No.”

“Then let me think about it and talk to a few people. I beg you not to discuss this with anyone else. Dr. Smith has a wonderful reputation. It would be terrible to have it destroyed.”

“I’ll never be able to repay Dr. Smith for what he did for me,” Barbara Tompkins said quietly. “But please get back to me quickly.”

At eleven o’clock, Grace Hoover phoned Kerry and invited her and Robin for Sunday dinner. We haven’t seen nearly enough of you two lately, Grace told her. “I do hope you can come. Celia will outdo herself, I promise.”

Celia was the weekend housekeeper and a better cook than the Monday-to-Friday live-in. When she knew Robin was going to be coming, Celia made brownies and chocolate chip cookies to send home with her.

“Of course we’ll come,” Kerry said warmly. Sunday is such a family day, she thought as she hung up the phone. Most Sunday afternoons she tried to do something special with Robin, like going to a museum or a movie or occasionally to a Broadway show.

If only Dad had lived, she thought. He and Mother would be living nearby at least part of the time. And if only Bob Kinellen had been the man I thought he was.

Mentally she shook herself to shrug off that line of reflection. Robin and I are darn lucky to have Jonathan and Grace, she reminded herself. They’ll always be there for us.

Janet, her secretary, came in and closed the door. “Kerry, did you make an appointment with a Mrs. Deidre Reardon and forget to tell me?”

“Deidre Reardon? No, I did not.”

“She’s in the waiting room and she says she’s going to sit there until you see her. Shall I call security?”

My God, Kerry thought. Skip Reardon’s mother! What does she want? “No. Tell her to come in, Janet.”

Deidre Reardon got directly to the point. “I don’t usually force my way into people’s offices, Ms. McGrath, but this is too important. You went to the prison to see my son. You had to have had a reason for that. Something made you wonder if there had been a miscarriage of justice. I know there was. I know my son, and I know that he is innocent. But why after seeing Skip did you not want to help him? Especially in light of what’s been uncovered about Dr. Smith.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to help him, Mrs. Reardon. It’s that I can’t help him. There’s no new evidence. It’s peculiar that Dr. Smith has given other women his daughter’s face, but it’s not illegal, and it might be simply his way of coping with bereavement.”

Deidre Reardon’s expression changed from anxiety to anger. “Ms. McGrath, Dr. Smith doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘bereavement.’ I didn’t see much of him in the four years Suzanne and Skip were married. I didn’t want to. There was something absolutely unhealthy about his attitude toward her. I remember one day, for example, there was a smudge on Suzanne’s cheek. Dr. Smith went over to her and wiped it off. You’d have thought he was dusting a statue the way he studied her face to make sure he’d gotten it all. He was proud of her. I’ll grant you that. But affection? No.”