Geoff had talked about how unemotional Smith was on the stand, Kerry thought. But that doesn’t prove anything.

“Mrs. Reardon, I do understand how you must be feeling-“ she began.

“No, I’m sorry, you don’t,” Deidre Reardon interrupted. “My son is incapable of violence. He would no more have deliberately taken that cord from Suzanne’s waist and pulled it around her neck and strangled her than you or I would have done such a thing. Think about the kind of person who could commit a crime like that. What kind of monster is he? Because that monster who could so viciously kill another human being was in Skip’s house that night. Now think about Skip.”

Tears welled in Deidre Reardon’s eyes as she burst out, “Didn’t some of his essence, his goodness, come through to you? Are you blind and deaf, Ms. McGrath? Does my son look or sound like a murderer to you?”

“Mrs. Reardon, I looked into this case only because of my concern over Dr. Smith’s obsession with his daughter’s face, not because I thought your son was innocent. That was for the courts to decide, and they have. He has had a number of appeals. There is nothing I can do.”

“Ms. McGrath, I think you have a daughter, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then try to visualize her caged for ten years, facing twenty years more in that cage for a crime she didn’t commit. Do you think your daughter would be capable of murder someday?”

“No, I do not.”

“Neither is my son. Please, Ms. McGrath, you are in a position to help Skip. Don’t abandon him. I don’t know why Dr. Smith lied about Skip, but I think I’ve come to understand. He was jealous of him because Skip was married to Suzanne, with all that implies. Think about that.”

“Mrs. Reardon, as a mother I understand how heartbroken you are,” Kerry said gently as she looked into the worn and anxious face.

Deidre Reardon got up. “I can see that you’re dismissing everything I’m telling you, Ms. McGrath. Geoff said that you’re going to become a judge. God help the people who stand before you pleading for justice.”

Then as Kerry watched, the woman’s complexion became ghastly gray.

“Mrs. Reardon, what is it?” she cried.

With shaking hands, the woman opened her purse, took out a small vial and shook a pill into her palm. She slipped it under her tongue, turned and silently left the office.

For long minutes Kerry sat staring at the dosed door. Then she reached for a sheet of paper. On it, she wrote:

1. Did Doctor Smith lie about operating on Suzanne?

2. Did little Michael see a black, four-door Mercedes sedan in front of the Reardons’ house when Dolly Bowles was baby-sitting him that night? What about the partial license-plate numbers Dolly claims she saw?

3. Was Jimmy Weeks involved with Suzanne, and, if so, does Bob know anything about it, and is he afraid of having it come out?

She studied the list as Deidre Reardon’s honest, distressed face loomed accusingly in her mind.

Geoff Dorso had been trying a case in the courthouse in Newark. At the last minute he had gotten a plea bargain for his client, an eighteen-year-old kid who had been joyriding with friends in his father’s car when he had crashed into a pickup truck whose driver had sustained a broken arm and leg.

But there had been no alcohol involved, and the boy was a good kid and genuinely contrite. Under the plea bargain he got a two-year suspension of his driver’s license and was ordered to do one hundred hours of community service. Geoff was pleased-sending him to jail instead of college would have been a serious mistake.

Now, on Thursday afternoon, Geoff had the unusual luxury of unscheduled time, and he decided to drop in on the Jimmy Weeks trial. He wanted to hear the opening arguments. Also, he admitted to himself, he was anxious to see Bob Kinellen in action.

He took a seat in the back of the courtroom. There were plenty of media representatives present, he noticed. Jimmy Weeks had managed to avoid indictment so many times that they had taken to calling him “Teflon Jimmy,” a takeoff on the Mafia mobster who had been known as “The Teflon Don,” now in prison for life.

Kinellen was just starting his opening statement. He’s smooth, Geoff thought. He knows how to play to the jury, knows when to sound indignant, then outraged, knows how to ridicule the charges. He is also picture-perfect in appearance and presentation, Geoff thought, trying to imagine Kerry married to this guy. Somehow he couldn’t see it. Or maybe he didn’t want to see it, he admitted to himself. At least, he thought, taking some comfort, she certainly didn’t seem to be hung up on Kinellen.

But then, why should that matter? he asked himself, as the judge declared a recess.

In the corridor he was approached by Nick Klein, a reporter for the Star-Ledger. They exchanged greetings, then Geoff commented, “A lot of you guys around, aren’t there?”

“Fireworks expected,” Nick told him. “I have a source in the attorney general’s office. Barney Haskell is trying to make a deal. What they’re offering him isn’t good enough. Now he’s hinting he can tie Jimmy to a murder that someone else is serving time for.”

“I sure wish I had a witness like that for one of my clients,” Geoff commented.

At four o’clock, Joe Palumbo received delivery of an Express Mail package with the return address of Wayne Stevens in Oakland, California. He immediately slit it open and eagerly reached inside for the two stacks of snapshots held together with rubber bands. A note was clipped to one of them.

It read:

Dear Mr. Palumbo,

The full impact of Susie’s death hit me only after I began putting these photos together for you. I am so sorry. Susie was not an easy child to raise. I think these pictures tell the story. My daughters were very attractive from the time they were infants. Susie was not. As the girls grew up, that led to intense jealousy and unhappiness on Susie’s part.

Susie’s mother, my wife, had great difficulty watching her stepdaughters enjoy their teen years while her own child was so desperately insecure and basically friendless. I’m afraid the situation caused a great deal of friction in our home. I think I always entertained the hope that a mature and well-adjusted Susie would show up at the door one day and have a wonderful reunion with us. She had many gifts that she did not appreciate.

But for now, I hope these pictures will help.

Sincerely,

Wayne Stevens

Twenty minutes later, Joe went into Kerry’s office. He dropped the snapshots on her desk. “Just in case you think Susie-sorry, I mean Suzanne-became a beauty because of a new hairdo,” he commented.

At five o’clock, Kerry phoned Dr. Smith’s office. He had already left for the day. Anticipating that, she next asked, “Is Mrs. Carpenter available?”

When Kate Carpenter came to the phone, Kerry said, “Mrs.

Carpenter, how long have you been with Dr. Smith?”

“Four years, Ms. McGrath. Why are you asking?”

“Well, from something you said, I had an idea that you had been with him longer than that.”

“No.”

“Because I wanted to know if you were there when Dr. Smith either operated on his daughter, Suzanne, or had a colleague operate on her. I can tell you what she looked like. In your office I saw two patients and asked their names. Barbara Tompkins and Pamela Worth are both dead ringers for Dr. Smith’s daughter, at least as she looked after extensive plastic surgery, not as she was born.”

She heard the woman gasp. “I didn’t know Dr. Smith had a daughter,” Mrs. Carpenter said.

“She died nearly eleven years ago, murdered, as the jury decided, by her husband. He is still in prison and continues to protest his innocence. Dr. Smith was the principal witness against him.”