“Have you ever felt you were in physical danger from him?” Kerry asked.

There was a brief hesitation before Tompkins answered slowly, “No, not really. I mean he’s never tried to force himself on me physically. He’s actually been quite solicitous, treating me as though I were fragile somehow-like a china doll. But I also get a sense occasionally of terrible, restrained anger in him, and that it could easily be unleashed, maybe on me. For example, when he showed up to take me out to dinner last night, I could tell he wasn’t happy that I was ready to immediately get out of my apartment. And for a moment I thought he might lash out. It’s just that I didn’t want to be alone with him. And now I feel as if I outright refused to see him, he could get very, very angry. But as I told you, he’s been so good to me. And I know a restraining order could seriously damage his reputation.”

“Barbara, I’m going in to see Dr. Smith on Monday. He doesn’t know it, but I am. I think from what you tell me, and particularly from the fact that he calls you Suzanne, that he’s suffering from some sort of breakdown. I hope he might be persuaded to seek help. But I can’t advise you not to speak to the New York police if you’re frightened. In fact, I think you should.”

“Not yet. There’s a business trip I was going to make next month, but I can rearrange my schedule and take it next week. I’d like to talk to you again when I come back; then I’ll decide what I should do.”

When she hung up, Kerry sank into a kitchen chair, the notes of the conversation in front of her. The situation was getting much more complicated. Dr. Smith had been stalking Barbara Tompkins. Had he also been stalking his own daughter? If so, it was very likely that it was his Mercedes Dolly Bowles and little Michael had seen parked in front of the Reardon house the night of the murder.

She remembered the partial license numbers Bowles claimed to have seen. Had Joe Palumbo had a chance to check them against Smith’s car?

But if Dr. Smith had turned on Suzanne the way Barbara Tompkins feared he might turn on her, if he was the one responsible for her death, then why was Jimmy Weeks so afraid of being connected to Suzanne Reardon’s murder?

I need to know more about Smith’s relationship with Suzanne before I see him, before I know which questions to ask him, Kerry thought. That antique dealer, Jason Arnott-he might be the one to speak to. According to the notes she had found in the file, he had been just a friend but went into New York frequently with Suzanne to auctions and whatever. Perhaps Dr. Smith met them sometimes.

She placed a call to Arnott, leaving a message requesting him to call her back. Kerry then debated about making one more call.

It would be to Geoff, asking him to set up a second meeting at the prison with Skip Reardon.

Only this time she would want to have both his mother and his girlfriend, Beth Taylor, there as well.

Jason Arnott had planned to stay quietly at home on Friday night and prepare a simple dinner for himself. With that in mind he had sent his twice-weekly cleaning woman shopping, and she had returned with the filet of sole, watercress, pea pods and crisp French bread he had requested. But when Amanda Coble phoned at five o’clock to invite him to dinner at the Ridgewood Country Club with Richard and her, he had accepted gladly.

The Cobles were his kind of people-superrich but marvelously unpretentious; amusing; very, very smart. Richard was an international banker and Amanda an interior designer. Jason successfully handled his own portfolio and keenly enjoyed talking with Richard about futures and foreign markets. He knew that Richard respected his judgment and Amanda appreciated his expertise in antiques.

He decided they would be a welcome diversion after the disquieting time he had spent in New York yesterday with Vera Todd. And in addition, he had met a number of interesting people through the Cobles. In fact, their introduction had led to a most successful forage in Palm Springs three years ago.

He drove up to the front door of the club just as the Cobles surrendered their car to the parking valet. He was a moment behind them going through the front entrance, then waited as they greeted a distinguished-looking couple who were just leaving. He recognized the man immediately. Senator Jonathan Hoover. He’d been at a couple of political dinners where Hoover put in an appearance but they’d never met face to face.

The woman was in a wheelchair but still managed to look regal in a deep blue dinner suit with a skirt that came to the tips of high-laced shoes. He had heard that Mrs. Hoover was disabled, but had never seen her before. With an eye that instantly absorbed the smallest detail, he noted the position of her hands, clasped together, partially concealing the swollen joints of her fingers.

She must have been a knockout when she was young, and before all this happened, he thought as he studied the still-stunning features dominated by sapphire blue eyes.

Amanda Coble glanced up and saw him. “Jason, you’re here.” She waved him over and made the introductions. “We’re talking about those terrible murders in Summit this morning. Both Senator Hoover and Richard knew the lawyer, Mark Young.”

“It’s pretty clear that it was a mob hit,” Richard Coble said angrily.

“I agree,” Jonathan Hoover said. “And so does the governor. We all know how he’s cracked down on crime these eight years, and now we need Frank Green to keep up the good work. I can tell you this: If Weeks were being tried in a state court, you can bet the attorney general would have completed the plea bargain and gotten Haskell’s testimony, and these murders never would have happened. And now Royce, the man who bungled this whole operation, wants to be governor. Well, not if I can help it!”

“Jonathan,” Grace Hoover murmured reprovingly. “You can tell it’s an election year, can’t you, Amanda?” As they all smiled, she added, “Now we mustn’t keep you any longer.”

“My wife has been keeping me in line since we met as college freshmen,” Jonathan Hoover explained to Jason. “Good seeing you again, Mr. Arnott.”

“Mr. Arnott, haven’t we met before as well?” Grace Hoover asked suddenly.

Jason felt his internal alarm system kick in. It was sending out a strong warning. “I don’t think so,” he answered slowly. I’m sure I’d have remembered, he thought. So what makes her think we’ve met?

“I don’t know why, but I feel as though I know you. Well, I’m sure I’m wrong. Good-bye.”

Even though the Cobles were their usual interesting selves and the dinner was delicious, Jason spent the evening heartily wishing he had stayed home alone and cooked the filet of sole.

When he got back to his house at ten-thirty, his day was further ruined by listening to the one message on his answering machine. It was from Kerry McGrath, who introduced herself as a Bergen County assistant prosecutor, gave her phone number, asked him to call her at home till eleven tonight or first thing in the morning. She explained that she wanted to talk to him unofficially about his late neighbor and friend, the murder victim, Suzanne Reardon.