As he rose from the desk, he couldn't help pausing at the window to gaze at the park spread out below. A park that was, thanks to him and his friends in The Hundred, a safe place to walk once more. Much in the city had changed in the years since Perry Randall had been elected to The Hundred. The crime rate had dropped dramatically. The murders and muggings that had been so commonplace only a decade ago had all but disappeared.

The subways-though he himself never rode them-had been cleaned up.

The panhandlers that had choked the sidewalks and train stations were all but gone.

Much of that had happened, Perry Randall knew, because of the policies he and the other members had developed in the privacy of the club. Unwritten rules for the city had been decided upon, and if the public had not had a hand in forming them, everyone had certainly benefited from their implementation. The city had changed for the better more quickly than even the members of the club could have hoped. But obviously, in the case of Jeff Converse, something had gone wrong.

He was just opening the hall closet to choose a coat when the door from the far wing opened and Heather appeared. They were both surprised, and Perry tried to think of something to say, but it was Heather who broke the uncomfortable silence.

"I don't believe it," she said, her voice strained with tension. "You're really going?"

The question confused him, but his years in the courtroom and at the negotiating table kept his features from showing it.

Had she heard the message on the answering machine? That was impossible-if she had, she would have come to him right away, insisting that he use every connection he had to find out if somehow Jeff might possibly still be alive. Besides, Carolyn had told him the new message light was flashing when she'd listened to the message, and he'd erased it himself right after he listened to it.

"Is it such a crime for your father to go to the club?" he asked, cocking his head in the manner that had always brought her running into his arms when she was a child.

Today she made no move to come any closer.

Then, as he noticed the simple black dress she was wearing, he understood. "Jeff's funeral?" he asked, injecting just the right amount of concern into the question. "I'm- well, I'm afraid I didn't know." He hesitated, then shifted down a gear. "Nobody told me," he added. If she felt any of the guilt he'd intended her to feel, she gave no sign of it, and it occurred to him-not for the first time-that if she set her mind to it, she could be nearly as good a lawyer as he.

"I didn't really think you'd want to go," Heather replied. "Given the way you treated Jeff-"

"I didn't treat Jeff any way at all," he cut in, for once letting his aggravation show. "All I was doing was my job. And despite my personal feelings, I made it a point to remove myself from Jeff's case completely. I built a firewall between me and that case, Heather, and you know it. Now, I can't help the way I feel, but you have to understand that I did nothing-nothing at all-to influence the trial. It was the jury who decided Jeff's guilt, not me. And I have to tell you that the way you keep holding it against me-"

"It's not just the trial, Daddy," Heather cut in. "It's everything. You always treated him like a servant, and-" Abruptly, she stopped and glanced at her watch. "What does it matter now anyway?" she asked. "I don't really want to talk about it anymore, and if I don't go, I'll be late."

Perry held the door open for her, and after hesitating a moment, she stepped through. "Where is the service?" Perry asked as they rode down in the elevator.

"St. Patrick's. It was Jeff's favorite church. He loved the surprise of it in the middle of midtown. He said it was some of the finest architecture in the city."

"If you like that sort of thing, I suppose it's good for its kind. But I'm afraid I've always found it a bit…" He paused, then shrugged. "Well, I suppose what I think doesn't really matter, does it?" Heather offered no reply, and neither of them spoke again until they were on the sidewalk. "Can I drop you?" he asked, nodding toward the black Lincoln Town Car waiting by the curb, its driver holding the door open for him.

She shook her head. "It's such a nice day, I think I'll walk."

As the car pulled away from the curb, Perry Randall realized that even though Jeff Converse was no longer a part of Heather's life and would never be a part of her life again, she still had not forgiven him for failing to leap to the boy's defense. As the Town Car settled into the stream of traffic moving down the avenue, he tried to relax in the knowledge that sooner or later Heather would have to forgive him and they would return to the nearly perfect relationship they'd had before she fell in love with Jeff Converse.

After all, the boy had been proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, and eventually Heather would realize that. Besides, as far as she was concerned, Jeff Converse was already dead.

And in a few more hours, he undoubtedly would be.

"Why don't you just tell me, okay?" Jinx said, struggling not to turn away from the steely gaze of the man who was staring down at her with the hardest eyes she'd ever seen. She'd never had any trouble staring people down before, but this man, whom she'd never seen before and already hoped she'd never see again, was different. She wasn't sure how old he was; he could have been twenty, or could just as easily have been forty-maybe even forty-five. She'd found him in the Seventy-second Street subway station, lounging against the wall at the far end. She'd known right away he was one of the herders, even though he was doing his best to look like he didn't have anything better to do than hang out in the subway. But if he hadn't been a herder, he'd have been sprawled out on the platform, probably holding tight to the brown bag that sat between his feet-no wino Jinx had ever seen let the bottle leave his hand, much less sit unguarded on the floor while he was standing up. The knife had most clearly given him away. Jinx spotted it right off, clutched in his right hand, only partly hidden by the ragged denim vest that he wore over a dirty flannel shirt with torn-off sleeves. Once she pegged him as a herder, she'd walked right up to him and asked him if he'd seen the two guys in the hunt.

He'd just stared at her blankly, like he didn't know what she was talking about. She hadn't realized how big he was until she was right in front of him. Now he towered over her, the thick muscles of his tattoo-covered biceps rippling every time he flexed them, which she knew he was doing just to impress her. Well, screw him-she'd been on the streets way too long to be impressed with big muscles and small brains. She held her ground and her gaze never wavered. "Come on, what's the big deal?"

The man's lips pulled back to reveal his rotting teeth, and his glazed eyes told her he'd gotten hold of some drugs not very long ago. She wondered if Lester and Eddie were dealing again-if they were, Tillie'd kick their asses out for sure. But if the man was stoned, he was a lot more dangerous than he'd be if he was straight, or just drunk. His eyes finally shifted away from hers and raked over her body.

Sizing her up.

She saw him glance down the platform, checking out the crowd, and she steeled herself, knowing that if he was really junked up, he might try to rape her right there. Ready to spring away if he made a move toward her, she tried once more. "Look-all I'm supposed to do is find out if they tried to get out through here. So what do I say? That you were too fucked up to see?" The man tensed, and for a second Jinx thought she might have gone too far. But a second later the gamble paid off.