Sadly, Maryanne's entire family-mother, father, younger sister-died in a fiery car crash a week before the wedding. Needless to say, Maryanne had been devastated. In an attempt to comfort his shattered fiancee, Jimmy had whisked her away from the state. They'd moved to Boston, tied the knot in a small civil ceremony, and made a fresh start.

In the good-news department, they'd gotten pregnant right away. In the bad-news department, their baby, the original James Jr." was born sickly. The infant had died in a matter of months, and James and Maryanne had returned to Georgia for one more funeral, burying their son in the family plot in Atlanta.

Two years later, young Jimmy had arrived, and James and Maryanne hadn't looked back since.

Bobby thought it was creepy they'd name the second child the same as the first. The first boy was Junior, the second, Jimmy, Harris told him. Bobby still thought it was creepy.

Entering the penthouse suite, Bobby's first thought was that the Gagnons knew how to make an impression. The space boasted Italian marble floors, expensive antiques, and a vast bank of windows draped in enough silk to exhaust a worm farm. The high-end hotel suite provided the perfect backdrop for its high-end occupants. Maryanne Gagnon appeared to be in her mid-sixties, trim but slightly stoop-shouldered, with tight-set platinum blonde hair that was now more platinum than blonde. She wore a triple strand of knuckle-sized pearls around her neck and a rock the size of a golf ball on her finger. Sitting in some dainty French provincial chair in a cream-colored silk pantsuit, she nearly blended in with the draperies behind her.

In contrast, Judge Gagnon dominated the space. He stood slightly behind his wife's right shoulder, tall, in a single-breasted black suit that probably cost more than Bobby made in a month. His hair had turned the color of slate with age, but his eyes remained bright, his jaw square, and his mouth hard. You could picture this man ruling a courthouse. You could imagine this man ruling the country.

Bobby had a flash of insight: Weak-willed Jimmy Gagnon had most likely taken after his mother, not his father.

"You don't look that big," Maryanne Gagnon spoke up first, surprising all of them. She turned her head to look up at her husband, and Bobby saw her hands trembling on her lap.

"Didn't you think he'd be somehow… bigger?" she asked the judge.

James squeezed his wife's shoulder and there was something about that quiet display of support that unnerved Bobby more than the clothes, the room, the perfectly posed sitting. He studied the marble floor, the zigzag patterns of gray and rose veins.

"Would you like something to drink?" James offered from across the room.

"Maybe a cup of coffee?"

"No."

"Anything to eat?"

"I don't plan on staying that long."

James seemed to accept that. He gestured to a nearby sofa.

"Please have a seat."

Bobby didn't really want to do that either, but he crossed to the cream-colored sofa, sitting gingerly on the edge and fisting his hands on his lap. In contrast to the Gagnons' perfectly groomed appearance, he wore old jeans, a dark blue turtleneck, and an old gray sweatshirt. He'd crawled from his bed in the middle of the night to view a crime scene, not face grieving parents. Which, of course, the Gagnons had known when they'd sent Harris to pick him up.

"Harris tells us you've met with Catherine." James again. Bobby had a feeling it was his show. Maryanne wasn't even looking at Bobby anymore. Bobby realized after another moment that the?woman was crying soundlessly. Her face, carefully angled away, was covered in a glaze of tears.

"Officer Dodge?"

"I've met Catherine," Bobby heard himself say. His gaze was still on Maryanne. He wanted to say something. I'm sorry. He didn't suffer-Hey, at least you still have your grandson… Bobby'd been a fool to come here. He saw that now. James Gagnon had run a sucker play, and Bobby had walked right into it.

"Did you know my daughter-in-law before the shooting?" James was prodding.

Bobby forced his gaze back to the older man. Seemed like everyone was asking that question these days. Firmly, he said, "No."

"You're sure?"

"I keep track of the people I meet."

James merely arched a brow.

"What did you see that night? The night Jimmy died?"

Bobby's gaze flickered to Maryanne, then back to her husband.

"If we're going to talk about this, I don't think she should be in the room."

"Maryanne?" James said softly to his wife, and she once more looked up at him. Seconds before, she'd been crying. Now Maryanne seemed to draw herself up, to find a reserve of strength. She took her husband's hand. They turned toward Bobby as a united front.

"I would like to know," Maryanne drawled softly.

"He's my son. I was there for his birth. I should know of his death."

She was brilliant, Bobby thought. In four sentences or less, she had cut out his heart.

"I was called out to a domestic barricade situation," he said as evenly as he could.

"A woman had called nine-one-one saying her husband had a gun, and the sound of gunshots had been reported by the neighbors. Upon taking up position across the street, I spied the subject-" "Jimmy," the judge corrected. "The subject," Bobby held his ground, "pacing the floor of the master bedroom in an agitated manner. After a moment, I mined that he was armed with a nine-millimeter handgun."

"Loaded?" James again.

"I could not make that determination, but previous reports of shots fired would seem to indicate the gun was loaded."

"Safety on or off?"

"I could not make that determination, but again previous reports of shots fired would seem to indicate the manual safety was off."

"But he could've put the safety on."

"Possible."

"He could have never fired the shots at all. You didn't witness him firing his weapon, did you?"

"No."

"You didn't witness him loading the gun?"

"No."

"I see," the judge said, and for the first time, Bobby saw. This was the preliminary, just a brief taste of what would happen to him when things went to trial. How the good judge was prepared to show that he, Robert G. Dodge, had committed murder on Thursday, November 11, 2004, when he shot the poor, unsuspecting victim, beloved son James Gagnon, Jr.

It would be a war of words, and the judge had all the big ones on his side.

"So what exactly did you see?" the judge was asking now.

"After a brief interval-" "How long? One minute, five minutes? Half an hour?"

"After approximately seven minutes, I saw a female subject-' "Catherine."

"-and a child come into view. The woman was holding the child, a young boy. Then the female subject and the male subject, Bobby said emphatically, "proceeded to argue."

"About what?"

"I had no audio of the scene."

"So you have no idea what they said to one another? Perhaps Catherine was threatening Jimmy."

"With what?"

The judge changed his tack.

"Or she was verbally abusing him.

Bobby shrugged.

"Did she know you were there?" the judge pushed.

"I don't know."

"There were spotlights, an ambulance arriving at the scene, police cruisers coming and going. Isn't it likely that she noticed this level of activity?"

"She was up on the fourth floor, above street level. When I first arrived, it appeared that she and the child were hunkered down behind the bed. I'm not sure what it's realistic to assume she knew and didn't know."

"But you said she placed a call to nine-one-one herself."

"That's what I was told."

"So therefore, she expected some sort of response."

"Response in the past has been two uniformed officers knocking at her front door."

"I know, Officer Dodge. That's why I find it so interesting that this time, she made certain to mention that Jimmy had a gun. A weapon made it an automatic SWAT call, didn't it?"