Are you sure you want to do this, Mrs. Althorp?” Nicholas Greco asked. “It’s absolutely terrible outside.”

“That’s what I told her, Mr. Greco.” Brenda, the housekeeper, her face creased with worry, was helping Gladys Althorp on with her coat.

“I am going to the arraignment of Susan’s murderer, and there will be no further discussion about it. Mr. Greco, we will go in my car. I assume that my driver will be able to leave us near the door of the courthouse.”

When she says no more discussion, she means it, Greco thought. He saw that Brenda was about to continue to protest, and he shook his head to warn her off.

The driver was waiting outside, holding an open umbrella. Without speaking, Greco and the driver each took an arm of the frail woman and helped her into the car. When they were on their way, Gladys Althorp asked, “Mr. Greco, tell me how an arraignment is conducted. Does it take very long?”

“No, Peter Carrington will appear with his attorney before the judge. He will have been waiting in a holding cell next to the courtroom. The prosecutor will read the charges that have been filed.”

“How will he be dressed?”

“In a prisoner’s jumpsuit.”

“Will he be wearing handcuffs?”

“Yes. After the charge is read, the judge will ask him how he pleads. His attorney will answer for him. Of course, he will say, ‘not guilty.’ ”

“I would certainly expect him to plead that way,” Gladys said bitterly.

Greco could see that his client was biting her lip to keep it from trembling. “Mrs. Althorp,” he said, “this isn’t going to be easy for you. I wish you had someone in your family with you now.”

“My sons could not have made it in time. They both live in California. My husband was already on his way to Chicago this morning when the word came that Peter Carrington had been arrested. But you know something, Mr. Greco, in a way, I’m not sorry to be the only one in my family here today. No one has grieved for Susan as I have all these years. We were so very close. We did so many things together. From the time she was a child, she loved to go to museums and the ballet and opera with me. She was a fine arts major in college, just as I had been. When she chose that major, she joked that it would give us even more in common, as if we needed it. She was beautiful and intelligent and sweet and loving, a perfect, perfect human being. Charles and the boys will attend Peter Carrington’s trial. I won’t be around to see it. Today is my day in court to represent her. I feel almost as though Susan will be there in spirit, too. Does that sound silly to you?”

“No, it does not,” Greco said. “I have attended many trials, and the presence of the victim is always felt as their relatives and friends give testimony about them. Today, when the formal charge of murder is read, everyone in that courtroom will be thinking of the pictures they have seen in the papers of Susan. She will come alive in their minds.”

“You’ll never know how grateful I am to you for locating Maria Valdez. Her testimony, and the copy of that check from Peter’s father, will surely be enough evidence to convict Carrington.”

“I believe that ultimately Carrington will be convicted,” Greco replied. “It has been an honor to be of service to you, Mrs. Althorp, and I do hope that after today you will find some measure of peace.”

“I hope so, too.” She leaned back and closed her eyes, obviously exhausted. Twenty minutes later, the car pulled up to the courthouse.

Even though he was wearing an overcoat, Conner Banks felt chilled as he hurried from the parking lot to the Bergen County Courthouse in Hackensack, New Jersey. The lot was crowded, and the space he finally had found was about as far away from the courthouse as it was possible to get.

He began to walk faster, and Walter Markinson, his face already wet from the sleet, snapped, “Take it easy. I don’t run two miles every morning the way you do.”

“Sorry.”

“It wouldn’t have hurt you to have brought an umbrella.”

“Sorry.”

On the drive from Manhattan, they had debated the exact wording of the statement they would make to the media. “Mr. Carrington is innocent of this charge, and his innocence will be demonstrated in court.” Or, “Our client has steadily maintained his innocence. The case against him is based on supposition, innuendo, and a woman who, after twenty-two years, is recanting her sworn statement.”

The way this case is developing, we might as well be defending Jack the Ripper, Conner thought grimly. He had never before been involved in a media circus quite like this one.

There have been some pretty sensational cases tried in this courthouse, he thought, as they finally reached the shelter of the building. There was the so-called Shoemaker, that guy from Philadelphia who marched through Bergen County, attacking women, with his twelve-year-old son in tow. His last victim, the one he killed, was a twenty-one-year-old nurse who had stopped by the house he was robbing to help out with an invalid who lived there. Then there were the Robert Reldan killings. That guy, handsome and from a good family, was reminiscent of Peter Carrington. He abducted and killed two young women. During his trial, he slugged the officer on guard who was taking off his cuffs out of sight of the jury, jumped out the window, stole a car, and had about thirty minutes of freedom. Now, twenty or thirty years later, the Shoemaker is dead, and Reldon is still rotting in prison.

And it is very likely Peter Carrington will spend the rest of his life with him, he thought.

The arraignment was to be held in the courtroom of the Honorable Harvey Smith, the judge who had signed the arrest warrant for Peter Carrington. As Banks had expected, when he and Markinson got there, the courtroom was already crowded with both spectators and the media. The cameramen were focused on a woman seated in the middle section of the room. To his dismay, he realized that she was Gladys Althorp, the mother of the victim.

He and Markinson darted to the front of the room.

It was only twenty of three, but Kay Carrington was already there, sitting in the front spectator row with Vincent Slater at her side. Somewhat to Banks’s surprise, he noted that she was wearing a jogging suit. Then he realized, or thought he realized, the reason for it: Slater had told him that Carrington was about to go jogging when the arrest warrant was served. That’s what he’ll be wearing when he posts bail and leaves for home, Banks thought. She’s presenting a united front.

Markinson’s grumpy expression had changed to a benevolent father-figure look. His brow furrowed, his eyes filled with understanding, he patted Kay’s shoulder as he said in a reassuring voice, “Don’t worry. We are going to take that Valdez woman apart when we get her on the stand.”

Kay knows how bad this is, Banks thought. Walter should give her more credit. He caught a flash of anger in Kay’s eyes as she looked up at Markinson.

In a voice that was low and strained, she said, “Walter, I don’t need reassurances. I know what we’re facing. What I also know is that there is someone out there who took that girl’s life and who should be in this courtroom right now instead of my husband. Peter is innocent. He is incapable of hurting anyone. I want to feel that that is exactly what you believe, too.”

“Blessed are they who have not seen and have believed.” The words of scripture ran through Conner Banks’s mind as he greeted Kay and Vincent. “He’ll be home tonight, Kay,” Conner told her. “That I can promise you.” He and Markinson took their seats. Behind them, Banks could hear the courtroom filling up. It was to be expected-this was the kind of high-profile case that many courthouse personnel stopped in to observe.