”You could buy a small island. And the people who lost that dope are going to be mighty angry.“

He gave me his cell number and told me he would stay within reach for the next couple of days, at least. Then he squeezed my right hand in both of his and walked to the glass door. ”By the way,“ he said, turning back to me, ”that was a neat trick you pulled. Couldn’t have done better myself.“

I blew out a stream of air, fighting a memory of Blue’s massive body crushing mine. ”Necessity’s the mother of invention, right?“

Kelly smiled. Then his eyes twinkled and he was gone.

Not long afterward, Quentin Avery called me. He apologized for not coming to the hospital, but I understood. A lawyer defending a client on a capital murder charge is one of the busiest people on earth. Quentin let me know he was glad that I’d survived, but then he quickly asked if I had any rabbits I could pull out of my hat for him. Had I learned anything during my captivity that might help Drew in the courtroom? I had to tell him no. When I asked for a summary of Shad Johnson’s strategy, Quentin told a depressing tale.

Though Shad’s case remained circumstantial, he had painted a compelling picture of Marko Bakic as the ”mystery man“ who’d had consensual sex with Kate within seventy-two hours of her death, and then of Drew as the older man who’d discovered this infidelity and killed his underage paramour in a jealous rage. DNA analysis of the fetus in Kate’s womb had proved it to be Drew’s child. But Drew, Shad told the jury, had no way of knowing that. He might have believed the child belonged to Marko (or any other man). Shad’s hypothesis was helped greatly by the fact that no one had seen Marko since the night of the X-rave at Oakfield. Shad had even suggested that Drew had paid to have Marko killed, which would explain the Croatian’s disappearance.

While Don Logan’s police department had been searching frantically for Marko, Sheriff Byrd had taken a more leisurely approach. I wanted to laugh at the irony when Quentin griped about this; he himself had ordered me not to hunt down Cyrus for the same reason. It suited both lawyers’ purposes to work with a myth in court, rather than a flesh-and-blood person who could contradict their theories. I offered to put Daniel Kelly at Quentin’s disposal, but Quentin demurred. He didn’t seem to grasp the value of Kelly’s help-probably because Kelly has no inside knowledge of Natchez.

Late on my second night in the hospital, Mia called. She told me she had wanted to visit earlier, but that Caitlin had told her it was best that I have as few visitors as possible. This surprised and even angered me, but on reflection I understood. It took me a while to realize that Mia was crying softly. To raise her spirits, I asked her to update me on the progress of her investigation. I knew better than to believe my absence would end her Nancy Drew efforts.

Mia had deduced that I’d been kidnapped or killed by either Cyrus White or the Asians, since I had provoked both parties. Because she had no way to work the Asian angle, she had focused on Cyrus. The only possible line Mia had into Cyrus’s organization was Marko, so for the past week, she had talked to every high school student in town, trying to find some clue to Marko’s whereabouts. She’d badgered Alicia Reynolds, Marko’s girlfriend, but Alicia had blown her off. When Mia tried to follow Alicia in her car, she quickly discovered that the police were doing the same thing. After being warned off, she went home and fell into a mild depression. I thanked her profusely for everything she’d done, but this didn’t bring her out of her mood. She’d cut school twice to attend Drew’s trial, she said, and she had a bad feeling about the way it was going.

I wanted to see for myself, but my withdrawal symptoms grew worse, not better. The methadone helped, but it didn’t stop the pain that bored like rusty nails into my bones. I still had an irregular heartbeat, as well, but Dad told me that was caused by the vasculitis, not the withdrawal.

This morning I learned that Shad and Quentin were scheduled to give their closing statements, but as badly as I wanted to hear them, I simply couldn’t function well enough to go to the courthouse. It was all I could do to stand beside my bed for five minutes, or sit in the visitors’ chair watching television. I got so agitated at my failure that Dad finally sedated me. I lay in the bed half conscious, waiting for an update from Caitlin, who was in the courtroom.

I waited in vain. Caitlin wasn’t about to give up her seat in the packed courtroom to call someone who couldn’t do anything about what was happening anyway. I switched on the TV and tried to think about something else, but it was no use. I’d never felt so impotent in my life. I lay shaking under the blanket, troubled by thoughts of Blue, almost wishing the big man would appear at my bedside with his blessed syringe. But he couldn’t do that, of course. He was dead. I’d cut the top of his head off with a battery plate. When the sedative finally overwhelmed me, I almost wept with relief.

”Penn? Penn, wake up.“

I blink my eyes in confusion. My mother is standing beside my bed.

”What’s the matter?“

”Caitlin’s on the phone. The jury’s back.“

A bolus of adrenaline shoots through my body. ”Give it to me!“

Mom passes me the phone. ”Caitlin?“

”The jury’s coming back in,“ she whispers. ”They deliberated ninety-four minutes.“

My face goes cold.

”What do you think?“

”Guilty.“

”If they see me on this phone, they’ll kick me out,“ Caitlin says. ”I’m going to leave the connection open. If you can’t hear the verdict, I’ll tell you as soon as I can.“

My phone begins hissing like a link to outer space. I’ve never listened to a jury verdict this way before. A friend of mine once called me and held up his cell phone at a Paul McCartney concert: ”Eleanor Rigby,“ I think.

”Who is the foreperson?“ asks Judge Arthel Minor, his voice replacing the hiss with amazing clarity.

For some reason, I don’t hear the reply. Probably because the judge has a microphone while the jury box doesn’t.

”Have you reached a verdict?“ Judge Minor asks.

Again nothing.

”Please pass the verdict to the clerk.“

Silence now, but I know what’s happening. The clerk is giving the verdict to Judge Minor, who will check to see if the jury has worded it correctly. Minor will then pass it to the clerk, who will read the verdict aloud. At least three deputies will surround Drew to keep him from bolting in panic in the event of a guilty verdict, or to protect him from angry relatives of the victim in the opposite event.

”Ladies and gentlemen,“ says Judge Minor, ”I’m warning you. There will be no outbursts when the verdict is read, or afterward. There will be quiet and order. Do not test me, or you will find yourself in the custody of the sheriff.“

After a brief silence, Minor says, ”Read the verdict.“

A female voice says, ”In the matter of the State of Mississippi versus Drew Elliott, we find the accused guilty on two counts of the charge of first-degree murder during commission of a felony.“

I sag against my pillow.

”Did you hear that?“ Caitlin whispers.

”I heard.“

”I can’t believe it.“

”Believe it.“

”Are you okay?“

”Yes. Go. I know you need to work.“

”Wait. Judge Minor’s going to poll the jury.“

”They always do that in capital cases. It’s over, Caitlin.“

”I’ll call you as soon as I can,“ she promises.

I let the phone drop and reach for my water glass.

I wish there were some way I could talk to Drew. Right now he’s standing at his table in shock, Quentin Avery beside him, watching Judge Minor excuse the family of the victim-Jenny Townsend and perhaps her ex-husband. Next Drew’s family will be excused. I wonder who was there for him. His parents are dead. Ellen? Probably not. Timmy is certainly not there. But after whoever is there for him has left the courtroom, Drew will be escorted straight back to the county jail. What can he be thinking? An innocent man convicted of capital murder. The realization that twelve citizens believed him capable of brutally raping and murdering a young girl will stun Drew into shock. If it wasn’t for Tim, I’d be afraid he might try to kill himself.