“Yes. Please tell Andrea everything you’ve told me.”

Andrea. Of course. Ben had been so concerned about Father Beale he’d forgotten about his wife. She must be worried sick. “I’ll do that. And she can come visit you, if she’d like.”

“I don’t know how she’ll feel about that. It might be… more stress than she wants. Or needs. But do keep her informed.”

“I will. Anything else?”

“Yes. I want you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, ever since these troubles started. But this is different. This is a murder trial, and it’s probably going to get a lot of play in the papers. I’m sure most of what they say about me will be negative, and that’s going to reflect on you. Much as I appreciate your help, speaking as your priest, I think it would be best if you stepped down and let another attorney handle my case.”

“No chance.”

“Ben, I’m serious. You’re a great lawyer-and a fine human being, I might add. But you don’t need this. Step down.”

“No.”

“You’re not thinking this through.”

“The answer is no.”

“Ben… I know what you do. In many ways, your law practice is your ministry, and you do important work. I don’t want to see that come to an end.”

“I am not going to resign from your case.”

“Ben-”

“Are you firing me? Because if you are, then I have to go. But I will not resign.”

“Ben, consider what your-”

“Do you remember the stained glass window?”

A small smile played on Father Beale’s lips. “It’s been a while. But of course I do.”

Ben nodded. “You were there for me. I’ll be here for you.”

Beale leaned back, letting his head touch the hard stone wall behind him. “It’s been good having you in church these past few months, Ben. Particularly since I know you’ve been a church absentee ever since you left home.”

“It’s been good for me, too.”

“Masterson tells me you’ve been a valuable addition to the choir, and that you help him out at rehearsals by playing the piano. You’ve done a fine job with the Old Testament readings.” He paused. “But I notice you never go up for communion.”

“Nothing gets by you, huh?”

“That’s my job. So, what’s the story, Ben?”

Ben thought for a long moment. “I don’t know. I suppose I’m still not… totally comfortable with this church stuff. I mean, I enjoying the singing, and the fellowship, and all that. But to take communion-” Ben stared at the stone walls, searching for words. “To get down on your knees and take the cup, that’s like saying, I believe.”

“No, you’re wrong,” Father Beale replied. He stretched out on the cot and closed his eyes. “That’s like saying, I want to believe. There’s a difference.”

Someone is in my apartment, Ben realized as he approached the door. If I were in a horror movie, this would be a sure sign that I’m about to die. And even though danger is obviously afoot, I would plunge on in and get eaten or dismembered or whatever.

Happily, he recalled, I’m not in a horror movie, although some of my trials come close. His apartment had been broken into before, however, and the locks in this building were not what they should be. If he were smart…

But somehow, he was not inclined to call 911. Most of his friends had keys, and they used them with impunity. This could be Mike, raiding the icebox, or Loving, wanting to watch the football game on Ben’s big screen (nineteen inches).

Or Christina. “What on earth are you wearing?” he said as soon as he passed through the door.

Which was, of course, a rhetorical question. He could see what she was wearing. He just couldn’t believe it. A black leather skirt and black Metallica T-shirt with a sleeveless fleece vest and high black leather boots.

“Goth?” he asked.

Christina grinned. “It’s not just for kids anymore.”

Ben tossed his briefcase onto the coffee table. “I thought you were going to try to dress more… um… conservatively.”

“When I’m working, yes. Am I working?”

“Beats me. What are you doing?”

“Nothing in particular. I just thought I’d bring some sunshine into your dreary little existence.”

“Gee, thanks.” His eyes scanned the perimeter of his apartment. Something was very wrong. “Forgive me for asking this-I don’t want to offend you-but, have you been cleaning?”

“What do you know. I was wrong. You did notice. What was your first clue? The fact that you didn’t trip over your entire wardrobe on your way through the door?”

“No. The smell of Lemon Pledge in the air. It reminds me of my mother’s house.”

“Believe me, Ben, there’s no comparison between this dive and your mother’s house.”

“What on earth possessed you-?”

“Much as I would like to take credit for spiffying up your perpetually unkempt dwelling place, I can’t. Thank Joni. Or blame her, depending on how attached you were to the squalor.”

Ben hung up his coat and sat in the overstuffed chair opposite Christina. “She didn’t need to do that.”

“No, but she wanted to.”

“She should be concentrating on her schoolwork, not mucking about in my apartment. This was a total waste of her time.”

Christina puffed out her cheeks. “Ben, when are you going to get it through your thick little head that you have friends who care about you? This wasn’t a waste of her time. This was something she wanted to do. And something that seriously needed to be done.”

“Still, she’s in college now-”

“Only because of you. You’ve been her mentor, in more ways than one. You took a dizzy teenager and turned her into a responsible human being.”

“Oh, nonsense.”

“It’s true. Her whole life now is centered around other people. Care giving. And today she decided to give some care to your apartment. So be grateful.” She grabbed a file out of his briefcase and started thumbing through it. “What happened in the Beale case?”

Ben filled her in on all that had occurred since the arrest, including his visit with Father Beale.

Christina let out a long whistle. “Boy, Jones is not going to be happy.”

“Is he ever?”

“Well, no. But this case has Loser written all over it. And I’m assuming the good priest doesn’t have deep pockets.”

“He’s innocent, Christina.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

“How can you know?”

Ben hesitated. “I suppose Father Beale would say it’s a question of faith. I have faith in him. And I have to stand by him. No matter what.”

She looked at Ben curiously for a moment, then let it pass. “I’ll get cracking, then. First thing in the morning. I’ve already uncovered a few interesting tidbits about the victim.”

“I want a team meeting right after the arraignment. Tell the others.”

“Already did. Efficient, aren’t I?”

“That’s why I pay you the big money.”

“In your dreams.”

“Got any plans for dinner?”

“Actually, yes. Three invitations from well-heeled suitors, plus a pot roast in my freezer that really needs to be cooked.” The corners of her lips tugged upward. “But I’d rather share that leftover pizza in your fridge.”

He grinned. “If you insist.”

Christina stayed until almost nine-thirty, filling Ben in on all the latest and greatest gossip in the legal world. She’d been a full-fledged attorney for less than a year, and she was already much better connected than he could ever hope to be. She knew all the latest scuttlebutt-which judge was sleeping with which lawyer, which lawyer was being investigated by the bar committee, which firm was teetering on the verge of bankruptcy. And she clued him in on what was happening in his own office-Loving’s latest conquest, the honeymoon reports from Jones and Paula. They talked about anything and everything-except the Beale case. After several hours of this, Ben was beginning to wonder if she would ever leave.