There were heartwarming candid shots of the children eating frosted cake and playing party games. There were more shots of Shafer laughing and playing with several of the children. I suspected that Jules Halpern had supervised the final editing of the tape. It was very convincing.

The adult guests at the party, all dressed up and looking sophisticated, gave glowing testimonials. They said that Geoffrey Shafer and his wife were outstanding parents. No longer in his clown costume but in a smart navy suit, Shafer modestly deflected the tributes. He had changed into the same clothes he wore when he was apprehended at the Farragut.

The tape ended with the smiling and quite beautiful twins telling the camera that they loved their mommy and daddy for making their “dream come true.” The lights came up. The judge granted a brief recess.

I felt incredibly angry that the video had been shown. It made Shafer out to be a wonderful father — and such a victim.

The jury was all smiles, and so was Jules Halpern. He had argued masterfully that the tape was crucial to establishing Geoffrey Shafer’s state of mind shortly before Patsy Hampton’s murder. Halpern was so skillful an orator that he’d actually made the outrageous request to show the video sound logical. At any rate, it was moot now.

Shafer himself was smiling broadly, as were his wife and son. It suddenly occurred to me that Shafer had been riding a pale horse at the party for his children. He was Death, from the Four Horsemen.

It was all theater and games to him, his entire life.

Chapter 92

SOMETIMES I WANTED to shut my eyes tight and not have to watch another moment of the trial. I wanted things to be the way they’d been before the Weasel.

Catherine Fitzgibbon was doing a very good job with each witness, but the judge seemed to be favoring the defense whenever possible. It had begun at the critical suppression hearing, and it continued now.

Lucy Shafer took the witness stand early that afternoon. The warm, homespun videotaped images of the Shafer family were still fresh in the minds of the jurors.

I had been trying to understand Lucy Shafer’s odd and perplexing relationship with her husband since the first time I met her, on the night of Patsy Hampton’s murder. What kind of woman could live with an unrepentant monster like Shafer and not know it? Could this woman be that much in denial? Or was there something else that motivated her, somehow held her captive to Shafer? I had seen all kinds of marital relationships in my therapy practice, but nothing like this.

Jane Halpern conducted the questioning, and looked every bit as confident and winning as her father. She was tall and slender, with wiry black hair tied in a bow with a dark-crimson ribbon. She was twenty-eight, just four years out of Yale Law School, but seemed older and wiser.