Fitzgibbon looked genuinely surprised. “Why is that absurd? I don’t think it is. I think I’d mind if my husband was seeing an attractive woman at her home-office two, three, four times a week.”

Fitzgibbon moved swiftly. “Didn’t it bother you that Boo Cassady was a surrogate sex therapist for your husband?”

Lucy Shafer hesitated, seemed surprised, and glanced quickly at her husband. She hadn’t known. It was impossible not to feel sorry for her.

Jane Halpern quickly rose from her seat. “Objection! Your Honor, there is no foundation that my client was seeing a sex surrogate.”

Lucy Shafer visibly pulled herself together on the witness stand. She was clearly stronger than she looked. Was she a game player, too? Could she be one of the players? Or did she and her husband play a completely different kind of game?

She spoke. “I’d like to answer the question. Madam Prosecutor, my husband, Geoffrey, has been such a good husband, such a good father, that even if he felt it necessary to see a sex therapist, and did not want to tell me about it because of the hurt or shame he felt, I would understand.”

“And if he committed cold-blooded murder — and did not want to tell you?” the prosecutor asked, then turned to the jury.

Chapter 95

ELIZABETH “BOO” CASSADY was in her late thirties, slender and very attractive, with lustrous brown hair that she had worn long since she was a young girl. She was a regular shopper at Neiman Marcus, Saks, Nordstrom, Bloomingdale’s, and various chic specialty shops around Washington. It showed.

She had gotten the nickname Boo as an infant because she always laughed and laughed whenever she heard the sound of somebody playing peek-a-boo with her. She soon learned to do it herself, muttering “boo, boo, boo, boo.” In school, right through college, she kept the name, friends said, because she could be a little scary at times.

For her important day in court she’d chosen a single-breasted pantsuit, beautifully cut, very soft and flowy. Her outfit was an eye-pleasing mix of coffee and cashmere cream. She looked like a professional person, and a successful one.

Jules Halpern asked her to state her name and occupation for the record. He was amiable but businesslike, a little cooler than he had been with other witnesses.

“Dr. Elizabeth Cassady. I’m a psychotherapist,” she replied evenly.

“Dr. Cassady, how do you know Colonel Shafer?”

“He’s a patient of mine, and has been for over a year. He sees me at my office at twelve-oh-eight Woodley Avenue once or twice a week. We increased the frequency of the sessions recently, after Mr. Shafer’s attempted suicide.”

Halpern nodded. “What time are the sessions?”

“Usually early evening. They can vary according to Mr. Shafer’s work schedule.”