I was in no hurry as I walked down a back stairway that was used by maintenance and cleaning people in the building, and also served as a fire escape.

It was becoming clear to me that there was a chance Geoffrey Shafer would be acquitted. His lawyers were the best, and we’d lost important evidence at the suppression hearing.

And I had made a bad mistake at the homicide scene, when, in my rush to help Patsy Hampton, I’d neglected to put on gloves.

It was an honest mistake, but it probably created doubt in the minds of the jurors. I’d had more blood on me than Shafer. That was true. Shafer might actually get away with murder, and I couldn’t stand the thought. I felt like yelling as I descended the twisting flights of stairs.

And that’s exactly what I did. I yelled at the top of my voice, and it felt so damn good to get it out. Relief flowed through my body, however temporary it might be.

At the bottom of the concrete stairs was the basement of the courthouse. I headed down a long, dark hallway toward the rear lot where the Porsche was parked. I was still lost in my thoughts, but calmer after hollering my fool head off in the stairwell.

There was a sharp bend in the hallway near the exit to the parking lot. I came around the turn and saw him. I couldn’t believe it. The Weasel was right there.

He was the first to speak. “What a surprise, Dr. Cross. Sneaking away from the madding — or is it ‘maddening’? — crowd. Tail between your legs today? Don’t fret, you did all right upstairs. Was that you yelling in the halls? Primal screams are the best, aren’t they?”

“What the hell do you want, Shafer?” I asked him. “We’re not supposed to meet or talk like this.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders, wiped his blond hair away from his eyes. “You think I care about rules? I don’t give a shit about rules. What do I want? My good name restored. I want my family not to have to go through any more of this. I want it all.”

“Then you shouldn’t have killed all those people. Especially Patsy Hampton.”

Shafer smiled. “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you? You don’t back down. I admire that, to a degree. I played the game of being a hero once myself. In the army. It’s interesting for a while.”

“But it’s much more interesting to be a raving lunatic murderer,” I said.

“See? You just don’t back down from your bullheaded opinions. I love it. You’re wonderful.”

“It’s not opinion, Shafer. You know it, and so do I.”