“And me,” Ted said, though he could not remember a time when Jacqueline Clavette had not been angry with him. She had resented his early success when they both worked for the family firm, she resented his prehistory with her wife, and she resented his friendship with Jill now.

“I’m sorry,” Jill said, surprising him.

“No, my fault entirely. I shouldn’t have put you in the middle.” He let her have a moment for that to soak in. “Hey. Do you remember that guy you thought was following us the other night? The big guy at the game.”

“What?”

“A big, ugly, bald-headed guy. You tried to point him out to me.”

“I did?”

He could hear the television on her end. The Dark Mirror. Late forties. De Havilland played twins. “You don’t remember?”

“Is it important?” She must have heard some urgency in his voice, because her voice became more animated, more engaged.

It was late. “It’s all right. Forget it.”

“What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I have some things on my mind.” If he continued with this case, he was going to have to tell her at some point. And he was going to continue.

“How was the game?”

“You didn’t watch?”

“I cooked.”

“You didn’t miss much.” What would he tell her? That a double-door refrigerator in a suit had shown up and made threats? Or that he suspected Jackie was a candidate for disbarment, if not prison?

He couldn’t tell her. Not tonight. Maybe he was wrong. Being wrong would be good.

“Jacqueline’s away again next Thursday,” she said.

“Mets are on the road. Pittsburgh and then out west.”

“I’ll check the schedule. We’ll find a night.” Her voice softened with concern. “Get some sleep. You sound . . .”

“Stressed?”

“Worried.”

“I’m good. Good night, Jill.”

And as his thumb came down on the big red dot, Ted thought he heard her whisper, “Love you.”

-22-

-22-

The group of protestors in front of the courthouse had grown. There were now more than two dozen men and women holding signs, chanting slogans, and buttonholing uninterested passersby. Ted wouldn’t have minded seeing the redhead who’d accosted him a couple days before—under other circumstances. As it was, he backtracked and took the long way around the block.

He met Lester on the courthouse steps. His brown suit was pressed, and he was wearing a new white shirt. He was sipping coffee from a Kennedy Fried Chicken cup.

“You’re looking good,” Ted said. “I haven’t missed anything, have I?”

“No, team Corona’s still inside. You clean up real good yourself.”

Grey chalk stripe from Kozinn. Custom shirt and shoes. Remnants of an earlier version of Ted Molloy. “Old habits. If you dress like a million . . .”

“Only this is Sutphin Boulevard,” Lester said.