No Team To Root For
B J Bloch

BOOK ONE
  BARRETT

 
I
   Barrett Jessop spent his time at home in what he referred to as his personal retreat. It was the only finished part of a huge empty basement. The twelve by fifteen room had one large easy chair, an eleven-hundred dollar compact stereo system, and a twenty-four inch color TV --- all lighted by a track lighting unit that he installed himself.
   And Barrett chose to spend his time alone, never equating being alone with loneliness. In his mind, when he was not fantasizing about Aruba or Maui, he created his own private world. It would have all of the conveniences that the real world had, only he would be the only person in it. Barrett knew that Janet, contrarily, had a problem with solitude, needing people around her constantly. Why else did she do so much volunteer work and play canasta five nights a week?
   Barrett's retreat was always a little bit cluttered. Rather, it had a 'lived-in' quality, not 'sterile' like the rest of the house.
   The eye doctor got up from his easy chair to look for an old Charlie Parker LP. His joints seemed stiffer than usual. Fifty-four years old and falling apart. Goddamn old age anyway! Rummag-ing through his LP collection, he found the album he wanted. It was one that The Bird recorded live at the Algonquin Hotel in New York in 1947. He always loved good music. And after he attended the Newport Jazz Festival in 1976, he was hooked for life. He found the music there more exhilarating than any he had ever heard and the performers the epitome of excitement. Just then the phone rang. By the time Barrett picked it up, Janet was on the line talking to her parents in California. "So, Janet." Her mother spoke softly. "How are you feeling?"
   "Fine." Barrett thought Janet's voice sounded mechanical.
   "Do you need anything?" her father asked.
   "No." Another one word answer from Janet.
   "Aunt Millie was over last night.” her mother said. "She's feeling much better."
   "That's good, Mom. I'm glad."
   Barrett heard enough of the conversation. He found it boring and totally void of emotion. The call would easily last one hour and Barrett's name would never come up. He carefully laid the receiver back on its cradle and put his record on the turntable.
   Barrett closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the music, but instead his thoughts took him back six years to when he was single ( and he thought a confirmed bachelor ) and his wife was a new laboratory rep for Carter Optical. Janet Stevens was looking for a husband and so Barrett Jessop made himself available. At the time it seemed like the right decision!
   Barrett was raised Jewish, Janet Catholic. When Barrett was a junior at OSU, he renounced his Judaism. He had always believed in a supreme being but did not feel the need for any organized relig-ion. But Barrett made it a point not to let his beliefs --- or lack of beliefs interfere in his relationship with his parents. His mother vowed not to lose her only son over the matter, and remained close to Barrett to her dying day. His father, on the other hand, acted as if Barrett no longer existed, and unlike his wife, died without ever resolving the issue.
   Religion was never important to Janet either, so to her, marrying out of her faith wasn't a problem. Her parents, however, didn't see it that way. When she told them she was going to marry not only a non-Catholic, but an agnostic as well, they said they wanted no more to do with her and under no circumstances would they attend the wedding. They remained true to their word,
and when Janet and Barrett were married, only his mother was in attendance.
   For four and a half years there was no contact between Janet and her parents, until one day her younger sister, Marla, ran off with the lead singer in an all black calypso band.
   Barrett angrily accepted the fact that Janet's parents now felt a white non-Catholic was better than a black non-Catholic, suddenly making Barrett more acceptable. And since Marla's whereabouts were never ascertained, Janet's parents made their peace with the couple.
   Barrett's daydreaming was interrupted by an irritating scratchy sound. The record was finished, and Barrett had not heard even the first note.
   He put the LP on again. This time he'd listen to both sides. By then Janet would have left for her canasta game.
   He'd go to bed early, and if he timed it right, he would be sound asleep by the time she came home.

     Instead of taking his usual direct route home, Barrett decided to drive around the town of Patton. The ride was bumpier and several miles out of the way, but the view would be lovelier, the drive would be more relaxing, and there would be no traffic to fight.
   He waved at eighty year old Marvel Houser and eighty-four year old Mabel Houser, the towns spinster sisters, sitting on their porch swing with their fat asses smashed up against each other, each hold-ing a can of beer. And he laughed at old Arlo Sedgewick chasing his dachshund around the tall oak tree in his front yard.
   Definitely the ugliest fucking dog in the world!
   His only complaint was having to wait for a train to pass because of a poorly timed train schedule. It added an extra ten minutes to his ride, but it was something he had to deal with at least once a week. During the brief interval, he took two brochures on Maui and Aruba from the glove compartment and stuck them in his shirt pocket. He would look at them later.
   The train finally passed and he drove off.
   The majority of the houses he drove by were sixty or seventy years old. Many had large screened in porches with at least one hanging swing. They were constructed of either white frame or red brick. The brick homes had ivy climbing on almost every wall, giv-ing them a mature and rustic appearance. People from other towns called Patton, Ohio 'quaint'.
   The houses were all beautifully landscaped and surrounded by a wealth of greenery. The many oak and maple trees were pruned with precision and cared for regularly by their landowners. Inter-spersed with the trees and neatly clipped shrubs were vast flower-beds of geraniums, gladiolas, and petunias --- bordered by scores of rosebushes.
   To drive through any part of Patton would have to be a horticul-turist's delight.
   "Breathe in --- exhale! Breathe in --- exhale!" Barrett Jessop, driving very slowly, was determined to relax and to enjoy the al-most perfect weather.
   The leaves were changing to various shades of red, all under a flawless blue sky. The endless cornfields were a wondrous maze of yellows and greens, brilliantly highlighted by the sun. And accord-ing to Tom Brewer, the weatherman on channel five, everything would stay this way for six or seven more days.
   Barrett pulled off to the side of the narrow dirt road and parked next to a weathered fence constructed of what appeared to be giant Lincoln logs. He tried to become totally absorbed by the beauty and the majesty of nature: the never ending cornfields; the peacefully grazing cattle; and the cool, crisp fresh air.
   Barrett wanted to stay forever on this lonely and secluded dirt road quietly basking.
   But his moment of bliss would be brief. He had to get back to the uncertainty and ugliness of his real world --- his marriage. A mar-riage now devoted to long periods of silence or a series of conflicts. A marriage responsible for his spontaneous and ill-timed flare-ups over minor and insignificant details, causing him a great deal of stress and embarrassment.
   How was it possible to both love and hate someone at the same time? Someone so caustic it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Someone so obsessive and compulsively neat that Barrett often felt like a visitor in his own home. Someone so indifferent that any discussion about their feelings for each other was out of the question.
   So with all of the turmoil raging inside his head, he took one final look at his peaceful surroundings, reluctantly got into his car and headed for home.
   
*

   Barrett pulled into the circular driveway of his lavish three-thousand square foot stone and stucco colonial ranch, stopping the car, but keeping the engine running as he listened to NPR, his favorite news source. The analysts were well-versed, the news was comprehensive, and there were no tasteless commercials to annoy him.
   He became so involved with Daniel Schorr's mid-east commen-tary that when he finally looked at the clock, he was astounded to discover he was an hour late. He knew this would lead to another unavoidable confrontation. Barrett hurried to the front door.
   Janet was scouring the sink and had her back to him when he came into the kitchen. "I told you I had to help out at the church li-brary. You knew the plumber was coming." Janet turned. They were face to face. "Well, the plumber has come and gone. And now thanks to you, I will be late!" Janet didn't yell. She didn't have to.
   "I stopped at --- I was listening to --- I'm sorry --- "
   "You're sorry?" Janet took a step toward her husband, stopping abruptly when she saw a brochure on Aruba sticking out of his shirt pocket. "Planning a trip?"
   "What? Oh --- " Damn it! Barrett clumsily took the brochure out of his pocket.
   "Well. Are you?" Janet came a step closer.
   "Am I --- " Barrett felt himself begin to stammer.
   "Planning a trip." Janet finished her husband's sentence.
   "No. I was just --- " The brochure fell out of his hand and onto the floor.
   "You were just --- what?" Janet's eyes narrowed. She ignored the paper on the floor. Her focus was solely on Barrett.
   "Nothing, Janet. Nothing!" Here we go again! Barrett picked up the pamphlet and put it into his pants pocket.
   "You were planning a trip. And you were planning it alone. Right?"
   "Ye --- no. That's not true!" He felt himself begin to stammer again.
   "Really!" Janet's tone remained caustic.
   Barrett turned away. He wanted no more eye contact. "Look," he spoke to the wall cabinet. "you never want to go anywhere with me anymore, so I decided --- "
   "So you decided to go it alone."
   "Well --- I guess so." Barrett took a step back.
   "You guess so!" she echoed.
   "Yes."
   "I see." Janet turned back to the sink and resumed her scouring.
   "I have asked you numerous times to sit down with me and --- talk."
   "About what?" she asked casually.
   "Things --- " Barrett could feel his palms begin to sweat.
   "What things?" She squeezed the water out of the dishrag and turned off the faucet.
   "Well --- our marriage --- or what's left of it." He spoke angrily.
   "You keep bringing this up." She uncharacteristically threw the rag into the sink and turned back to her husband. "There is nothing to discuss."
   "There is everything to discuss." Barrett's anger continued to mount.
   "I don't see it that way." Janet smirked. "I am --- satisfied."
   "You're satisfied?" Barrett could feel her breath on his face. "How can you make such a statement?"
   "Barrett, I don't have time for this crap. There is nothing wrong with our marriage." Now she raised her voice. "It's you. You're the problem!"
   "It's me?" Barrett was astonished.
   "Yes, Barrett. It's you!"
   "Okay, Janet." Barrett raised his voice to match his wife's. "You are right --- as usual!"
   "You bet I'm right!" And with that, Janet turned back to the sink and began to clean the countertop.
   "Look, damnit! I refused to be sucked into another fight." But he knew it was too late. "I said I refuse to --- "
   "I heard what you said." Janet spoke with her back to him. "Bar-rett. You're a schmuck!"
    There was a long silence before he spoke. And he spoke softly. "I know you don't like to talk about it, but I still think if we would have had children --- "
   "You're right, Barrett. I don't. So let's just drop it, okay?" Janet rinsed out the rag some more. "I told you. There is nothing to dis-cuss!"
   There was another long silence. And again Barrett spoke softly. "There was a time we did love each other."
    Janet smoothed out the rag and laid it neatly over the faucet. Then she spun around. "I never loved you! I enjoyed the sex. But like a virus, it ran its course."
   "I don't believe you." Barrett could feel his palms sweat again. "I think deep down you do love me."
   Janet stared at her husband for a couple of seconds then shook her head slowly. "Barrett, you're living in a cave." She spoke smugly. "I told you, this marriage works for me --- just the way it is!"
   "Is that a fact?" She's right. I am a schmuck! Only a schmuck would take this shit!
   "Yes! Because I've got the best of both worlds." And again she smirked.
   "Meaning what?" asked Barrett.
   "Go back to your --- 'cave', and figure it out." She turned back to the sink and continued to clean.
   Barrett did not have to figure it out. She had a home life, which for her, was obviously adequate. And she had her own personal life coming and going whenever she wanted. And she answered to no one. She was right. She did have the best of both worlds. Janet had it made! The more he thought about it, the madder he got.
   "I'm warning you, Janet. I'm --- "
   "Warning me?" She turned to him, her eyes ablaze. "Warning me about what?"
   "About --- about --- nothing." Barrett was flustered. "Just --- nothing, Janet. Nothing!" Enraged, he stormed up the stairs. Half-way up, Janet's words stopped him.
   "I made you lunch. Don't ask me why."
   "You what?" Anger was mixed with confusion.
   "And it was ready one hour ago." she added matter-of-factly.
   "You made me --- lunch?"
    "It's on the table." Janet turned back to the countertop. "And I guarantee you it's ice cold!"
   Barrett went upstairs to change clothes, angry and confused, wondering why Janet, who had no desire to save a dying marriage, would make her husband lunch! But then again, Janet did a lot of things that Barrett felt made no sense. She would vacuum the same room twice in one day. She would clean and sanitize a spotless bathroom. She would line up furniture so that each piece was equi-distant from the wall.
   His brief reverie was interrupted as he heard the door open and then close. She had gone out.
   Thank God!
   Barrett made himself a mental note to put his pamphlets on Aruba and Maui someplace where only he would know their whereabouts.
   After showering and changing, he walked cautiously down the stairs, stopping on every step to listen. He was taking no chances on being trapped into another battle.
  When he got to the bottom step, he stopped abruptly and stared. The spaghetti and meatballs --- compliments of Chef Boyardee, was on the table with everything set in its proper place. The fork was on the left and the knife and spoon were on the right. The napkin emerged from the center of a wine glass. It was all more befitting a fancy French restaurant than a simple small town kitchen!
   The only thing missing was ketchup. Janet never used it, so she never put it on the table. When Barrett opened the pantry door, all the cans and jars were lined up neatly on each shelf according to size and content.
   Un-fucking believable! Everything is so Goddamn perfect!
   He grabbed the ketchup bottle from the bottom left, since Janet put the tall bottles on the bottom and the dark colored condiments on the left.
   Barrett finally sat down to eat, feeling guilty about disturbing the table setting, but too tired and too hungry to care. And he had to admit to himself that Janet was right about one thing.
   The lunch was definitely ice cold!

*

 
I I

   It was a gloomy Sunday in late October, 1987. The sky had a dull, ominous gray color and the wind was unusually still. Barrett Jessop had slept past eleven and Janet was still asleep, snoring softly. He turned on to his side and totally in awe, watched his wife. Even when she was asleep, thought Barrett, she was the epitome of neatness! Her blanket and sheet were tucked in straight and smooth, while Barrett's bed was a disaster. Nothing was tucked in and most of the sheet and blanket was on the floor.
   He got up and quietly made the bed as best he could, knowing that Janet would re-make it as soon as she awoke. The bed was Barrett's, but the room belonged to Janet.
   Barrett then methodically went through his morning routine. First he would sit on the edge of the bed and stare into space. Then he would scratch his head. Then he would scratch his stomach and re-turn to his vacant gaze. After which, he would shower, shave, dress, and have a toasted bagel with a pinch of margarine and cof-fee --- black. All of this took Barrett twenty-two minutes. He had it down to a science!
   As he was leaving the kitchen, the telephone rang. It was Darrell Saltz, the local sheriff. Barrett had known him for as long as he had been in Patton. He considered him only an acquaintance.
   "Hello, Doc." Darrell didn't wait for a response. "Listen, I de-cided to have a few guys over this afternoon to watch the Browns-Steelers game. Think you can make it?"
   Normally Barrett would have refused, but his life was in a rut as of late, not having been anywhere except to the office, and he saw this as a diversion from an otherwise boring routine. "Sure, Darrell. What time?"

*
 

   At 3:15 sharp, Barrett Jessop rang the doorbell at Darrell Saltz' small frame house located in the center of Patton, Ohio --- two blocks from downtown. The front lawn was edged with beds of rosebushes and evergreens, which allowed the sheriff to cut, trim, rake and bag his entire yard in one hour. A job that took Barrett half a day.
   Barrett wasn't surprised to see Darrell answer the bell in full uni-form, shiny badge included, to give the impression that he was on duty twenty-four hours a day --- every day.
   Darrell led Barrett down a short flight of steps to the rec-room. "I finished it myself this summer. One hell of a job, Doc! One hell of a job! Especially the ceiling." As they stepped onto the thick beige carpet, Darrell continued proudly, "Nice --- huh?"
   "Yes. Very nice." Barrett was impressed. It could just as easily have been done by a builder. "Very nice indeed."
   Darrell motioned to his long time deputy, Sam Ingles, who was putting a cue stick back on the rack. "Hey, Sam. Gimme a hand in the kitchen for a second."
   Sam, also in uniform, was quite a contrast to the sheriff. Although they both stood five feet nine, Darrell was stocky with a ruddy complexion and thick black hair. Sam was slim and pale and his sandy hair was very thin.
   "Hello, Sam." said Barrett passively. Sam only nodded.
   "Ready for the big game?" Barrett continued to make small talk.
   "Yep." Sam looked past Barrett when he spoke.
   "Hey, Ingles. Don't you ever look at someone when you talk to them?" Barrett knew he did it with everyone. But nonetheless, he still took offense at it.
   "Why should I?"
   "Because it's polite. That's why!"
   "Who says so?" Sam smirked.
   "Who --- "
   "Who says so?" Ingles put his thumbs in his belt and stuck out his chin.
   "I do!" Jesus Christ!
   "Is this like a --- big deal to you, Jessop?" Sam Ingles continued to look away.
   Barrett took a step toward Sam. "I just think it's damn rude not to look at someone when you're talking to them!"
   "Is that a fact?"
   "YES! That's a fact!" Barrett suddenly wondered why he was having this meaningless debate.
   "Well --- maybe that rule don't apply to me!" Sam took a step toward Jessop. They were two feet apart.
   "What kind of a dumbass answer is that, for Christ's sake?"
   "Don't you fucking pop off to me, Jessop! See this badge?"
   "I am really scared, Ingles. So arrest me!" Both men were talking louder now. But so far no one had heard them --- except Darrell Saltz.
   "Hey!" interrupted the sheriff lighthartedly. "Is this a private ar-gument, or what?" After a brief pause, he added, "Come on Sam. I need you in the kitchen." As Sam was heading for the kitchen, Dar-rell turned to Barrett and said quietly, "Look. I know that as a per-son he is an absolute zero.
But the man does his job." The sheriff then shrugged and followed his deputy.
   "Hello, Doc." Holbert Brewster was shooting pool with his younger brother under a large green chandelier near the bar. Hol-bert and Harmon Brewster owned and operated the hardware store they started twenty-five years ago. It was located in downtown Pat-ton between the bank and the post office. Except for the fact that Holbert was slightly bald and Harmon had dark curly hair, it was difficult to tell them apart. Harmon, concentrating on his next shot, never looked up as he loudly shushed his older brother. He obvi-ously took the game of pool much more seriously than Holbert did.
   Barrett then noticed two young men seated at a card table at the far end of the room sipping Seven-up and carrying on a quiet and private conversation. They both had long ugly necks. One had large brown freckles all over it reminding Barrett of a giraffe. The other's neck was wrinkled and had an unusually large Adam's apple re-minding Barrett of an ostrich. Barrett had no idea who they were and was not interested enough to find out.
   Dale Stemen, a long time acquaintance of Barrett's, was standing in front of an inexpensively paneled wall covered with posters, pic-tures, and newspaper clippings of what could have been every man that ever wore a Cleveland Browns uniform. Dale was retiring from General Motors after forty years and moving with his wife to Florida.
   "Holy shit! Look at this!" said Dale. "And I thought I was a Browns fan."
   "Very interesting." answered Barrett.
   As they were admiring the huge display, Joe Calvin walked up to them closely followed by Darrell. Joe had been the local attorney for thirty-one years.
   "Can I get you fellas something to drink?" asked Darrell.
   "Beer is fine,” said Dale. Joe and Barrett both nodded affirma-tively, and the three men chatted until their host brought over the beers. Then the attorney walked over to the TV while Dale quietly took Barrett aside. "Tell me," said Dale, "are things between you and Janet any better?" Dale and Lysle Richardson were the only two people Barrett discussed his personal problems with.
   "No. And getting worse each day."
   "Hell, why don't you just --- leave? You got no kids." Both men took a sip of beer.
   "I --- I can't, Dale."
   "Why not?"
   "You probably won't believe me."
   "Try me."
   Barrett paused a moment, studying his glass. "Because I still love her."
   This time Dale paused, only able to say a subdued "Oh."
   "I know she treats me like shit, but --- " Barrett shrugged.
   "I see." Dale nodded slowly.
   "Some joke, huh?"
   "Yeah, Barrett. Some joke."
   "Now don't get me wrong." Barrett ran his finger along the top of the glass. "There are times I hate her so damn much, I would se-riously like to --- to fucking kill her!"
   Dale started to drink his beer, but stopped suddenly to stare at his friend.
   "You can't relate to any of this, Dale."
   Dale Stemen pondered the statement as he looked into his beer. "You're right, Barrett. I can't relate to it. Jean and I have a great marriage." He put his face closer to Barrett's. "But if we didn't, I'm telling you that I would leave. And I got three kids." Dale took a quick sip of beer. "You and Janet should sit down and discuss it. Maybe get some help."
   "She isn't interested." Barrett stated flatly. "She says she's satis-fied. For her the marriage works."
   "So my next question is --- " Dale took another quick sip. " --- why do you still love her?"
   Barrett thought for a moment before he responded. "I don't know. I guess I can only see our marriage as it once was --- when things were --- decent."
   "So you're just holding on to the past."
   "By a thread." Barrett took a swallow of his beer, then added, "And beneath all the crap, I think she loves me too."
   Dale's eyebrows shot up. "Really!"
   There was a long silence as both men again looked into their glasses. Then Dale looked up and said unexpectedly, "It sounds to me like you have a low opinion of yourself."
   Barrett considered his friends theory. Then he too looked up, meeting Dale's gaze. "That's a good observation. It could very well be true."
   "It makes sense. You love someone that treats you like shit. Then you say that this someone, deep down and in spite of everything, loves you too. It's like --- well it's like you want to be treated like shit. You act like you deserve it."
   He hit Barrett playfully on the arm. "That's a sign of low self-esteem, ole buddy."
   This time Barrett didn't respond. Both men paused briefly to look around the room. The Brewsters were still shooting pool. The os-trich and the giraffe were still locked in a quiet private conversa-tion. Joe Calvin was still fiddling with the TV. Darrell and Sam were apparently still in the kitchen.
   "You know," Barrett went on, "Janet had that miscarriage a few years ago."
   "I remember. You told me the doctor said she couldn't have kids anymore."
   "I know that had a serious effect on our marriage."
   "I'm sure it did."
   "I'll tell you. Sometimes I feel sorry for her."
   Dale stared at Barrett silently for a second. "Why for Christ's sake?"
   "Well --- she's had to deal with it all these years, and --- "
   "So have you."
   "But at least I talk about it."
   "And Janet keeps it all bottled inside, right?"
   "She avoids the subject completely."
   "And you still feel sorry for her? I sure as hell wouldn't."
   "I'm sorry, Dale, I do. I can't help it."
   "You love her. You hate her. You feel sorry for her." Dale smiled widely. "Barrett. You're a fucking mess!"
   Barrett didn't return the smile. There was a long silence as both men drained their beers.
   "What you need is a strange piece of ass!" Dale forced another smile, obviously trying to lighten the mood.
   "No way." Barrett answered quickly. And besides, Janet would be a strange piece of ass!
   "You put too many Goddamn restrictions on your life, Barrett."
   "What about the money, Dale?" asked Barrett agitatedly. "What about the damn money?"
   Dale shrugged. "What about the money?'
   "If we split, what happens to it?"
   "Hey! I never said anything about splitting!"
   "Do we divide it fifty-fifty --- sixty-forty --- what?"
   "Look, Barrett. I never mentioned splitting."
   "I said --- if!"
   "Well --- that could be a valid point. But if you can't deal with the marriage, then fuck the money!"
   "I worked too hard for it --- well, most of it. I can't just piss it away."
   "Barrett, what good is your money? You don't spend any of it. You don't go anywhere. You don't --- "
   "That is retirement money. Right now I want to save as much as I can. Then when I retire I can live like a king. On Maui --- or Aruba."
   "How long have you been saying all this, Barrett?"
   Barrett thought for a moment. "Well --- "
   "I thought so. Spend it now --- not later! I hear too many horror stories about people who save a fortune and then some unforeseen catastrophe strikes and they never get to spend that first cent.
   "I guarantee you that will never happen to me." As Barrett spoke, a strange and eerie feeling suddenly came over him and be-gan to creep up and down his back. He became cold and fright-ened. His whole insides began to shake. The sensation lasted no more than ten seconds.
   "Barrett --- " Dale gently put his hand on his friend's arm. " --- are you okay?"
   "Yes. I --- I'm fine." Barrett's answer was unconvincing.
   Dale saw the radical change on Barrett's face. It looked like fear --- almost panic. But that was absurd! More than likely it was fa-tigue. Dale decided to just let it pass. "Come on, Barrett. It's
almost game time. Let's join the others."
   Barrett took Dale aside and whispered, "If we split, how will she manage? I don't need that on my conscience."
   "Barrett, forget it. I am sorry I ever brought it up." He patted his friend on the back. "Now let's go in there and watch the Browns kick some Steeler ass!"
      Dale and Barrett left the apperceptive world of philosophy and entered one more mundane --- taking the form of the NBC game of the week.
   As soon as the game started, it was obvious to Barrett Jessop that he was the only mere spectator in the room. Everyone else was a fanatic Browns fan, glued to the set and hanging on every play!
   With the game scoreless half way through the first quarter, Bernie Kosar threw a fifty-six yard touchdown pass to Webster Slaughter. Darrell and Sam stood up, jumping and screaming.
   The Brewsters were waving their arms wildly. The ostrich and the giraffe were yelling at the top of their lungs. Even Dale and Joe were clapping loudly.
   "Great pass!" "Kosar is the best!" "Kosar is fantastic!"
   Barrett did his best to try and get involved. But the spirit seemed to elude him. And with all of
 the excitement, no one noticed. If he would have been near the door he would have left. And Barrett would be certain that he would not be missed.
   The seconds ticked away with everyone still hanging on each play, assuming the role of 'armchair quarterback'. Everyone except Barrett! Then early in the second quarter, Kosar fumbled and Pittsburgh's Clark picked up the loose ball and ran it back sixty-five yards for a Steelers score. The once electric and jubilant atmos-phere suddenly became somber and hostile. The mood change that Barrett saw was incredible. All of the great accolades heaped upon Kosar became words of contempt.
   "Kosar, you stupid sack of shit!" "Kosar, you suck!" "The Browns suck!"
   Barrett did not have to watch the football game. The facial ex-pressions of the men around him told him exactly what was happen-ing.
   But in spite of what Barrett saw as outrageous antics and pure lunacy, he nonetheless began to feel very envious of these men. Even Sam with his evasive eyes and the giraffe and ostrich with their long ugly necks. They were all able to get themselves totally absorbed by something as simple as a football game, and then use it as a vehicle to drive them away from their daily cares. their per-sonal problems became unimportant and almost non-existent. It was a marvelous and electrifying transition, even though it lasted only two or three hours.
  Barrett's escape was nature, or music, or daydreaming. But that was only a slight peaceful distraction.
This was total escape --- both physical and emotional.
   It was an intense and penetrating stimulation --- almost orgasmic.
   In a way, Barrett wished he were a football fanatic. When your team lost, you became angry and despondent, hovering on the brink of violence and insanity. When your team won, you became euphoric, floating on a cloud of ecstasy or riding a wave of an emo-tional high. Barrett had no such release. Barrett Jessop, in fact, had no team to root for. And now he realized how important that could be.
   Barrett decided that if he tried real hard, he could maybe get in-volved. And then he, too, could escape into the materialistic world of football. He pulled up his chair and got closer to the 'action' with every intent of becoming an instant Cleveland Browns fan. And even if he was unsuccessful, perhaps he could simply 'fake it' and hope that something magical might happen. Barrett knew it was a long shot, but if the spirit did consume him, then the end would jus-tify the means.
   Barrett's attempt at becoming 'involved' was short lived, as he made a major faux pas by asking what the score was. He realized at once what an inappropriate and untimely question that was. Be-cause a true Cleveland Browns fan --- even an immediate one --- would always know what the score was!
   The Brewsters, the ostrich and the giraffe all spun their heads at Barrett. He could almost see the words, 'You are stupid' painted on their faces.
   Dale Stemen and Joe Calvin glanced only briefly at the frustrated optometrist. Sam Ingles and
Darrel Saltz remained focused on the TV.
   Barrett only wanted a shovel so he could dig a hole and escape.
   "Hey, Jessop. Ain't you paying attention?" Sam Ingles smirked.
   "Come on, Doc. Get with it for Christ's sake!" Holbert Brewster's comment was needlessly sarcastic.
   Barrett Jessop could feel his anger mount and his body tempera-ture soar --- hotter and hotter! He knew his face was beet red.
   "Jesus! How can you sit there and not know what the hell is go-ing on?" asked Harmon.
   "Screw you, Brewster!" Barrett had had enough.
   "Shhh --- " Sam Ingles had his finger to his lips. His eyes never left the TV.
   "Watch the game, Doc. Watch the damn game!" yelled Holbert.
   "Maybe I don't feel like watching the --- damn game!"
   "Then what in the hell are you doing here?" asked Harmon.
   "I was invited here, you shithead!" roared Barrett.
   Harmon Brewster stood up and pointed his finger at Barrett. "You listen, Goddamn it --- "
   "Everyone shut up!" Darrell's voice was louder than anyone's. Then he turned to Barrett. "The score will flash on the screen in a second." He said it softly and condescendingly, as if speaking to a small child.
   Fuck you too, Darrell!
   The ostrich and the giraffe looked at each other and laughed as they both nodded in Barrett's direction.
   Assholes!
   Only Dale Stemen and Joe Calvin gave Barrett sympathetic smiles.
   Then the score flashed on the screen: Pittsburgh 21 Cleveland 7. Barrett now understood the solemnity, the hostility, and the total lack of enthusiasm.
   Barrett also saw the time flash on the screen: 8:47. He did not know what quarter it referred to and there was no way he was go-ing to ask.
   He finally had to succumb to his deepest, innermost feelings and accept the fact that he was only a spectator. No more, no less! Bar-rett knew he was not a fan and would never be one --- no matter how hard he tried. And he was willing to accept his fate. But if those around him could not, then fuck 'em! Who needs 'em! Bar-rett, after all, saw himself as an intelligent and well-bred profes-sional. If he wanted to watch a game purely as a spectator and not take sides, then he would do just that!
   He now realized he should never have come to Darrell's in the first place. He simply did not belong here. But he continued to sit where he was, amongst the fanatics, watching the TV but thinking about the clock. He made up his mind to stay to the bitter end, vowing never to put himself in this senseless predicament ever again.
   The game finally ended. Thank God! Final score: Pittsburgh 21 Cleveland 7. At the final gun, Barrett felt he could have heard a dust particle land.
   The men filed out one by one --- slowly and quietly, each one sor-rowfully shaking the hand of their host.

   There were no goodbyes.
   
    *






 

III
   Barrett, wearing a new all-silk Pierre Cardin warm-up, sat quietly in his small private office. He never wore a tie or a white jacket, equating a white jacket with a uniform and a tie with a noose.
   As usual he was looking over an assortment of colored brochures on Aruba and Maui. The glossy advertisements were scattered across an already cluttered and overloaded desk. How wonderful it would be, he thought, to dress even more casually in the tropics. Just a loud Hawaiian shirt and white shorts.
   He continued to see Aruba and Maui as his utopia. It was to be his fantasy life after he retired in six years. He could visualize him-self walking barefoot along the clean sandy beaches.
   He ignored the intercom. "Doctor Jessop."
   He could feel the cool splash of the ocean against his naked legs.
   "Doctor Jessop."
   He could see the glorious sunset.
   "Doctor Jessop!" Marie was yelling now.
   "Oh --- ah --- yes, Marie. I --- was --- uh ---. What is it?"
   "Mrs. Lunt is here for an eye exam."
   Barrett quickly gathered up the brochures and put them back in the top drawer of his desk. "I thought we didn't have any appoint-ments scheduled today so I could finish all this damn paper work."
   "Well, we don't --- didn't. I tried to tell her that she needed an ap-pointment, but she insists on seeing you."
   "She insists. Goddamn it!" How could some disconcerting bitch have the fucking gall to walk into a professional office without an appointment --- and insist yet!
   "Hello, Mrs. Lunt." Barrett wore his best and biggest phony smile. He would be the first one to admit that ninety-five per cent of his patients were nice, considerate and appreciative. He surmised that Dora Lunt represented the other five per cent.
   "Now, Dr. Jessop, I hope you do a better job than the last person I went to." I wonder who the poor son-of-a-bitch was! "My two children said not to come here. They said that I should go to a real doctor. But you are so close to where I live, that I decided to come here anyway." How decent of you and how fortunate for me!
   Barrett did his usual eye examination, trying to get her to choose, or at least come close to choosing those lenses that would appear to improve her vision.
   "Oh dear!" Mrs. Lunt was almost in tears. "I am getting all con-fused. You are going too fast. I can't tell any difference. All the lenses look alike to me!"
   The optometrist impatiently pushed the lens phoropter. "Okay, Dora. The exam is over!" Then he roughly escorted the elderly woman, confused now more than ever, to the large frame room where Marie would take over and help Dora Lunt select a frame for her new glasses.
   Marie Sylvan was sixty years old, short and plump, with large ha-zel eyes and long graying auburn hair. Never having married, she had been Barrett's assistant since he opened his office twenty-nine years ago in the small downtown section of Patton. Barrett always marveled at how Marie, with her infectious smile, her calm manner, and her pleasant disposition, could erase the hostile atmosphere he created and make someone as flustered as Dora Lunt feel totally at ease.
   Marie always knew what to say and exactly how to say it. So for the time being at least, his problems with Dora Lunt were solved.
   Barrett went wearily to his desk, each step seeming a major ef-fort. He resisted the impulse to take out the brochures on Aruba and Maui and instead found himself staring at a huge stack of insur-ance forms that needed to be filled out. He hated this part of the job, but in order to compete, he knew he had no choice. The insur-ance companies were notoriously slow to pay. And when they fi-nally did, it was only seventy or eighty per cent of the actual fee. And Barrett had to accept this reduced fee as payment in full. Be-cause if he didn't, there was always some asshole who did. It was a no-win situation!
   "Dr. Jessop." Marie was on the intercom again.
   "Yes, Marie."
   "Mrs. Jessop is here."
   "Really? Send her in." Janet rarely came to the office. And when she did, it was always for money. ( And of course Barrett was al-ways accommodating!)
   "Hello, Barrett." Janet wore a red lightweight wool suit. Her high heels and tight skirt accentuated a better than average figure.
   When Barrett looked at her like this, he remembered how he used to enjoy being with her. How he loved to touch her. How he loved to hold her. He remembered when they actually slept in the same bed!
   "Hello, Janet."
   Both spoke unenthusiastically and each seemed to sense the other's uneasiness.
   "Barrett, I need some money. I have to get a --- "
   "Sure." Figures! "How much?"
   "Well --- "
   "Fifty?"
   "I think that --- "
   "A hundred?" Christ! I can't fucking believe I'm doing this!
   "That would be fine." A faint smile appeared on Janet's face.
   Barrett reached into his wallet and handed her two fifties. "Well that was simple enough."
   "Yes." answered his wife. "Simple and painless."
   "I said simple. I didn't say painless."
   "Well --- thanks." She put the two fifties in her purse and turned to leave.
   "Janet --- "
   "Yes." She was still facing the door.
   "I --- I --- " Barrett stuttered. The atmosphere was still tense.
   "You what?" Derision crept into Janet's tone.
   Barrett did not respond.
   "Look." Janet turned to face her husband. "I am in a hurry. What?"
   He looked his wife in the eye and said softly, "We have both said --- things."
   "We have?" Janet looked at her watch.
   " --- painful things."
   "Barrett, get to the point!" The smile had long since vanished.
   "I know it has been awhile --- " The optometrist paused. Her eyes bore into his.
   "This is exasperating, Barrett. Talk!"
   "Well --- I thought maybe we could --- share a twin bed tonight --- if you know what I mean."
   There were several seconds of silence. "Yes. I know what you mean."
   "I mean --- it has been a long time --- " What the hell am I do-ing?
   Janet took a deep breath. "I --- I don't know, Barrett. I --- "
   "One night, Janet. One night! It won't be the end of the world!"
   Janet paused. "Tonight?"
   "Yes. Tonight." Barrett waited. "Well, what do you say?"
   Janet looked at her purse with the two fifties in it. Then she nod-ded. "Okay, Barrett."
   "Okay, Janet. See you --- " But she had already left.

*

   Barrett Jessop canceled his last appointment, then stopped at the florist for daisies. Janet loved daisies. He ardently entered his home at 6:30. Janet had just finished vacuuming the family room carpet. He laid the daisies on the coffee table. "Hi, Janet. I --- "
   "Listen, Barrett, I cleaned the kitchen. Try not to mess it up." She took a purse from the closet.
   "Where are you going?" Pain and anger were mixed.
   "I have a canasta game tonight. I'll probably be late."
   "But I thought --- " Barrett's knuckles were white.
   "Barrett, you are tracking dirt into the ---"
   "Fuck the dirt! We had a date tonight." Barrett could feel his heart beat in his throat.
   "A date?" Janet's gaze was focused on the knotted vacuum cord.
   "Well --- " Barrett picked up the daisies. " --- sort of a date."
   "I don't think so." The knot was out and the vacuum cleaner was put away.
   "Goddamn it!" This time he threw the daisies on the table.
   "Don't yell at me! I don't like being yelled at!"
   "I --- I'm sorry. I --- "
   "Sure you are!" said Janet sarcastically.
   "But today at the office we made a date." Barrett knew he was on the verge of crawling.
   Janet paused for several seconds before she responded. "I know we did, Barrett. And we shouldn't have."
   Barrett stared at his wife. "Why not?"
   Janet took a deep breath. "I --- I guess I'm not interested in that aspect of our marriage any more."
   "Well, maybe we can --- " Barrett cleared his throat. " --- work toward making it better --- " He cleared his throat again. " --- that aspect, I mean."
   Janet shook her head. "No, Barrett."
   "But if we tried real hard --- "
   "NO!"
   Barrett waited for what seemed like hours before he answered. "There was a time you would never have said all that."
   "Maybe there was a time I wouldn't have had to say it."
   Agitation replaced composure. Barrett was certain his entire body was blood red. "And we have a class a lousy marriage! Are you aware of this?"
   Janet clenched her teeth. "How many times do we have to go over this? For me this marriage works fine." She pointed her finger at him. "I told you, it's you!"
   "Like hell it is!" He could feel the veins in his neck bulge.
   Janet took a step toward her husband and looked him in the eye. "It sounds like it's your problem, Barrett. So why don't you deal with it and leave me alone!"
   "My problem?" My problem?"
   "Yes. Your problem." She put her purse under her arm.
   " You tell me you never loved me! You compare our sex life to a virus! You ---
   "Barrett --- "
   "How can you say it's my problem?"
   "Barrett, I have no time now for this." Janet's hand was on the doorknob. "I told you I have a game tonight."
   "Screw the damn game!"
   "Don't you talk to me that way!"
   Barrett took a step back and spoke softly. "I'm sorry. But we have to resolve this."
   "There is nothing to resolve. Why do you keep saying that?"
   Barrett looked down for only a second. "I --- I still have feel-ings."
   "So do I." Janet sneered. "All negative!"
   "Janet --- please --- "
   "Barrett, don't beg."
   "Janet. I am asking you nicely."
   "Goodby, Barrett. And don't dirty the kitchen!"

*


IV
   "Dr. Jessop." It was Marie on the intercom.
   "Yes, Marie." Barrett put away his exotic travel pamphlets.
   "Isaac Parsons is here for his appointment."
   Barrett saw Isaac Parsons as the stereotype farmer. He wore old, stained, faded, ill-fitting blue overalls. His hands were dirty and his fingernails were black. At age sixty-seven, he still worked twenty hours a day.
   Barrett did the eye exam and took Isaac into the frame room. The only question the farmer asked was, "How much is all this gonna cost? Remember, I'm just a poor farmer on a fixed income!"
   "Bullshit!" thought Barrett. The entire town knew that Isaac Par-sons was one of the wealthiest men in Patton. But he still bragged about having the first dollar he ever made! Barrett had no compas-sion or patience for people that were this rich and this cheap.
   "Here, Dr. Jessop. Let me help." Marie, with her warm smile fully intact, once again stepped in to avert an apparent conflict and save a seemingly hopeless situation. It was something she was most adept at. She had certainly done it plenty of times.
   "Well, Marie." Barrett walked up to the front desk as soon as Isaac Parsons left. "Thanks again."

VI
   For the Jessops, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day had come and gone uneventfully, and the rest of 1988 seemed to fly by rap-idly, taking a very brutal winter with it. The snowfall measured nearly four feet and the average temperature was in the low twen-ties.
   On February second a major snowstorm blanketed the entire midwest closing scores of schools and businesses in its wake. On February third Barrett and Janet Jessop had sex for the first time in over a year. It happened at 2:00 am when Barrett climbed into Janet's bed without thinking and with abandon, put his hand be-tween her legs. There was no resistance. He held it there for several seconds, rubbing her gently. Then she slowly turned onto her side facing her husband in the dimly lit room. Their stomachs touched and their faces were so close he could feel her warm breath on his lips. He undid his pajamas and slid her panties down to her ankles. Still there was no resistance. He got on top of her and began to fondle her breasts as he eased himself into her. The sex was brief but rousing.
   Afterwards, they rolled back onto their sides still holding each other. Then Janet gently pushed Barrett away and rolled onto her back.
   "Well --- " Barrett spoke after a long silence. "--- that certainly was spontaneous --- wasn't it?"
   Janet did not respond. Barrett continued. "Did you like that part of it? I mean the spontaneity." Barrett cleared his throat. "I sort of --- liked it." Janet's breathing was getting quieter. Barrett went on. "Normally I don't like quickies, but --- " He laughed nervously. "Do you like them --- quickies, that is?" Janet remained silent. Barrett kept up his one-way conversation. "I suppose --- a quickie is better than --- nothing. Although --- "
   "Shut up, Barrett!" Janet roared unexpectedly as she pulled up her panties. "As far as I'm concerned, what just happened was a mistake!" She pulled the sheet up to her neck.
   Barrett sat up and looked at his wife. His mouth was suddenly dry. He had trouble getting the words out. "A --- a mistake? How can you say such a thing?" He made no effort to hide his pain.
   Janet sat up and put her face in her hands. "You have all of these --- false illusions, and --- unattainable expectations." Her breathing was quiet and rapid.
   Barrett put his pajamas back on and turned slowly to his wife. "But I thought ---
   "Please! Do us both a favor and don't think!" Then Janet lowered her voice. "The relationship--- that part of it, just --- isn't the same anymore, Barrett. I'm sorry."
   Barrett licked his lips. "I see. So we didn't make love just now, did we? We only had sex." He laughed nervously again. "And there is a difference. A big difference!"
   Then after another long silence, they both sat on the edge of the bed staring into each other's vacant eyes. Barrett knew at that mo-ment it was over! He no longer loved his wife and he had to quit ly-ing to himself. He felt deep down that he had held on as long as humanly possible. And now it was time to let go. Anxiety and indif-ference would replace contentment and concern. And apathy would once again set the mood.
   He got up quickly and quietly went into his own bed. He knew his wife would soon be fast asleep. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. "After all," he continued to think. "Janet is not even re-motely interested in any sort of a reconciliation --- not even a friendly truce!
   So why should I be? And since things are obviously never going to improve, why the hell should I bother? I'm tired of batting my head against a stone wall! It would be better for all concerned to end the fucking marriage! A clean break! Enough is enough! I tried and I failed. No regrets! No guilt! No future!
   Thanks but no thanks!"
   
*


VII
   The snow finally melted, the flowers began to blossom, the trees began to bloom, and the baseballs began to fly. April had arrived!
   During the first week of an unusually dry month, in the midst of all the erratic feelings that emanated from the Jesssop household, and in spite of an unyielding and frustrating set of circumstances, Janet decided to have a bridge party. I thought canasta was her game. Barrett couldn't believe it!
   "You what!" Barrett was standing by the family room entrance to the kitchen. Janet was re-organizing the pantry and had her back to him.
   "You heard me!" She spoke to the cans on the shelf rather than to Barrett.
   "Most of the people you invite to these --- these social hypocri-sies don't know how many cards there are in a deck." Barrett spoke to the back of his wife's head. "And you want to have a bridge party?"
   "Leave me alone!" Janet still had not turned around.
   This is unbelievable! I'm trying to find a way to end the marriage and we're going to host a fucking bridge party!
   Barrett always found these get-togethers and these parties the epitome of boredom, referring to them as 'social hypocrisies'. He could never understand the logic of inviting people you hardly knew to come to one of your dull parties simply because they had invited you to one of their dull parties. So when it came to social etiquette, Barrett Jessop made up his own rules. And they were always inten-tionally opposite to the accepted norms.
  He thought back to the last two theme parties given by Janet. One was close to five years ago, as he remembered it. Everyone was supposed to be dressed in black and white. But less than half of the people complied with Janet's wishes. And most of them, including Barrett and Janet, were dressed as nuns or priests. All the rest wore street clothes with no regard of the required color scheme. Every-one Barrett spoke to called the evening 'stupid'. What a fiasco!
   It was about two years later, as he remembered it, that Janet planned her next disastrous affair. 'An evening of charades' as she would describe it. Barrett kept telling her, "No one but you knows how to play this stupid fucking game!"
   "So they will learn." was her smug reply.
   As it turned out, most of the dull evening was spent teaching people how to play a game they did not understand and engaging in an activity they were not interested in. The evening, as Barrett re-membered it, progressed with the men quickly losing interest. The women were being good sports, but the men slowly migrated into the family room to watch the OSU-Iowa basketball game. The men, as Barrett remembered it, all ended up having a great time watching an exciting basketball game that OSU won in double overtime.
   The women were irate at the rebellious anti-social behavior of their husbands. How dare they not mix! It was three months before all of the women were speaking to all of the men --- as Barrett re-membered it.
   Regarding Janet's latest endeavor, Barrett knew he would be stuck playing host. It wouldn't be the first time. He also knew it was better to give in to this phony position than to be argumentative about it --- at least for now.
   He'd try and make an unbearable situation as easy on himself as possible --- even if it meant engaging in idle chatter with Janet.
   But when this pathetic social hypocrisy was over, he knew that a major confrontation with his wife was inevitable.
   And he would be ready!


   "Tell me again who you invited to this --- 'Let's see who the dumbest bridge player is' --- extravaganza." Barrett said smirking.
   "The Richardsons, the Mintons, and the Sharkeys. And don't be a smartass!" She moved the tray to the edge of the table.
   Barrett would not be dissuaded from making more meaningless small talk as he watched Janet make what he would describe as ugly little cheese filled hors d'oeurves that he knew he would never eat. "I know Sara Sharkey is your friend and I do admit she is very sweet." He walked up to the table and stared at the hors d'oeuvres.
   "Thank you." Janet moved the tray back to the center of the table.
   Barrett knew Janet was placating him so he would be a 'gracious' host. But for some strange reason he felt like talking. Maybe, he thought, it was a sort of psychological preparation for the big showdown! "But Ralph Sharkey is the biggest asshole I know!"
   "Barrett, please!
   "No. I take that back. To call Ralph an asshole would be an insult to assholes!"
   Janet didn't respond. She just shook her head and turned back to the table.
   He watched in amazement as Janet arranged the hors d'oeurves symmetrically on the tray.
   Barrett walked away from the table to the kitchen entrance. From there, he continued. "No matter what you know, he knows more. No matter what you have, he has one better. He drove an Olds Ninety-eight for years. He said he would never drive anything but an Olds. What a great car! So I bought an Olds --- remember? I traded in the Chevy Caprice. All of a sudden, mister big shot Ralph is driving a Cadillac Deville. 'Boy,' he says, 'this caddy is the best car I ever had. Much better than that crummy Olds!'"
   "I remember. So what!" Janet was studying the hors d'oeuvres and answered mechanically.
   "So," continued Barrett, "his Olds was okay as long as I had a Chevy. But Ralph always has to go you one better." He looked briefly at the tray then back at Janet. "How about we invite Sara and tell her to leave her asshole husband at home."
   "Barrett, please!" This time she stopped and looked him in the eye. "It's no big deal --- really!" Then she turned her attention to cleaning the stove. The angrier Janet got, the harder she scrubbed. Barrett found it amusing. He kept his laughter to himself.
   However, he could feel another heated argument about to present itself and he felt he wasn't quite mentally prepared for it yet. Al-most, but not quite! The brief conversation was over as he once again let his wife have the last word. Then he slowly walked away into the family room --- his family room!
   Barrett continued to ruminate about the guest list. He could not figure how the Mintons deserved an invitation. How did they fit into this grandiose structure? Nellie and Matthew were both phar-macists. They owned the drug store and the attached supermarket on Miller Avenue.
   It was common knowledge that they did very well but lived very modestly. It was also common knowledge that they were both very intelligent, but very quiet. They were two of the most boring people he knew. They had two sons in pharmacy college at Michigan Uni-versity. They were also very intelligent --- and very boring. Barrett always maintained that after 'hello' the conversation with Matthew Minton was over. If asked why his wife invited them, his answer would be 'because no one else does!'
  Barrett did admit he was glad Janet invited the Richardsons. Lysle Richardson was Barrett's best friend. He was five years older than Barrett and semi-retired, down to fifteen or twenty hours a week. This year he would be taking his son into his thriving dental prac-tice. Ronni and Lysle Richardson seemed to Barrett to be the 'per-fect couple'. They went wherever they wanted, whenever they wanted, doing whatever they felt like doing. And they did it to-gether. And Lysle also thought Ralph Sharkey was an asshole!
   Barrett looked at the calendar and shook his head disgustedly. Janet's bridge party was less than a week away. And although Bar-rett was unaware of it, the event would change his life forever!

*

   Barrett Jessop walked leisurely into his family room, determined to stay out of his wife's way as she prepared for her 'Saturday night special'. He could picture her trying her damnedest to be the 'per-fect' hostess. Phony as hell, but perfect! Unlike her marriage, thought Barrett, she would go out of her way, circumventing sin-cerity if necessary, in an effort to make a lost evening a smashing success. Right!
   Just as he sat down, Janet yelled from the kitchen. "We need liq-uor."
   "We have liquor." Barrett said as he turned on the TV.
   "We're out of Cutty Sark." She continued to yell. "And Ralph likes Cutty Sark."
   "Fuck Ralph! This party is not in his honor!" Barrett turned off the TV. He knew he would have to get the Cutty Sark.
    "Look, Barrett!" Janet stormed into the family room --- one of her rare visits. "You're beginning to get on my nerves. I expect you to act like a host tomorrow night!" She walked closer to her hus-band. "Get the liquor!"
   Barrett got up slowly from his favorite chair. Janet's face was flushed and her eyes were slits. He paused for a second then headed for the front door. As he opened the door, he looked back. Janet was still glaring at him. He said nothing. The familiar silence once again consumed the house.
   He opened the door and stifled a grin. "He who laughs last --- " Barrett slammed the door shut behind him.

 
VIII
 The first couple to arrive, twenty minutes early, at the Jessop household was Matthew and Nellie Minton. Barrett sensed that they would be early, knowing they probably had nothing else to do and nowhere else to go.
   Nellie walked in with a covered dish, and after a friendly nod to her host, she went directly into the kitchen. Barrett followed her and watched her put the large yellow glass bowl next to Janet's hors d'oeurves. I hope it's not chopped liver like she brought last time. I fucking hate chopped liver! I refuse to eat anything that looks like diarrhea!
   Barrett turned away from the kitchen and immediately came face to face with Matthew Minton. "Hello, Barrett."
   "Hello, Mint." No one called him Matthew.
   "How are you, Barrett?" Mint began to rock on his heels.
   "Fine, Mint. And you?" Barrett forced a smile.
   "Fine." Mint stopped rocking. There was a long silence.
   "Business good?" Barrett knew he was running out of topics.
   "Oh yeah. Real good." He cleared his throat. "It's usually good this time of year --- allergy season and all.
   "That's great, Mint." He turned to the kitchen for help. He got none. He turned back to Matthew. "That's really great."
   There was another long pause. Mint cleared his throat again. "Nice day today." "Yes. Nice. Very nice." This is ridiculous! There was more silence except for the chattering in
the kitchen.
   He knew he had to break the silence and change the course of the dead conversation. "How about a drink, Mint?"
   After a brief thought, Mint said, "Well --- maybe a coke. Not diet. Not caffeine free. Classic! I want the real stuff!" Then he folded his arms triumphantly. Mint was dead serious!
  "Hey, Mint. That's gutsy. Real gutsy!" Then he gave the druggist a friendly hit on the arm. "Think you can handle it? Don't forget, you have to drive home later." Leave now, Mint. I promise I won't get mad!
   "Oh, I don't think --- "
   Barrett could sense that Mint was going to defend his driving un-der the influence of Coca Cola. "That's a joke, Mint."
   Mint narrowed his eyelids, then nodded. "Oh."
   Barrett shook his head in disbelief. Then he left Mint and went into the kitchen for his coke. He took the drink out of the refrigera-tor, then stopped when he saw Nellie spoon out the contents of her dish into a crystal serving bowl.
   "Hello, Barrett. Would you like some chopped liver?"
   Yeah! Right! "No. I --- I don't think so." Barrett's stomach did a triple somersault. Janet was taking out some silverware and never looked up. "So, Nellie. How are you?" He knew it was a mistake as soon as he asked the question.
   "Well, I've had this dull ache over my right eye all day." Then she walked up to her host. "I have been taking decongestants and aspi-rins. Isn't that right, Mint?"
   "Uh huh." said Mint as he slowly migrated into the kitchen.
   "What do you think, Barrett?" Nellie did not wait for an answer. "And yesterday I bumped my toe. This one here on my left foot." Nellie raised her leg and removed her shoe. "There --- you see it?" Barrett wondered why she would wear support hose and orthope-dic shoes. But he would never ask! Nellie continued. "I bumped it on the kitchen table leg. I remember telling Mint that the table was too far out and someone would bump their toe. I never dreamt it would be me. Isn't that right, Mint?"
   Barrett reached into the cooler and took a bottle of beer.
   "Uh huh." Mint had his hands in his pockets and was leaning against the door.
   "Here, Nellie." Janet put another empty bowl next to the chopped liver. "You can empty the rest of the liver in this."
   Nellie put her shoe back on, smashing the back of it as she did so. Then she poured and spooned the rest of her dish into the empty bowl. "Barrett, are you sure you won't have any chopped liver?"
   "No, Nellie." Jesus Christ! No wonder Mint has nothing to say!
   There was a brief moment of silence. It was just enough to give Barrett a chance to escape. Nellie or Mint. What a choice! "Here, Mint. Here's your coke." As he was handing Mint his drink, the doorbell rang. Saved by the bell! "I'll get it."
   Barrett literally ran to the front door to greet Sara and Ralph Sharkey. Barrett and Sara exchanged an affectionate hug. Ralph and Barrett exchanged a cool and limp handshake. But as much as he disliked Ralph, Barrett had to admit that the man was an excel-lent dresser.
   He was wearing a double breasted all silk gray Italian suit, an off white shirt that was an Armani original, and black loafers that Bar-rett had seen in the window of an exclusive men's store priced at three-hundred-fifty dollars.
   "Janet and Nellie are in the kitchen." said Barrett, stuck between Ralph Sharkey and Matthew Minton.
   "So how are you, Mint?" Ralph walked toward Mint and Barrett walked to the other end of the family room, grateful for his tempo-rary solitude and reprieve.
   "Fine, Ralph. How are you?"
   "Fine." answered Ralph listlessly.
   "That's good." Mint began to rock on his heels again.
   Ralph looked at Barrett, then back to the kitchen. Then he turned to Mint again and asked absently, "Business good?"
   "Oh yes." answered Mint. "It's usually good this time of year."
   Barrett could not have been more pleased than to see Ralph get stuck with Mint. But, thought Barrett, it was time to play host. "What can I get you to drink, Ralph?" He was getting tired of the conversation anyway. He had already heard it once today. And once was enough!
   "Nothing just yet." said Ralph. "You do have Cutty Sark of course."
   "Of course." Asshole!
   "How about you, Mint? Want another coke?" Like I really care!
   "No. I do know my limitations." Matthew put his hands behind his back. "You can take the empty can if you like."
   Barrett walked up to the pharmacist and said softly, "That's good you know your limitations. I'll get the can later."
   "Hey, Barrett. Who else is coming?" asked Ralph.
   "As far as I know, the only other couple invited are the Richard-sons." Barrett answered absently and as phony as he had to be. And he knew that tonight he definitely had to be phony.
   Ralph came closer to Barrett until their faces were about three inches apart. Then he whispered, "Wouldn't you like to fuck Ronni Richardson?" Ralph had a wide smirk on his face that Barrett was dying to smash in.
   "No! "Barrett spoke defensively. "Lysle is my best friend. And besides, he and Ronni have a terrific marriage. I am certain that nei-ther one of them would ever consider having outside sex." Barrett was having a tough time keeping his voice down. "So your per-verted thoughts are a waste of time!"
   "Hey --- relax! I was only kidding." Ralph took two steps back. "And since when is fucking a perversion?" Now Ralph had raised his voice.
   "Fucking is not a perversion." Barrett raised his voice to match Ralph's. "But fucking your best friend's wife is!" Then he added softly, "And I know you weren't kidding!"
   The noise brought Janet out of the kitchen. "What are you two arguing about?" She looked only at her husband. And the look was hostile. She put the tray of the ugly little cheese filled hors d'oeurves on the table as she spoke, never taking her eyes off Bar-rett.
   "Nothing. Nothing at all." Barrett answered as he opened his beer and ran his palm over the top of the bottle.
   "The rest of the appetizers will be ready in a minute." Janet glared at her husband then walked back to the kitchen.
   Barrett looked at the appetizer tray. Ugly little cheese filled hors d'oeurves or diarrhea. Another grand choice!
   "Well." Ralph inched closer to Barrett. "I guess I don't feel as close to Lysle as you do." The smirk returned. "Actually, I don't feel close to Lysle at all. And besides that, I think he's a lousy den-tist." He picked up a cheese puff and looked at it. "I go to a guy in Gerald who forgot more about dentistry than Lysle will ever know!"
   "Au contraire." said Barrett, taking a sip of beer.
   "Oh --- what?" asked a puzzled Ralph Sharkey.
   "Au --- it means you're full of crap! Lysle is an excellent dentist. You don't build up a tremendous practice unless you are good!" Barrett knew that Lysle would defend his skills as an optometrist if the situation were reversed.
   "Fine, Barrett. Fine! You have your opinions and I have mine." Ralph put the cheese puff back on the tray. "What the hell are these things?" He spoke quietly to the tray.
   "Ralph, why don't you admit it? You're pissed off because Lysle doesn't use you for an insurance agent --- any more than I do!" Bar-rett took another sip of his beer.
   "Let me tell you something, Jessop!" Ralph pointed his finger at Barrett. "I don't need his lousy business! And I don't need your lousy business!" Then he added smugly, "As a matter of fact, I'm not even accepting new clients."

   At this point, Barrett was getting tired of arguing with Ralph and listening to what he would consider pure bullshit! So he let Ralph have the last word --- just like Janet. He would have a difficult time remembering when he had last won an argument.
   As Barrett turned toward the kitchen for another beer, he saw Matthew Minton standing only a few feet away. Mint's gaze was on the floor. Both Ralph and Barrett had forgotten that he was in the family room.
   Ralph walked up to the pharmacist and grabbed his arm. "Listen, Mint." He said menacingly, "This was a private conversation --- if you get my drift. So those comments about Ronni --- you don't mention it to anyone --- okay?"
   "Sure, Ralph. Sure. No one!" Matthew talked to the floor. He was far too timid and too afraid to ever repeat any portion of what he had heard.
   Your secret is safe, Ralph! Barrett suddenly felt sorry for Mint and hated Ralph more than ever.
   Janet, Nellie and Sara all seemed to suddenly emerge from the kitchen carrying crackers, more ugly little cheese filled hors d'oeurves, and chopped liver. Barrett looked at the food and real-ized he had a long evening ahead of him. The thing that would keep him going was knowing that before the night was over he would have the final word. He couldn't wait!
   "Hey, Barrett!" yelled Ralph. "I'll take that Cutty Sark now."
   "Sure thing, Ralph." Asshole! Barrett went into the kitchen, downed another bottle of beer and poured Ralph's drink. He tried not to look at the excess appetizers in every corner. As he came out handing Ralph his scotch, the doorbell rang.
   "Get the door, Barrett." Janet yelled as she went back to the kitchen. There was no 'please'. It was an order.
   Go to hell, Janet!
   "Good boy." smirked Ralph. "Do what Mama tells you!"
   Barrett stopped cold and glared at Ralph. The bell rang again and this time he answered it. He could feel Ralph gawking at him as he opened the door. Lysle and Ronni Richardson were standing in the doorway. Lysle was over six feet tall with thick white hair and a ruddy complexion. Ronni wore her long soft blond hair in a French knot. She was tall and thin with delicate features and a curvaceous figure. She had high cheekbones, large blue eyes, soft smooth skin, and a dark even tan. Her gold earrings were almost to her shoulder and gold bracelets covered both arms.
   Out of the corner of his eye Barrett could see Mint and Ralph ex-change glances. Barrett was dying to blab Ralph's secret, but he knew he wouldn't. No one would.
   "Hello." The Richardsons spoke almost in unison, with wide smiles on both their faces.
   "Come in." said Barrett. His expression displayed both dejection and envy as he fleetingly compared the Richardson's relationship to his and Janet's. There was no contest! He hugged Ronni and shook hands warmly with Lysle.
   Then they walked into the living room where the Richardsons, with painted smiles, said their required salutations to the Mintons and Ralph Sharkey. Nellie and Matthew were dipping crackers into the chopped liver and Ralph was still nursing his scotch and drool-ing over Ronni.
   Sara and Janet came in from the kitchen with another tray of ugly little cheese filled hors d'oeurves. There were more salutations and more painted smiles.
   "Can I get you something?" asked Barrett as he played host to the Richardsons.
   "Nothing for me, Barrett." said Ronni as she walked over to Sara and Janet.
   "Beer is fine." said Lysle.
   The optometrist went into the kitchen and got a beer for Lysle and another for himself. "Janet, who is going to eat all this food? There are only eight of us." Barrett looked at Lysle as he spoke.
   "Better to have too much than not enough!" snapped Janet. Then she added as an afterthought, "Oh --- I almost forgot."
   While Barrett was trying to see the logic of having too much food, Janet made a general announcement. "As you all know I've been doing some volunteer work at the Methodist Church library the past two years."
   Who cares? Barrett was careful not to verbalize his thoughts.
   "And," continued Janet, "I recently I met this very nice young lady. She works full time at the library and she is relatively new in the area. She is rather shy and ---
   "Janet," asked Barrett, "is there a point to all of this?"
      "Yes!" she snapped. Then she paused and took a deep breath. "As I was saying --- " Janet threw a quick fiery glance at Barrett, then directed the rest of her conversation to everyone in the room except her husband. "--- her name is Jodi Bartless. I thought it would be a nice gesture to give her an opportunity to meet some new people. So I took it upon myself to invite her over tonight." Then she turned to Barrett smugly. "I didn't think any of you would mind."
   Nellie, Matthew, and Sara all smiled and nodded. Ralph seemed totally bored and looked like he wanted another drink. Get it your-self, asshole! Ronni and Lysle were staring at the floor.
   "You invited nine people to play bridge?" Barrett was mortified.
   "I thought it would be a nice gesture." Janet spoke to Sara. "After all, it's only social bridge."
   "I think it will be okay." said Nellie. Mint just nodded.
   You would! And who asked you anyway? "You invited over an odd number of people?"
   "So what?" Janet picked up a cracker and dipped it into the chopped liver.
   "How can nine people play bridge?" Barrett and Lysle looked at each other. They both knew they had to accept the situation for what it was. Total bullshit!
   "I don't think that is important --- is it?" She walked closer to Barrett. Their noses were almost touching. "What is important is that we are all together sharing that special camaraderie." Then she popped a cheese puff into her mouth and went back to the kitchen.
   Barrett stood there dumbfounded. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
   Nellie, Ronni, and Sara began to set up the card tables. Mint was still devouring his wife's chopped liver and Ralph was holding up his glass in a feeble attempt to get his host's attention.
   Barrett stood back near the kitchen, his arms folded, as he watched the scenario in the living room begin to unfold: Pathetic, meaningless, hypocritical, and in a most bizarre way --- amusing. He was in his own home and wondered why he was here. What was the purpose of this sham? No one spoke to the Mintons. Ralph only wanted to make it with Ronni and couldn't care less about Sara. Sara and Ronni only tolerated each other. Lysle could not stand Ralph and was here only because of Barrett. And to top it off, he and Janet were on the verge of an all out war!
   Barrett felt trapped.
    What would happen, he wondered, if everyone knew about the upcoming confrontation? Would they really care? What would they say? What would they do?
   Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!
   Janet suddenly exploded out of the kitchen and bounded up to him. Her voice was shaky and barely audible. "Damn it anyway! Do you think you could be a little more pleasant and at least act concerned?" Her breath reeked from chopped liver. As she got her face closer, the smell became more pungent. The acrobatic intes-tine returned for an encore. "I am not in the least interested in how you feel. Just try and pretend that you're a host --- if that isn't ask-ing too much!"
  Barrett pasted on a smile to match Janet's. All the guests would think that he and his wife had a friendly chat. Janet finally walked away leaving Barrett to inhale the fumes left by her wrath.
   Fuck you too, Janet! Just wait until later!
   "Okay." chirped Barrett, having resigned himself to a lost cause. He would ' play the game' until his moment of truth. Then they would 'play Barrett's game'. "Any refills?"
   Only Ralph Sharkey spoke up. "I will have another Cutty Sark --- neat!" He handed his glass to Barrett.
   "Of course, Ralph." Asshole!
   As he was in the kitchen pouring Ralph's drink, he heard him say loudly, "Hey, Janet. Where's my scotch? Your husband has got to be the world's worst bartender." Then he laughed. Ralph wanted to embarrass him. So he made sure everyone heard the austere re-mark --- especially Barrett! Now the eye doctor was truly enraged. He wanted to literally kill Ralph Sharkey!
   His vindictive thoughts were interrupted as Janet stormed into the kitchen. Her face was beet red. "Mint wants another coke and Lysle wants another beer."
   "Okay. Here's Mint's coke and --- " He reached behind him " --- here's Lysle's beer. Anyone else?"
   "Yes! Where on earth is Ralph's drink?"
   "First of all --- I couldn't find the fucking bottle. Someone put it away." Barrett stood up and slammed the glass on the counter. "And second of all --- I've had enough of entertaining that cock-sucker!" Barrett had inadvertently raised his voice until it cracked.
   "Shhh --- Barrett --- please!" Janet was livid.
   "If Ralph Sharkey doesn't like the way I tend bar, then let him fix his own fucking drink!" Barrett was beginning to feel the effects of his fourth beer.
   "Damn it, Barrett! Keep your voice down. They can hear you!"
   "Well, let 'em! I really don't give a shit! Maybe I need to drink more often.
   "Well, I do!" She walked closer to her husband. Her lips were tight and her teeth were clenched. "You are acting like an ass!"
   "Too fucking bad!" He picked up the tray with the drinks and handed it to Janet. "You take them their damn drinks. When I calm down --- if I calm down, I'll be out."
   She took the tray, paused, and glared at her husband for several seconds before storming out of the kitchen.
   After a few deep breaths and a cold glass of water, Barrett felt he was ready to join in and be a part of what he considered the ulti-mate in structured hypocrisy.
   "Hey, Barrett. You okay?" asked Lysle sympathetically.
   "I'm fine, Lysle. Terrific. Never better!"
   "Well, you look kinda --- flushed. And I have to admit you don't sound too convincing."
   "No, honestly. I'm okay." Barrett put his hand gently on Lysle's shoulder. He knew that Lysle was the only one in the room that cared. "Thanks for asking though."
   "Hey. Think nothing of it."
   "Okay, everyone. Time for bridge." said Janet merrily as she strutted about the room, phoniness pouring out of every inch of her body. Barrett loathed her existence as she was loving every minute of center stage, explaining all the rules --- as one would to a first grader.
   Barrett was offended by her demeaning approach and pompous air. Lysle seemed amused by it. The others couldn't have cared less.
   "I have put all our names on separate pieces of paper." Janet con-tinued to strut. "We will pick our partners this way." She mixed the slips around with her hand. "Okay, Barrett. The host goes first." Barrett intentionally hesitated as everyone watched and waited. "Please pick a name!" Janet continued with a fake smile and spoke through clenched teeth. "Now!" She pushed the jar at her un-cooperative husband.
   "Aren't you going to wait for --- what's her name --- Jodi?" he asked smugly.
   "She can just fill in when she gets here." said Sara assuredly.
   "We'll take turns." Nellie added.
   Right! And a good fucking time will be had by all! Again Barrett kept his thoughts private.
   Barrett, having felt that he had briefly upset his wife's elaborate game plan, finally took a slip of paper from the jar. His eyes felt frozen to the name he had drawn, as he stared in disbelief. "Ralph Sharkey!" He didn't look up. He didn't have to look up to know how Ralph felt. There was no doubt at all in Barrett's mind that Ralph Sharkey wanted Ronni Richardson for a partner.
   Tough shit, Ralph!
   As it turned out, Lysle and Sara would be their opponents. At the other table, Janet and Mint would play opposite Nellie and Ronni.
   After an hour of uneventful hands at both tables and more table talk than actual playing, Barrett Jessop was dealt what he would describe as the biggest hand he had ever held in his entire life: Twenty-seven points and six diamonds --- ace high!
   Barrett suddenly became seized and obsessed with power. He would make a grand slam and be the hero of the night. He would be the center of attention and the envy of everyone. All eyes would be upon him as he forged ahead to conquer the immediate world around him. And he would shove Janet's fucking bridge party down her fucking throat! He could feel his pulse begin to race.
   "Two diamonds!" Barrett said it proudly and defiantly. Lysle passed as he had hoped, and then Ralph passed. Barrett's mouth dropped open as he glared at his partner. "I said two diamonds!" Barrett was careful to emphasize the word 'two'.
   Ralph merely shrugged. "So?"
   Barrett leaned in toward him "What do you mean --- so?"
   Now Ralph leaned in. "What do you mean --- what do I mean?"
   "Gentlemen!" Lysle put his hands up in an effort to restore peace.
   "Come on, you guys. No table talk." Sara pointed her finger play-fully, trying to do the same thing. "And besides, Barrett, Ralph has already passed."
   Barrett and Ralph had locked eyes. But Barrett was undaunted in seeking his own moment of glory. His day in the sun. And he was not about to let Ralph Sharkey spoil it for him. "Ralph!" Barrett spoke quietly but firmly. "You can't pass!"
   "Who says?" Ralph was talking louder.
   "I says! That's who!" Barrett raised his voice to match Ralph's. They were still eye to eye.
   "I got a lousy hand, so I passed." Ralph laid his cards down face up.
   Lysle started to intervene but Barrett went on "You can't pass, Goddamn it! Two is a demand bid!"
   "A --- what bid?" he asked innocently.
   " A DEMAND BID! YOU DUMB FUCK!"
   "Hey! You watch your mouth, Jessop!" roared Ralph.
   The four people at the other table, which was only five feet away, became very quiet. The Mintons acted as if everything was normal. Ronni Richardson seemed amused by it all. But Janet was visibly seething.
   "Okay, you two. Enough already." said Lysle. "It's only a game. This is not brain surgery. Lighten up." He and Sara exchanged a brief glance.
   "And besides," added Sara, noticeably upset at how Barrett spoke to her husband, "there is entirely too much table talk!" Then she looked away.
   Ralph slowly picked up his cards as he and Barrett continued to glare at each other, their faces only inches apart.
   "Maybe we should review the bidding --- calmly." said Sara. When she saw Lysle put down his cards and cover his face with his hands, she realized that maybe it was the wrong thing to say.
   "Sure. Why not?" Barrett stood up. He glanced quickly at his hand. "I opened with two diamonds. Lysle passed. Then shithead passed --- "
   "Hey!" Ralph stood to face Barrett. "I said my hand was bad, so I passed." He narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips. "I refuse to take any more of your crap! And I told you to watch your mouth!"
   Their faces were beet red and they were both breathing heavily. Then after a two second silence, both men slowly sat down.
   As Ralph sat, he said very quietly, "big deal."
   Ralph's nonchalant tone plus the words he used served as fuel to Barrett's raging inferno. And since his bid for immediate fame had been squelched, he felt he had nothing more to lose. His temper once again took control. "It is a big deal, Goddamn it! When your stupid fucking partner can't FUCKING PLAY BRIDGE!"
   Sara threw down her cards in disgust and angrily walked away from the table. Then Lysle got up and walked over to Ronni where they exchanged some very quiet words. The Mintons continued to act as if nothing had happened.
   Janet walked slowly and sternly up to Barrett, and ignoring Ralph said softly, "That is enough, Barrett! We will discuss it later!" Then she turned to the others with her big fake smile and said cheerfully, "Why don't we tally up our scores."
   No one responded and she continued nervously, "I made a deli-cious coffee cake --- from scratch." She cleared her throat. "We can all --- "
   "Well," interrupted Nellie, "ah --- Mint and I are --- a bit tired." Matthew nodded. "We --- ah --- have to get up early tomorrow for --- inventory." Matthew nodded again. "So, I think we'll be --- go-ing." The Mintons then left hurriedly.
   And Ralph Sharkey, who spoke to no one, nodded to Janet. Then he put his hands in his pockets and was quickly out the door, im-mediately behind the Mintons.
   "I --- we have to go." said Sara wearily.
   "I --- I'm sorry --- " Janet spoke to Sara but her impassioned gaze was aimed at her husband.
   Ronni walked over to Barrett, who was off by himself in the fam-ily room --- his family room, watching the TV that was not yet turned on. "Barrett, you really shouldn't take this silly game so damn seriously." She said it very playfully.
   "That's not the point!" Janet stood in the doorway, her arms folded, still glaring at her husband. "You are our guests. And Bar-rett had no right to act the way he did. His manners were outra-geous!"
   "Don't be too hard on him, Janet." Lysle sat on the arm of the chair next to Barrett. He had a wide grin on his face. "I remember a few years ago getting stuck with Ralph.
   What he did tonight was nothing! With me he actually trumped my ace! Trumped his own partner's ace. Can you believe it?"
   "You betcha!" said Barrett still looking at the silent TV.
   "Look. We all know Ralph Sharkey can't play bridge worth a shit. Try not to let it get to you." He cast a quick peek at Janet and Ronni with their own private conversation at the front door. Then he continued quietly, "I always take these --- so called --- bridge parties lightly." And he lowered his voice even more. "Hell, you don't come to these things to play serious bridge. Forget it! It's not worth it!"
   Barrett knew Lysle was right. But all he could see was his mo-ment of glory vanish. His chance to be a hero was gone --- probably forever.
   "We really do have to go." said Ronni as she opened the door. "It's after eleven."
   "So long." said Lysle winking at Barrett. Then they both gave Janet a hug and left.
   Janet and Barrett were now alone, standing in the entryway --- both silent, their eyes focused in opposite directions. Neither seemed anxious to speak. Barrett was suddenly aware of the still-ness that enveloped both him and the house. He could hear the creaks and the pops. He could hear the wind blowing outside. He heard a dog barking from somewhere far away. He didn't remember any of these noises. Were they new? He was certain they were not. It was a strange sort of quietness --- almost eerie in nature. Maybe it was the calm before the storm. Barrett wasn't disappointed when Janet broke the spell, the shrill sound of her piercing voice echoing throughout every corner of the house.
   "Well, I hope you're satisfied!"
   "Look, Janet --- "
   "No! You look!" Her teeth were clenched tighter than ever as she took quick rasping breaths. "I asked you --- practically begged you to try and be a pleasant host tonight. To be civil. To be polite. But no! Not you! You would rather act like --- like a HORSE'S ASS!"
   "Ralph was --- "
   "And don't tell me about Ralph and your stupid bridge hand!" Janet interrupted. "You ruined a nice party tonight with your foul mouth and rotten temper!" Barrett did not respond. She was obvi-ously not going to let him get a word in anyway. His gaze was back to the silent TV. "I was so damned embarrassed --- mostly for you."
   "For me?" Barrett could feel the effects of the beers wearing off. Janet was once again in control. He had so much to say but was un-able to say it. He had so much to vent but was unable to do it. There was no doubt in his mind. He definitely had to drink more of-ten!
   "Yes! For you! How dare you?" She began to pick up the dirty dishes. "What is wrong with you anyway?"
   You! That's what's wrong! "There is nothing wrong with me." Nothing that four more beers won't cure! He knew he had no problem mouthing off to Ralph. He had no problem talking back to the Mintons. He had no problem standing up to his patients. But with Janet, he suddenly felt himself become mute. Now he won-dered if Janet was right. Maybe he had overreacted to Ralph. God, I hate it when she's right!
   "You know that besides you and Lysle," continued Janet still an-gry but more subdued, "none of us are very good at bridge."
   None of you are even mediocre at bridge!
   "So I would expect you to take that into account --- especially when you are the host!" She took another tray of dishes into the kitchen.
   "Okay, Janet. Okay!" Barrett was leaning against the wall watch-ing his wife work.
    Maybe I'm not quite ready for this showdown after all!
   "No it's not okay!" She turned back to Barrett. Her face was taught and her eyes were like ice. "I think you owe each one of our guests an apology."
   "Fine." He knew he was beaten again. "I'll call everyone tomor-row --- including asshole Ralph!"
   "Especially Ralph! And don't call him names. He isn't one of my favorite people either. But Sara is a close friend and I know she was very upset tonight." Janet continued to go back and forth be-tween the kitchen and the living room. Barrett continued to watch.
   Upset? Big fucking deal! How about me and my twenty-seven points?
   "Okay. I said I would call. Now, can we just drop it?" Shit!
   "Yes, I suppose we can. Now." Janet said it matter-of-factly. Coldly! Almost as a voice over for a documentary.
   Barrett felt he had had enough for one night. The big confronta-tion would have to wait. He was too tired --- both mentally and physically. He thought he was ready but --- "Your ninth guest didn't show up." He blurted it out even though he knew he couldn't have cared less.
   "Nope. I guess not." Janet began to wash the dirty dishes. She had not even changed her clothes yet.
   "Well, it's okay with me." Barrett added passively. "I'm not inter-ested in meeting new people." He again wondered, as he did earlier in the evening, why he was having this inane conversation.
   "What about me?" snapped Janet. "Maybe I am!" She continued to focus her attention on the dishes.
  "Fine. You go ahead and be the world's leading social director. Just leave me out of it." He started up the stairs slowly.
   "Believe me, you don't have to worry. Not after tonight!" Janet had finished with the dishes and now straightened the chairs, then arranged them around the table symmetrically. She was still not looking at her husband. "Anyway, it's all academic. Because it looks like she's not coming." Her gaze was directed at the center of the table and her tone was unemotional.

   Barrett was in the bathroom when he heard the doorbell ring. His watch read 11:55 pm. He walked to the landing and listened.
   After the second ring, Janet opened the door. "Come in."
   "I'm sorry I'm so late, but your lights were on." said the youthful sounding female voice. "The party is tonight --- isn't it?"
   Barrett took a step down, straining his ears. Who the hell would come visiting this late?
   "Yes. The party is --- was tonight." Janet's hostile tone was all too familiar.
   "I really do apologize, but an old boyfriend stopped by."
   "I see."
   Barrett was dying to see his wife's expression.
   "I probably should have called."
   "Oh --- it's okay."
   Yeah, thought Barrett, I'll bet!
   "Oh. Well --- uh --- where is everyone?" The young voice asked.
   Barrett took another step down.
   Janet took a deep breath. "That's a long story." Then she quickly changed the subject. "Would you like some coffee?"
   "Oh, please don't bother."
   "It's no bother. It's made. There are a couple of TV tables set up in the living room. Make yourself at home. I'll join you in a sec-ond." Janet's footsteps clicked towards the kitchen.
   Barrett began descending the stairs. Halfway down, he stopped, wondering who the attractive young lady was standing in the en-tryway. It had to be the extra person Janet invited over. Jodi --- something or other. Barrett inched closer to get a better look, but not close enough for him to be seen.
   He watched the staccato movements from the indirect light of the chandelier give her auburn hair a silken glow. The outline of her nipples protruded through her thin silky blouse. The hem of her black skirt ended above her knees, revealing shapely model-slim legs. Her nose looked perfect. Her coral red lips looked warm, soft, and moist. He couldn't see her eyes but he knew they were gor-geous.
   Barrett couldn't take his eyes off her. As he began to mentally un-dress her, his pulse started racing and he realized that he had an erection! He stopped, aware of how ridiculous he would look if he came downstairs with a bulge in his pants.
   He knew he had to think of something else --- anything. He closed his eyes and tried to picture Lysle's expression as Ralph trumped his ace. That did it!
   "Hello." Barrett was at the bottom of the stairs.
   "Oh." Jodi turned around, startled. "Hello."
   "I'm Barrett. Barrett Jessop. This my house. I live here." He could not stop staring.
   "Nice to meet you. My name is Jodi Bartless."
   "So you and my wife work together at the library." Barrett tried desperately not to stare. He found it impossible.
   "Yes." Her eyes roamed all over the small area, avoiding any vis-ual contact. "You have a lovely home."
   "Thank you." Barrett's made his smile wide and sincere. "I'm glad you like it."
   The entryway had rich marble floors surrounded by smoked glass walls. There was a large ornate chandelier directly above. The plush navy carpeting and the matching drapes were elegantly and taste-fully coordinated. Jodi couldn't help but be impressed with the af-fluency.
   There followed several seconds of silence disturbed only by the clinking of glasses in the kitchen.
   Barrett met Jodi's green eyes. He had guessed right. They were gorgeous! "You have beautiful eyes." Barrett had not planned to say it.
  "Oh --- thank you."
      "Well." said Janet suddenly emerging from the kitchen. She was holding a tray with three cups of coffee on it. "Here we are." She set the tray on a small table along with a creamer and a bowl of sugar. They all sat down in the living room, a TV tray before them.
   "So, Barrett. You like her eyes." Janet spoke sarcastically, look-ing at the cup in her hand. He should have known that she wouldn't miss a beat! Janet didn't give him a chance to respond. She spoke to Jodi softly. "You see, Jodi, my husband is an optometrist. So naturally, the first thing he notices about a person is their eyes." Janet's phony smile returned as broad as ever.
   Thanks for the Godddamn explanation, Janet! "That's right. Occupational hazard." He took a quiet sip of coffee.
   There followed another brief period of silence. Barrett could feel the penetrating heat of Janet's eyes burning into the side of his head as she glared at him over her coffee cup.
   "I see," said Jodi. "Well, my eyes are fine." She put down her cup. "But if I do have any problems I'll be sure and call you."
   "Please do." answered Barrett, his eyes still riveted to Jodi's. "I'll be there."
   Jodi and Barrett both smiled. Janet did not.
   Janet cleared her throat. "So, Jodi, did you ever find that missing book?"
   Jodi thought for a moment. "Oh --- Tradition and Change?"
   "Yes." Janet's smile faded for a moment, then reappeared. "That's the one."
   Jodi thought for a moment. " As a matter of fact I did. It was stuck between two copies of Changing Tradition."
   "Well, the names are very similar. I could see how that could happen."
   Barrett continued to sip his coffee silently.
   "I knew it would turn up. Things do get misplaced so easily at times." Then after a brief pause, Jodi asked, "Are you going to help out next week?"
   Janet looked at her cup and took a final sip. "I don't know yet."
   Jodi nodded. Then she turned to Janet with a big smile on her face. "Maybe you could teach me to play canasta some time."
   Barrett smiled at Jodi. Janet answered evenly. "Maybe."
   After another long silence, Jodi said as she looked at her watch. "It's getting late. I should be running along." Then she stood, gently moving the TV table aside. "It was nice meeting you, Barrett."
  Barrett got up and bumped the table, almost knocking it over. The cup teetered on the edge, and he grabbed at it clumsily. "It was nice meeting you too, Jodi."
   Janet stood and smiled forcibly. She walked Jodi to the door.
   "Thanks for inviting me. Next time I'll try and come earlier. Goodby."
   There won't be a next time, thought Barrett
   Janet slammed the door as soon as Jodi had left. Then she turned back in and glared at her husband.
   Okay, thought Barrett, here it comes! " Why are you looking at me like that?" As if I don't know!
   Janet didn't answer at first, but walked past Barrett headed for the kitchen. Then she turned to him again, still glaring. "Did you enjoy flirting with her?" She put the dishes on the counter.
   "Flirting?"
   "Does she --- excite you? Does she --- turn you on?" She came back into the living room and got the cream and sugar. "Well, does she?"
   You betcha! "Janet, I hardly know her. She happens to be attrac-tive. So what?"
   Janet took the cream and sugar into the kitchen then quickly re-entered the living room. She looked at Barrett a moment before she answered. "Yes. She is attractive. Is that why you were slobbering over her?"
   "Goddamn it, Janet! I wasn't slobbering!" Barrett wondered if maybe this was the right time for the confrontation after all. What have I got to lose? No guts, no glory!
   "All that crap about her eyes." Janet's voice rose quickly. "You have beautiful eyes!" she said mockingly. "I suppose you don't call that flirting!" She walked closer to Barrett. "Maybe you'd like to take her to bed!"
   "I was just being nice. I was being complimentary. I was being cordial. I was being a good host! Isn't that how you want me to act when we have guests?"
   You bitch! I'm through explaining! And I'm through apologizing!
   "Don't give me that shit! When the hell were you ever complimentary or cordial to anyone in your entire life?"
   Barrett wanted to applaud his wife's taunting suggestion of taking Jodi to bed. His errant thoughts kept darting back and forth be-tween Jodi's enticing green eyes and Janet's accusatory glare. A glimmer of a possible meaningful relationship versus his token mar-riage.
   "Barrett. We have nothing more to discuss." Janet turned toward the kitchen, then stopped and again confronted her husband. The glare was now a smirk. "This just isn't your day, is it? First Ralph and now Jodi." She laughed smugly as she went back into the kitchen to finish cleaning up.
   Barrett was as furious with his own meekness as he was with Janet's glibness. Anger! An emotion Barrett was too familiar with. This is it, Barrett! Tell her. Tell her it's over! Tell her the fucking marriage is over. TELL HER!
   Barrett Jessop raced up the steps, threw open the bathroom door, and scowled at the immaculate interior: the spotless commode, the spotless countertop, the spotless sink. Then seized by a moment of irrational fury, he undid his pants and urinated over the entire bath-room. When he had finished, he just stood there --- gawking for several seconds in disbelief. He knew that what he had done in a brief moment of insanity was childish, stupid, and disgusting. The result was going to be catastrophic.
   "Oh my God! What have I done?" But it was too late. He walked into the bedroom, sat down on the edge of the bed and waited. Well, you wanted a confrontation and now you're going to get one. The time has come. The moment has arrived. Barrett --- get set!
   Janet would have to initiate the impending battle. And by remain-ing calm and rational, he would emerge victorious. He had it all fig-ured out!
   He sat on the edge of his bed fifteen minutes before he heard Janet come up the stairs. Then he heard her walk into the bathroom. The bloodcurdling scream was inevitable. Barrett was ready! Janet burst into the room, her eyes wide and her face colorless. She was trembling and breathing as if she were hyperventilating.
   "You filthy son-of-a-bitch! You filthy dirty son-of-a-bitch!" Janet was screaming hysterically. "How could you? HOW COULD YOU?"
   Barrett didn't look at Janet and he didn't respond. He wasn't go-ing to allow himself to be sucked into a shouting contest. He'd waited a long time for this moment and was not about to blow an opportunity to end his marriage.
   "I would make you clean it up, if you had any God-given brains to know how!" She was still hysterical. Barrett, however, intended to remain calm. "How could you?" Janet's hysteria now gave way to choked sobs. "How could you?"
   Barrett stood up, his gaze still directed away from Janet. He chose his words carefully. "I need to talk to you about something." Barrett stood straight, hands clasped behind his back.
   Janet sat down on her bed, choking back the tears.
   Barrett continued. "I've said it before and I'm saying it again. I am not happy with our marriage." He paused to clear his throat. "I said I am not happy with our marriage."
   Janet's lack of response was not what Barrett expected. He had expected a loud and violent clash between one who was rational and one who was irrational. A chilly silence was not part of his plan.
   "I said --- " Barrett began louder.
   "I heard what you said!" Janet interrupted.
   Barrett cleared his throat again. "I feel that our relationship has deteriorated to a point --- " "Well! Is that a fact?" Janet stood. Barrett turned towards her and their eyes locked fiercely.
   Hostility consumed the atmosphere. "Well, well, well! Now is that a fact?" repeated Janet who had completely regained her com-posure.
   "Yes! That --- that's a fact." Barrett backed off.. Things were not going as smoothly as he had hoped. "I want a divorce!" He had in-tended to build up to the crescendo. But instead he just blurted it out. Shit!
   "You WHAT?" Janet yelled.
   "I --- I want a divorce." In a matter of seconds Barrett went from being Peter stalking the wolf to being Peter eaten by the wolf.
   "Oh --- I get it!" Janet sneered. "So that's your scheme, is it?" She walked up to Barrett with conviction --- almost over-confidence. "You spread your --- your damn filth all over my bath-room and then you have the unmitigated gall to try and intimidate me into giving you a divorce!" Janet spoke softly but firmly. "Well, hot shot, it won't work! Just who the hell do you think you're deal-ing with? Some weak and spineless bimbo?" Then she poked Bar-rett in the shoulder with her forefinger, punching him with each word. "You can piss in every room in the house and it still won't work --- hotshot!"
   Janet had taken complete control. Barrett couldn't believe it.
   "Now you listen, Janet --- " He took a step back.
   "No, Goddamn it! You listen. And you listen good!" She was pointing her finger at him, aiming it right between his eyes. "I hap-pen to agree with you. I think our marriage is lousy most of the time --- but tolerable enough of the time. But with or without you, I do like my lifestyle. I like my freedom. I like what I do. I especially like doing what I want, when I want."
   She put her hands on her hips and sneered again. "And I like the money. No, it's not as much as Ronni gets from Lysle, but for me it's plenty." She took a deep breath. Barrett felt as if he were fight-ing for his life, but he remained silent. Janet continued. "So, I'm sat-isfied. You see, I do have the best of both worlds --- don't I?"
   For several minutes neither spoke. Barrett sat down on the edge of his bed and spoke quietly.
   "Maybe if we'd have had children, we --- "
   "Damnit, Barrett! The doctor said I couldn't --- remember?"
   "I know, but --- "
   "Why do you keep throwing that miscarriage in my face?'
   I'm not going to feel sorry for her!
   Janet went on. "Do you honestly think a child would have helped?"
   Barrett couldn't respond. His tongue felt glued to his upper pal-ate.
   Janet paused and sat down on the edge of her bed. "We've dis-cussed all of this before, Barrett." She looked at her husband. He was looking at the wall. "I don't think I ever truly loved you. But at one time I did care about you --- believe it or not!" She took an-other breath, then spoke casually. "But now I hate your guts! I hate the way you walk. I hate the way you talk. As far as I'm concerned, you're a free ride through life. Other than that, you're a big noth-ing!"
   Barrett tried to absorb what he was hearing, but he couldn't. He tried to respond to a fury inside him that was making him tremble, but he couldn't. He wanted desperately to go back on the offensive and make his wife reel with fright, but he couldn't. Instead, he merely folded his hands and continued to look away. His insides felt like jello.
   Janet stood and looked down at him. "So --- hotshot, if you are contemplating a divorce or even a separation, tough shit! Forget it!" She casually picked up a pile of clean clothes and continued to scream the words into Barrett's ear. He winced noticeably. Then she lowered her voice. The smirk was back. "You see, I am willing to live this life of --- lies. Whether or not you are is of no impor-tance to me. None!" Janet walked closer to Barrett until their bod-ies almost touched. She continued: confident, strong, totally in con-trol. "But I will tell you right now. If this so-called marriage of ours ends, I promise that I will do everything in my power to make your life a living hell! Not only will you lose the house and everything in it --- including the six Lladros, but you will also have to pay me a ton of alimony. And you can kiss most, if not all, of your retirement money goodbye --- because you'll need every cent of it. In short --- any thought of divorce will cost you a small fortune!" She contin-ued to look at him venomously, while his gaze remained directed at an imaginary spot on the far wall. "I bet you didn't think I could be such a bitch, did you?"
   Bitch is a good word. Cunt is better!
   Janet, towels in hand, didn't wait for a reply and headed out of the bedroom. As she got to the door, she hesitated. Then she turned back to Barrett and added, "So you better think about it. You bet-ter think about it real good!" Then she said as an afterthought, smirking, "And besides, I'm Catholic --- remember? We tend to frown on divorce." She waited again. "Well, husband --- dear. What do you have to say now?"
   Barrett couldn't think of what to say.
  "Just as I thought. Nothing --- as usual!"
   With that, Janet took the towels into the bathroom to undertake the Herculean task of cleaning up the mess. And Barrett acqui-esced to the grim reality that he had once again come in second.
   Barrett continued to sit on the edge of his bed, staring into noth-ingness for what seemed like hours. His stomach was turning more somersaults and adding cartwheels --- up and down, back and forth. His hands were clammy and his pulse was out of control.
   The confrontation had come and gone. And Barrett's intense de-sires to express his feelings suddenly had no meaning. Nothing had changed!
   Congratulations, Barrett! You fucked up again! What in the hell does it take, for Christ's sake? You had control of the situation. It was in the fucking palm of your fucking hand! And you let it slip through. You let it all get away. Goddamn it!
   "And what is this shit about being Catholic?" He yelled in the di-rection of the bathroom.
   He got up slowly from the bed and went downstairs to his family room. It was 3:00 am. He sat down in the easy chair. The room was messy. He would clean it tomorrow.
   He closed his eyes and tried to collect his thoughts. He knew all about divorced men who ended up moving out of their own house. They lost everything they possessed to the wife --- or ex-wife. Then the divorced husband --- or ex-husband moved into a cheap two-bit apartment, because that's all the poor son-of-a-bitch could afford!
   There was no doubt in his mind. He didn't want to be married to Janet anymore. But how could he go through a 'messy' divorce and sacrifice everything he had worked so hard for all of his life? If that happened, Barrett would end up the big loser. There had to be a better solution. But he was too tired to think about it anymore to-night.
   He fell asleep in the chair. As soon as he awoke, he looked at his watch. It was 6:00 am.
   He tiptoed upstairs to the bedroom. The last thing he wanted was to awaken Janet, knowing as always, that he could actually sleep in the same room with his wife without having to get near her.
   He quietly changed into his new silk pajamas and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. The bathroom was once again im-maculate. This time he'd be careful to leave it as clean and sterile as he found it. He would not ignite another explosive encounter.
   He tiptoed back to the bedroom and quietly crawled into his own bed.
   Janet was on her stomach breathing softly.
   Barrett turned away as his thoughts centered on Jodi. He closed his eyes and visualized her silken hair, her sensuous eyes, and her beautiful body. His erection was swift. And as he fantasized making love to her, he masturbated into the sheets.

*

   The next few weeks at the Jessop household were spent in si-lence. If Barrett and Janet had something to say, they would leave a note: A reminder about a TV repairman coming, or a plumber calling, or a bill due.
   Janet added another canasta night. Now they never saw each other at all.
   For the optometrist, it was a situation that was suitable and at best tolerable. But it was only temporary. And until he found a bet-ter and more permanent solution, it would have to make do. It was a situation he would have to live with.

*

 

BOOK TWO
JODI
 

   
 
IX
   On Friday, May fifth, Barrett Jessop was seated in his private of-fice with a copy of Ellery Queen's 'Cat Of Many Tails' on his lap and Jodi Bartless' telephone number on his desk. His focus of atten-tion constantly jumped back and forth from one to another. And for the tenth time in as many days, Barrett picked up the phone to call her. But each time he did, he was never able to get past two rings, finally slamming the receiver down in frustration. He could never come up with a valid reason for calling, so for fear of sounding stu-pid, he always hung up before she answered.
   He also gave up on reading the Ellery Queen. His mind kept wandering and he found himself reading the same line over and over, unable to comprehend one word.
   "Dr. Jessop." said Marie on the intercom. "You have a call on line two."
   Marie was very efficient when it came to screening telephone calls. In the course of one month, no less than a dozen laboratory representatives would call Barrett trying to swing over his account by boasting about their technical expertise, their superior scientific products, and their incredible service. There were also insurance salesmen with their bargain premiums and investment brokers with exotic investments ranging from a gold mine in Colorado to an oil well in Texas to a breeding ground for kangaroos in Australia. It was often difficult to know whom to talk to and whom not to talk to. So certain strict guidelines were set up, and Marie always knew exactly what they were.
   "Hello." Barrett nonchalantly picked up the receiver.
   "Hello, Dr. Jessop. This is Jodi Bartless." Barrett sat up so fast he almost dropped the telephone. "I told you I would call if I had any problems --- "
   Barrett's heart began to pound. He imagined the outline of her beautiful nipples as they protruded through her blouse.
   "Dr. Jessop?"
   He wondered if she was wearing a bra. What color were her pant-ies?
   "Dr. Jessop?"
   Maybe she wasn't wearing any underwear at all!
   "Dr Jessop. Are you there?" She raised her voice.
   "Uh --- uh yes. Yes, I'm here." He put the book on the desk and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.
   "Did you hear me?" asked Jodi.
   "I --- I think we have a bad connection."
   "Can you hear me now?" Jodi was yelling.
   "Yes. Yes, that's much better." Barrett's heart rate returned to normal.
   "Well," she continued to speak louder than she had to. "I said I wanted to make an appointment."
   "Of course. Let me get the appointment book." He went to the front desk and took the book back to his office. Normally Marie made all of the appointments, but Barrett would handle this one himself. "Okay. How about six o'clock next Wednesday?" On Wednesdays Marie left at six. This was a perfect time, thought Bar-rett, they would be alone.
   "That sounds okay --- as far as I know. Yes. I'm sure next Wednesday would be fine."
   "Okay. See you then --- oh, and you can call me Barrett." His hand began to shake and he had trouble writing her name in the ap-pointment book.
   "All right, Barrett. See you next Wednesday."
   Barrett liked hearing her call him by his first name. He replaced the receiver on the cradle and returned the appointment book to Marie, who was too busy filing to notice the recent addition to the schedule. Then he went back to his private office again and sat down behind his messy desk --- the desk that his wife hated. Too bad, Janet! He picked up the piece of paper with Jodi's telephone number on it, folded it up and put it into his shirt pocket. He knew he had to get his mind off Jodi and on to something else --- any-thing! So he opened the Ellery Queen. It was futile. There was no way he could concentrate. He glanced at his watch. It was 5:00.
   Barrett knew he'd spend most of the weekend watching the clock and the calendar wondering if Wednesday would ever arrive. And when it did arrive --- then what?

*

   On this particular Wednesday, Marie, who was always on time, would be late. She had called Barrett at home last night complain-ing of car trouble. She would get there as soon as possible.
   The two things that bothered Barrett about Marie's being late were that she would insist on staying past six to make up the lost time and that he would have to answer the phone --- which was ringing. After the fourth ring, Barrett picked it up. "Hello." He tried to talk, take off his topcoat, and go through the mail --- all at the same time.
   "Hello." said Jodi.
   Barrett carefully put down the mail. "Can you hold for a second?" He quickly took off his coat and hung it up. Then he sat down. This time he intended to pay attention to the conversation. "Okay, Jodi. I'm listening."
   "I only wanted to confirm my appointment. It is tonight, isn't it?"
   "Yes. It's tonight." Barrett said breathlessly.
   "Well, okay. See you later."
   "See you later." You can plan on it.
   Barrett stared at the silent telephone realizing how ludicrous it was to give in to an obsession as he was planning to do. An obses-sion that was based on nothing more than pure physical attraction and directed at a virtual stranger. None of it made any sense. But he'd never been in this situation before --- not even with Janet. And now he wasn't sure he could handle it without making a complete fool of himself. He wouldn't plan anything. Whatever happened would be spontaneous.
   Marie showed up at 9:20. "I'm sorry I'm late."
   "It's okay, Marie. It doesn't happen that often. And besides, the first appointment isn't until ten."
   "The right front tire was flat so I called Triple A. They came right over and repaired it. They were very nice."
   Barrett nodded.
   "It looks like I need four new tires. But I know a place --- "
   Marie always knew a place. Barrett forever wondered why some-one as nice and as honest as Marie could be so gullible. She drove a 1971 VW with 125,000 miles on it. Someone told her that she should get over 200,000 miles with it.
   So Marie kept pouring money into it to keep it running. Dumb! But then again, thought Barrett, how could she work for minimum wage?
   Barrett made it through the day, but constantly wishing it were six o'clock. This is crazy!
   The 5:00 pm appointment didn't show up. Normally Barrett would rant and rave and issue all sorts of vacant threats. But this time he was too pre-occupied and spent the scheduled time pacing. Crazy! Crazy! Crazy!
   At 5:35 pm Marie said, "Maybe I should stay a little longer to make up the lost time."
   I knew it! "No, Marie. It's okay. You can go." Barrett did his best to remain calm.
   "After all, I did come in twenty minutes late." Marie stayed seated.
   "It's perfectly okay, Marie." Barrett put one hand on the back of her chair and the other hand on her arm.
   "At least let me finish this tiny bit of filing I started this morning."
   Barrett slowly inched her chair away from the desk. "You can fin-ish it tomorrow."
   "It won't take long." Marie got up and went to the filing cabinet.
   Barrett waited nervously. When she was done, he said, "Thank you, Marie. Now you can go."
   "Well --- if you're sure --- " Marie pushed the chair back into her desk.
   "Yes, Marie. I'm sure." Barrett gently guided her away from the desk. It was 5:50.
   "I'll make it up to you next week."
   "Really, Marie. That won't be necessary." Barrett quickly helped Marie on with her coat.
   "Oh --- I forgot to erase --- " And she opened up the appointment and rubbed out a name on next week's schedule.
   "Fine." said Barrett anxiously. "Now you run along."
   "Well --- as long as you don't mind." Marie buttoned her coat. "I do have a few things to do --- especially to see about those tires."
   "No. I don't mind. You go and take care of your errands." Barrett gently ushered his assistant out the door. "And take care of those tires."
   "Thank you, Dr. Jessop." She quickly turned back. "Oh, I have to water the plants."
   "I'll do it."
   "The one in the contact lens room is very dry."
   "I'll water it, Marie."
   Marie hesitated a moment. "Well --- okay. Goodby, Dr. Jessop."
   "Goodbye, Marie."
   At 6:02 Barrett went into his private bathroom at the rear of the office and carefully combed his hair. Then he watered all three plants. He then went back to the bathroom and washed his hands again. This is crazy! After applying some Brut to the back of his hands and his neck, he gargled and rinsed his mouth with a vile tast-ing blue generic mouthwash. (He knew it would come in handy one day.)
   When he was done primping he heard the door. His heart began to pound and his mouth became suddenly dry, so he once again gargled and rinsed with the vile blue liquid. Then he tensely walked up to the front and opened the door.
   "Hello, Jodi."
   "Hello Dr. --- Barrett."
   She looked older than the last time. Perhaps it was because she had her hair pushed back and wore no make-up. She also looked tired and her sloppy gray warm-up suit did her figure justice.
But it didn't matter. The allure was still there.
   During the course of the examination, Barrett Jessop spent a great deal more time than usual gazing into Jodi's green eyes. But, as an optometrist, he was afforded that privilege. She remained partially hidden behind the phoropter, and all he was able to do was stare. When he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. He had to see her again --- somehow!
   "Okay, Jodi. The exam is over." Barrett cleared his throat. "It looks like everything is okay." He cleared his throat again. "But one of the tests has to be repeated." He moved the large black instru-ment out of the way. "If you don't object, that is."
   "No, I don't object. You're the eye doctor." Jodi smiled. "But why can't we do it now?"
   "Now?" Barrett licked his lips.
   "Yes. Why can't we do it now?"
   "Uh --- the instrument doesn't seem to be working properly --- for some reason."
   "Oh."
   "It's computerized and --- well --- you know modern science --- "
   "Oh sure." echoed Jodi. " Modern science."
   "I think there are times when I would just as soon go back to some of the earlier optical devices. They were less complicated and never broke down." Barrett was trying desperately to act like a pro-fessional. "I guess we call that progress."
   Jodi smiled and nodded.
   "Why don't we set up your appointment for --- say next Wednes-day Same time."
   "I'm having my hair done next Wednesday. And you never ever cancel a hair appointment." Jodi said jokingly. "But I could be here by seven --- if that's not too late."
   "No. Not at all." In fact, that would be perfect!

   *

   "Dr. Jessop." Marie was on the intercom. "Line two is for you."
   Barrett put down a stack of insurance forms and lifted the re-ceiver. "Hello."
   "Hello, Barrett. This is Jodi."
   The optometrist sat straight up in his chair. "Hi, Jodi."
   "I called to cancel next Wednesday." After a brief pause she asked, ""Is this test very urgent?"
   Barrett thought for a second. "No. Not really." He stifled an urge to make any personal comment and said instead, "We can do it an-other time."
   Before Barrett could come up with one, Jodi said, "Good. Things at the library have been so hectic. Why don't I call you when my schedule is more organized."
   Barrett ran his fingers through his hair. "That would be fine. And thanks for calling."
   "Goodbye, Barrett." And she hung up.
   Barrett picked up her exam card and said aloud, "Maybe it did happen for the best. Maybe it wasn't such a hot idea after all. Maybe --- "
   "Dr. Jessop." Marie was on the intercom again. "It's six o'clock. I'm leaving."
   Barrett looked at his watch. "I didn't realize it was so late." He put down Jodi's file and stood up. "You can leave, Marie. I'll see you tomorrow."
   The receptionist came back to Barrett's office. "Anything you want me to do before I go?"
   He looked at her and smiled. "No, Marie. There's absolutely noth-ing to do."

*







 X
Barrett and Janet did their grocery shopping like they spent their lives --- separately. If Barrett wanted a particular food item, he would get it himself. So once a week, Barrett stopped at Minton's Grocery Store for items like orange juice, bagels, frozen turkey dinners, and fresh fruits and vegetables. But all month the store was being refurbished, so during this period Barrett did his shopping at Albers Super Market, which was located on the outskirts of town. It was a midwest chain with over forty stores. For Barrett, it suited his temporary needs quite adequately.
   As he was piling bags of assorted vegetables into his cart, he heard a familiar voice call his name. He turned and was at once face to face with Jodi Bartless. "Jodi. What a pleasant surprise."
   They looked at each other and laughed. Both were wearing faded green sweatpants and an oversized gray sweatshirt.
   "People are going to think we planned this." Barrett said elatedly.
   "It sure looks like it, huh?" Their eyes locked for a second. Jodi cleared her throat. "That lettuce doesn't look too good."
   "Uh --- what?" Barrett was still staring at her.
   "I said your lettuce doesn't look too good." A teenager pushing a noisy cart sped by them. Jodi stared after her. "They should have speed bumps in here."
   Barrett nodded absently as he picked up the head of lettuce and turned it over in his hands, scrutinizing it. "Hmmm --- you're right." He walked over to the lettuce bin and exchanged it. Then he proudly showed it to Jodi. "How about this one?"
   "Much better." Jodi said as she pushed her cart away. "See you later."
   Barrett put the lettuce back in his cart and quickly finished his shopping. Then he purposely waited at the checkout counter until Jodi arrived.
   "Hello again," Jodi said smiling.
   They paid for their groceries and walked out together. "Where's your car?" asked Barrett.
   "I didn't drive. Someone is picking me up --- oh, there's my ride now."
   Then Barrett watched as she waved at him before getting into an old Ford Galaxy.
   The driver was a man.

*

   "Aaron, please! Slow down!" Jodi spoke to the man behind the wheel.
   "Don't worry, Baby." The driver answered. "You're with me now. Relax!"
   Aaron Claypool was forty years old. He was short, stocky and very muscular. His small round chin seemed to rest atop his wide shoulders with no neck in between. Aaron was dark complected with thick black curly hair and penetrating brown eyes.
   "I can't relax." Jodi now wished she were someplace else.

   "So who was the guy in the super market?" Aaron's eyes began to dart wildly in all directions.
   Jodi hesitated, then took a deep breath. "His name is Barrett Jes-sop. He's an eye doctor." She could feel the blood rush to her face. "Are you spying on me?"
   "No. You know I wouldn't do that."
   "Right!" Jodi mumbled it to herself.
   "How do you know him?"
   Jodi shook her head disgustedly. "I work with his wife at the li-brary." She turned to him. His eyes were fixed onto the road. "He's married, okay?" Jodi faced front. "And what's it to you anyway?"
   Aaron laughed nervously. "You know I still love you, Baby."
   "Oh, Aaron. I thought we settled all that long ago."
   "We ain't settled shit!" His eyes began to dart again.
   "Aaron, slow down. Please!" He didn't respond. They drove in si-lence for several minutes.
   "Hey!" He said it as if he had just thought of it. "I got me a job at the Williams Bakery in Columbus." After a short pause, he asked, "Ain't that good?"
   "How many jobs does that make this year?" Jodi was getting tired.
   "Hell, at least I'm working." Again he laughed nervously.
   They pulled up in front of Jodi's apartment. Jodi got out quickly and Aaron started to do the same. "Aaron, I don't want you to come up."
   He glared at her a second then got out of the car, slamming the door shut. "Don't you fuck with me, okay?" He walked toward to her with his finger in her face. "Like the song says --- You belong to me!"
   "I --- I don't belong to you." Jodi took a step back. "I don't be-long to anyone. Aaron, we've discussed this a jillion times."
 "But you got into my car." Jodi had no reply. She gripped the gro-cery bag as Aaron came closer. His eyes were wide and a sneer formed at the corners of his mouth. "And --- you let me drive you home." He paused and got closer. "I didn't hear you, Jodi."
   I'm with you because I have nowhere else to go! "I --- nothing." She turned away but could still feel him glaring at her. He pointed his finger at her again and started to speak, but changed his mind. For an instant she thought he was going to block her way to the front door. Jodi backed away again. She was frightened. But he walked backwards slowly and opened the car door without looking. "I'll be calling you --- Baby!"
   Jodi shook her head and watched as he got behind the wheel and the Ford disappeared around the bend.


   Barrett took the groceries home. Then he went back to the office and finished up some long overdue bookwork. He left the office at 7:15 pm. This was Janet's Canasta night, so the house would be empty. He looked forward to the solitude.
   As he began his ride home, he thought of driving to the cornfield. But unfortunately, the street was blocked off due to some radical street repairs. So he took his normal route fighting traffic all the way. Then he had to wait twenty minutes for a train because the signal lights were out. The pathetic road conditions were enough to temporarily get his mind off his personal problems --- especially as he began to dodge a whole new set of potholes.
   He was furious with city council members composed of morons like Isaac Parsons, who did all they could to help defeat any bond issue or levy that came up for a vote.
   These were the very same people who bitched whenever they drove over a pothole or moaned because their children and grand-children went to schools that were understaffed and overcrowded.
   Barrett's mood refused to mellow even as the traffic thinned out and the roads became smoother. He became so deeply engrossed in thought, he missed his exit.

*

   When he finally got home at 8:00, Barrett Jessop took his second shower of the day, still careful not to make a mess. He came down the stairs briskly, got the newspaper and took it into the family room.
   A large advertisement in the entertainment section told him that Double Indemnity was on the oldies channel tonight. Barrett rarely watched TV, but tonight he would make an exception for one of his favorite movies.
   Having a snack to accompany the movie also seemed like a good idea. So he set up the TV table in front of the couch and went into the kitchen. First he went to the refrigerator and took out what he needed to make a turkey sandwich and poured himself a glass of beer. Then he opened the door to the pantry and as he expected, all the cans and boxes were arranged alphabetically.
"Score another triumph for Janet Jessop in her undaunted allegiance to the great cause of symmetry!" Barrett yelled at the boxes. Then he threw his arms into the air in a mocked cheer. "Hip. Hip. Hoo-ray!"
   Barrett found the peanuts. It wasn't hard, he thought, just follow the fucking alphabet! Then he switched the canned corn and the canned potatoes.
   And after a brief period of self-admiration as he venerated his conquest, he strutted back to the family room --- his family room --- to watch Double Indemnity.
    Barrett had trouble following the story since his thoughts con-tinually turned to Jodi Bartless.
   What was it about her? Her green eyes? Her full lips? Her silken hair? Her exquisite body? Or was it her demureness? Yes to all the above! How would it be to touch her, to hold her, to make love to her --- so their bodies could become one?
   So what if it was only physical? Who knew what might develop? Maybe she could fill a void in his life. Anything was possible. He found his fantasies both stimulating and relaxing. He quietly fell asleep just as Fred MacMurray pulled the trigger.

*

 
    XI
   The library at the King Street Methodist Church boasted of hav-ing in its possession at least one book on every religion in the entire world. And as far as anyone knew, this ambitious statement was never challenged. The congregants merely accepted it and consid-ered their church 'unique'.
   Every wall in the massive room had floor to ceiling books ar-ranged alphabetically. Two long oval mahogany tables were spaced apart at the center and several smaller round tables were near the walls. The chairs were all far enough apart to allow plenty of room between them. There were no windows, but the advanced recessed lighting was more than adequate.
   It was 5:30 and quiet. The visitors had all left and the few work-ers were just finishing up. Jodi was seated in her small office doing some long overdue bookwork. A sharp tap on the window of the door interrupted her. The young librarian stood slowly and then turned abruptly toward the annoying sound. As she walked to the door, the tapping got louder. Jodi opened the door to find Aaron Claypool leaning against the doorjamb. His eyes were red, he smelled from alcohol, and a cigarette was dangling from beneath his lips. "Hello, Baby."
   "Shhh --- " Jodi put her fingers up to her mouth then whispered, "What in the world are you doing here?" She quickly closed the door. "You're drunk --- and get rid of that cigarette!"
   He waited a second, then slowly took the cigarette out of his mouth and rubbed the lighted end against the bottom of his boot. "There. That better?" He sneered. "I got to talk to you."
   "Aaron, I have a lot of bookwork to do. Please go!"
   She turned and he grabbed her arm brutally, spinning her around. "Don't you fucking turn away from me, Goddamn it!"
   "Please!" she whispered. "Lower your voice!" He didn't re-spond. He only glared at her contemptuously. "Aaron, you're hurt-ing my arm."
   He hesitated a second then finally let go. "I'll wait for you in the car." Then he put his finger against her nose. "And you better be there!" He walked unsteadily out of the library, pausing at the door to glance back before he left.
   Jodi went back to her desk, rubbing her arm. She looked at the clock. 5:40 pm. It was going to be a long evening!

*

   Jodi and Aaron sat in his Ford Galaxy silently for several minutes. Then Aaron spoke with no emotion. "I lost my job today." Jodi folded her arms and looked straight ahead. "It wasn't my fault. The son-of-a-bitch wanted me to --- "
   "It's always the other person, isn't it." Jodi's dress had hiked up and she pulled it down over her knees. "You have never accepted one iota of blame."
   He lit up a cigarette. "I don't think you're being fair."
   She turned to him. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes were mak-ing her eyes water. "Aaron, this just isn't working out. Things are different now." Most of the staff and the volunteers had left and with the exception of an occasional straggler the parking lot was empty. The only car was Jodi's Valiant. "We had a year together. We had some nice times. But it's over. Let it go."
   The sun had ducked behind a large dark cloud and it began to drizzle.
   "I can't do that, Baby." He took a deep drag and blew the smoke out the window. Jodi still felt like she was choking. "We still have feelings for each other."
   Jodi shook her head. "It's not the same anymore, Aaron. Why can't you see that?"
   He tossed the cigarette out the open window. "Then there's got to be another guy!"
   Jodi felt like she had just run a marathon. "There is no other guy!"
   "Well, I think there is!"
   "Then you think wrong!"
   Aaron lit up another cigarette. "It's that asshole eye doctor you were with in Albers!"
   "No, Aaron!" Then she turned to him and added softly, "The chemistry just isn't there anymore. You can't come back into my life after all this time. It only complicates things."
   She touched his arm. "I'm sorry. I --- "
   He jerked his arm away. "Now you listen to me! You belong to me. You always have and you always will!" He sat closer to her. Their faces were almost touching. "And I will fucking kill you be-fore I give you up!"
   "Aaron!" Jodi felt a shiver go through her entire body. "You're talking crazy!"
   She turned away. And after a long silence, she took a deep breath and got out of the car. Jodi stared at him as he raced off.
   She knew she had not seen the last of Aaron Claypool!

*
   
   It was 9:00 pm and Jodi had just stepped out of the shower when the phone rang. "Hello." She wrapped herself in her terry cloth robe and sat at her desk.
   "Hi, Baby."
   There was a long pause. "What do you want, Aaron?" She was tired and she knew her voice reflected it. She began to doodle on a piece of stationary.
   "So --- Baby, how you doing?" He spoke passively.
   Jodi picked up the paper she had been doodling on. It made no sense. "I'm fine Aaron. I'm going to watch TV." She threw the pa-per into the wastebasket. "Aaron," she snapped, "why are you call-ing?" She wrapped her head in a towel. "I know it's not to find out what I'm doing."
   There was a brief pause. Aaron said, "I want to come over."
   She closed her eyes and licked her lips. "I thought we settled all that."
   "I told you, Baby. We ain't settled shit yet!"
   "Aaron --- "
   "I'll come over. We can have a few drinks --- like old times."
   "No, Aaron. Goodbye!" She hung up the phone. Then the frus-trated librarian slammed her fist down on the desk. Papers flew eve-rywhere.
   As she stared at the phone, she began to get second thoughts and wondered if a mediocre relationship was better than no relationship at all. Was Aaron better than nothing? The telephone rang again. Jodi adjusted the towel around her wet head. It rang a second time. She knew who was calling but answered it anyway.
   "Don't you ever fucking hang up on me again --- you hear?" Aaron's heavy breathing subsided and he continued in a more even keel. "Don't shut me out, Baby. We got to talk."
   "No, Aaron. And please stop calling!" She knew she was weak-ening. "We have nothing to discuss."
   "Like hell we don't! We got a year invested in each other. So don't give me that 'we got nothing to discuss' shit!" Then he sof-tened his tone. "I promise I won't stay long."
   "This is a bad idea, Aaron." She didn't want to give in but she knew she would.
   "Come on, Baby. Don't make me beg."
   Jodi took a deep breath. Her response was barely audible. "Okay, Aaron. You win."

*

   At 10:05 Jodi, still wearing her loose fitting pink terry cloth robe, her hair pulled back, and with no makeup, opened the door to let in an agitated Aaron Claypool. He came into the apartment weaving slightly. Then he began to rub his hands together. Jodi stood her distance, her arms folded. "You don't care if I sit down, do you?" But he was already seated.
   Jodi smoothed out the cushions on the sofa and sat down across from him. "Make it fast, Aaron."
   "Hey, Baby, don't rush me. I just got here." His eyes began to dance around the apartment. Jodi wondered if they were going to pop out of his head. "How about a drink?"
   "Look at your eyes, Aaron. Look at your face. I think you've had enough to drink!"
   "I would take a vodka --- "
   "Aaron, you're not making this easy. Say what you have to and --- "
   He suddenly leaned forward in his chair and smiled broadly. His teeth were surprisingly white.
"I want you to go to California with me." Saliva formed at the cor-ners of his mouth. He wiped it off with the back of his hand.
   Jodi stared incredulously. "You have got to be kidding!" She knew he wasn't.
   "Fuck no I ain't kidding!" His eyes continued to move stacatically around the room. "I got this great job offer in Santa Clara and --- "
   "Aaron, if this is the reason you came over, you're wasting your time." Jodi started for the door. "Forget it! I should never have let you in."
   Aaron stood unsteadily. He walked up to her. She thought his eyes looked stranger than usual. They were glassy and unfocused.
   "But you did let me in --- didn't you?" Jodi turned away. He reeked of liquor. "Just like you got into my car." His nose was against her cheek. "And just like you let me drive you home."
She could feel him scoffing her. "That tells me you still care."
   She tightened the belt on her robe. Aaron grabbed her face and turned it towards him. "You look me in the eye and say you don't care."
   "Aaron --- please!" She pushed him back. "You promised you wouldn't stay --- "
He smacked her across the face. "Aw --- now see what you made me do?"
   Her cheeks looked like two small lakes. Aaron began to gently stroke her face with the back of his hand. Then he kissed her on the lips. Then he kissed her on the eyes."
   "Aaron --- please --- don't --- "
   He slowly and carelessly slipped off her robe. Then he undid her bra. She wasn't sure if it was out of fear or out of affection --- or both, but Jodi found herself unable to resist. Aaron began to fondle her breasts then rub between her legs. He was quickly inside her. .
   When it was over, Jodi wondered if maybe she had just made one of the worst mistakes of her life!

*

 
     XII

   Ever since Janet's Saturday night bridge party fiasco, Barrett found it difficult to enter his house and even more difficult to re-main in it --- a house he had paid for. A house he had loved. Now he felt he didn't belong there. The house belonged to Janet. It was Janet's bedroom; he only slept there. It was Janet's bathrooms; he used them only to shower and use the toilet. It was Janet's kitchen; he rarely used it because he ate virtually every meal out. It was Janet's living room; he never set foot in it. The only exception was the family room --- his family room. He only wished there was enough room in it for a bed and a bathroom. Then he could avoid Janet completely!
   His new routines were becoming etched in stone. When he shaved or brushed his teeth, he did so at the office. When he dressed, he did so in the family room. If he had to use the kitchen or the bathroom, he always made sure he left it as sterile as he had found it. He could never weather another bout with his wife's hys-teria.
   Every inch of the house now served as a grim reminder of the dysfunctional relationship between the two people that lived under the same roof and shared the same bedroom.
   Ridiculous! Incredible!
   Just as he sat down in his favorite chair, he heard the door open and close. Janet was home.
   An early card game. Shit!
   He could hear the rustling as she took off her coat and hung it in the hall closet. Then he heard her go up the steps. He waited, straining his ears to the fullest, and heard the bedroom door close. She'd be asleep in twenty minutes. Barrett would wait forty min-utes to be sure. Then he too would go upstairs to bed.


   It was 8:30 on the last Monday in April and Barrett was seated in his private office writing up the last order. Marie had left at 6:30. He got the telephone book and thumbed through the yellow pages. After finding the number he was looking for, he dialed it.
   "Methodist Church Library. Jodi Bartless speaking. How can --- "
   "Hello, Jodi. Barrett Jessop here."
   "Oh --- hi Barrett."
   Barrett got right to the point. "How late are you open?"
   "We close in --- half an hour."
   "I'll be there in ten minutes." Before Jodi could respond, he hung up.
   Twelve minutes later Barrett Jessop walked into the library. Jodi was standing behind the main desk. She looked up. "Oh, hello. I didn't hear you come in." She threw some scrap paper into a trash container. "You sounded so mysterious on the phone."
   "Well," said Barrett as he walked up to the desk. "I'm not much for telephone conversation."

   "Obviously." Jodi said, pushing the trash container under the counter.
   Barrett smiled and said, "Well, at least this time we're not wearing the same clothes."
   "No. We're not." Jodi returned the smile. "So, Barrett. What can I help you with?"
   "Actually --- " He took a small piece of paper out of his pocket. " --- I'm looking for a book called --- " He looked at the paper. " --- Joys Of Yiddish by Leo Rosten."
   Jodi thought a moment. "I don't think we have that book." She opened a large drawer to her right. "But let me check the file."
   "A patient raved about it so much --- "
   Empty and unusually quiet, the room felt damp and smelled musty. "You just missed seeing your wife. She left about --- " Jodi glanced at the clock. " --- ten minutes ago."
   Thank God for little indulgences! "Oh --- that's too bad."
   After one or two minutes, Jodi closed the file drawer and looked at Barrett almost apologetically. "I'm sorry, we don't have it. I did-n't think we did."
   "Guess I'll have to get it at the main library."
   "Oh, I'm sure they would have it." She evened out two small stacks of books.
   "You know," Barrett added, "when I called I forgot you worked here full time."
   Jodi cocked her head and looked at him skeptically. "Really?" She pushed the two stacks to the side.
   "Really." Barrett cleared his throat. "Well --- thanks for your help anyway."
   "Oh --- " Jodi smiled broadly. "That's what I'm here for."
   Barrett started for the door, then suddenly turned back. "How about having coffee with me after you close up?"
   Jodi wasn't sure how to react. The telephone rang and she didn't have to. She answered it on the first ring. "Hello." She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. We close at nine." There was a short pause. "Tomorrow at nine." And she hung up.
   They stared at each other for a moment. Jodi said, "No, I don't think so, Barrett."
   "Why not?" He waited while she put the books away.
   "It's late and I'm tired and --- "
   "It's coffee. No big deal." He watched her lock the drawers at the desk. "It would be purely platonic."
   She looked up and stifled a laugh. "Yeah. Right!"
   "I promise." Barrett had his right arm raised. "Scout's honor."
   Jodi pointed to the clock. "The library closes in four minutes." Then she walked to the back of the room and began to turn out the lights.
   Barrett opened the front door. Then he turned around and said, "We can have coffee at Margo's. It's only a block away." Jodi walked back to her desk. Barrett wouldn't back down. "They're open until ten."
   Jodi stared at him for a second, then sighed. "Just coffee."
   "Just coffee."

*

   The only other table occupied at Margo's was at the far end, where an elderly couple that Barrett had never seen before sat across from each other talking and smiling. All the tables in the small coffee shop were round with white linen table cloths. A fake red rose stuck in a narrow blue vase was in the center of each table. A small bar faced the kitchen and a silent juke box was at the front. There were no booths.
   "This is a small town, Barrett. If your wife finds out that we're sit-ting here together she might get mad"
   Barrett leaned in towards her. "All we're doing is having coffee."
   "Look, Barrett, I'm not real comfortable, okay?"
   "There's no reason for you to be uncomfortable."
   "There's every reason!" Jodi said it louder than she meant to.
   They both were silent for several minutes. Then Barrett surprised even himself by saying. "I once told you that your eyes were beauti-ful. I think they're more than beautiful."
   She stared at him severely for a long moment. "Normally I would say thank you. But that comment sounds suspiciously like a pass."
   Before he could answer, a short skinny waitress with gray stringy hair, small round face and large brown spectacles finally brought over two glasses of water and two menus.
   "Are you serving any sandwiches?" Barrett asked.
   "Nope. Just drinks and pies." said the waitress around her wad of gum.
   "What kind of pies do you have?" Barrett asked.
   The waitress threw a quick glance toward the kitchen. "All we got left is coconut cream and strawberry rhubarb." She chomped her gum viciously.
   "I guess --- coconut cream." Then Barrett added, "And coffee --- black."
   "Just coffee please." said Jodi.
   The waitress wrote down the order, gathered the menus and left.
   Barrett leaned back towards Jodi and asked quietly, "I meant it as a compliment. But what if it were a pass? Would you be upset? Would you be mad?"
  She paused a second. "I --- I don't know quite how to answer that."
   "You just did!"
   "Barrett, this conversation is making me nervous!"
   "Good!"
    "Barrett, please!" She put her hand up. "You're a married man, remember?"
   How could I forget! He took a sip of water. "So now we've es-tablished that I'm married." He took another sip. "What else?"
   "Isn't that enough?" Again Jodi raised her voice.
   Barrett started to protest and Jodi put her hands up again. "Come on, Barrett. We're just having coffee, okay?"
   He nodded resignedly. "Right. Just coffee."
   The skinny waitress came over with two coffees and a dinner plate fully covered with a huge slice of runny-looking coconut cream pie. She glanced at the two of them and hastily left.
   "Boy, they sure don't skimp on portions do they?" asked Barrett. "Want a bite?"
   "No." Jodi took a sip of coffee. "Look, Barrett --- "
   "Jodi, I have to ask you a question." He looked at his food as it he had just seen it for the first time. "I can't believe I ordered this. I hate coconut cream pie!"
   "Apparently your mind wasn't on the menu." She eyed him harshly. "What did you want to ask me?"
   He pushed his pie to the side. "Are you more comfortable now?"
   She shook her head slowly. "Not really. Was that your question?"
  "Uh --- no." He cleared his throat again. "Who was the guy you drove off when we were at Albers?"
   Jodi sat back in her seat and turned away. For a short time there was silence. The elderly couple left, smiling at Barrett and Jodi as they passed their table. Barrett returned the smile.
   Then Jodi turned back to Barrett, her eyes suddenly smaller and sadder. He hoped she was not going to cry. "He's a friend. And let's just leave it at that."
   Barrett finished his coffee and pushed his cup to the other side. "How good of a --- friend?"
   "Barrett," Jodi took a deep breath. "are you done with your cof-fee?"
   He nodded and showed her the empty cup.
   The waitress suddenly materialized. "Anything else?" She put the check in front of Barrett as she looked uneasily at the uneaten pie.
   Jodi forced a smile then stood. "I have to go."
   Barrett, dropping a five dollar bill on the table, stood to face her. "I'll walk you to your car."
   They walked in silence. One of the street lights was out so it was darker than usual. Barrett hoped Jodi was glad he was here to pro-tect her. They stopped in front of an old brown Chevy Malibu.
   "This is my car." said Jodi.
   "See." Barrett said as he opened the door for her. "Having coffee together wasn't so bad now, was it?" Jodi didn't respond. He went on cautiously. "I assume there are a few problems. But anytime you want to talk, I've got a good ear and a strong shoulder."
   She smiled weakly, then got behind the wheel and drove off.
   Barrett came down the stairs quietly, as he did every morning, in a steadfast effort to avoid waking Janet. And as usual, he made his own breakfast. He held the phone against his ear with his shoulder as he stirred his scrambled eggs. The phone rang twice before she picked up.
   "Hello."
   "Hello, Jodi. Barrett Jessop here." There was silence for several seconds. Barrett continued. "I hope you didn't think me too forward last night."
   "No, Barrett. In fact, maybe I should apologize for being rude."
   "You weren't rude. You were maybe a little defensive."
   "Oh, I was a lot defensive."
   "I was trying to help you --- " Barrett turned off the eggs and scooped them onto his plate.
   "You were being nice, Barrett. I know that. But I don't think you can help."
   "Look, Jodi. We all have problems. Sometimes it helps to share them." He poured himself a glass of orange juice.
   "Except, I have to deal with these problems --- well, this one problem, alone." Barrett didn't respond. Jodi went on. "But I think it's very sweet of you to concern yourself with my problems. I know you're sincere. I --- I guess I'm not used to that."
   "I told you I have a good ear and a strong shoulder." He took a large swallow.
   Barrett heard her sigh. "I know. Listen, I have to finish this pro-ject."
   "Maybe we can have coffee again sometime." Barrett finished the juice.
   Barrett could hear paper rattling. Then Jodi answered quietly. "Maybe."

*

   Jodi Bartless was atop a ladder returning some books to their proper location. She heard someone say 'hello'. The sound made her jump and she had to grab the edge of the bookshelf to keep from falling. It came from below and the voice belonged to Barrett Jes-sop.
   "I'm sorry." he said. "I didn't mean to startle you.
    Jodi squinted her eyes to see who it was. "Barrett. Twice in one week?"
   "How about that?" Barrett grinned.
   Jodi smiled and nodded her head. "Yeah. How about that?" Then she put the last book away and climbed down.
   Barrett strolled up to the counter. "Do you have a copy of --- This Is My God by Wouk?"
   She thought a moment. "I think so." She locked the top drawer of the desk. Then she went to the far shelf. Barrett followed her closely with his eyes.
   "Here." She smiled again. "That's a very enlightening book." She stamped the inside back cover, took out a small card and handed the book to Barrett.
   Barrett took the book and leaned on the counter. "Thanks."
   "It's due back in four weeks." She looked at the clock. "We close in ten minutes." Then she put some books back on the shelf. "You missed your wife again. She left about --- "
   "I don't care about my wife." Barrett stared at Jodi. "If I did, I would be at home instead of here."
   Jodi returned his stare. "Barrett, I don't quite know what you ex-pect me to say to that."
   There was a long silence. "I'm not asking you to say anything."
   Jodi looked down. Then turning back to the eye doctor, she fi-nally said, "Look, Barrett. It's late and --- "
   Barrett held the book in both hands and leaned on the counter again. "Let's have coffee at Margo's --- like last time."
   Jodi shook her head. "I don't think so. Especially if Janet --- "
   Barrett stood up straight and put his hand up, stopping her in mid-sentence. "Just coffee."
   Jodi looked at the clock again then locked some cases at the side of the desk. "Barrett, I have to close up and --- "
   "I'm having coffee anyway. I could use the company."
   "Look, Barrett. I --- "
   "Just coffee. Nothing else." He waited, then added softly, "Please."
   Jodi took a deep breath and shook her head. "I must be crazy!" Then she smiled. "It'll take me about --- maybe another ten minutes or so."
   Barrett returned the smile and put the book under his arm. "I'll wait."

*

   Jodi and Barrett seated themselves at the same table at Margo's that they sat in the last time. A group of teenage boys were seated in the back. The skinny waitress was seated on a stool at the bar reading a paperback romance novel. Other than that, the coffee shop was empty. The vase with the fake rose had been pushed to the side.
   Besides sparse meaningless small talk about the food and weather, Jodi and Barrett sat in silence silently sipping their coffee.
  When Barrett had finished, he put his cup aside. "Tell me, Jodi. Where are you from --- originally, that is?"
   "A small town in Illinois called Oak Park."
   "That's near Chicago, isn't it?"
   "Don't tell me you've heard of it." Jodi took a sip of coffee.
   "Sure. Actually, I've always been good with geography." Barrett absently ran his finger around the rim of the cup. "Did you go to school there?"
   Jodi looked up. "I went to the University of Chicago. I got my Bachelors and my MBA. there."
   Barrett raised his eyebrows. "I'm impressed."
   "Big deal! So I'm a librarian." She wiped her mouth on her nap-kin.
   Barrett waved to the waitress, then pointed to their coffee cups. He turned back to Jodi. "Do you have any family? Parents --- brothers --- sisters?"
   Jodi hesitated a moment. "I'm an only child."
   Barrett smiled broadly. "Me too."
   "My father was killed in a hit and run auto accident three years ago.
   "I'm sorry. Were you close to him?"
   She sat back and sighed. "Very."
   The waitress came up and filled both their cups. The teenagers got louder, all talking at once.
   "You would have liked my father."
   "I'm sure I would have."
   The waitress walked away from the table and went back to her novel.
   There was a long silence before Jodi continued. "I never knew my mother." Barrett could see it was difficult for her to go on. He started to interrupt, but Jodi continued. "She died giving birth to me."
  The students glanced at Jodi and Barrett as they passed their table on their way out. Jodi watched them go out the door then she turned back to Barrett. "Those students saw us together. It's a small town and --- "
   "So what? We're just having coffee." They both took a long sip of their coffee.
   "I know, Barrett. But --- " She had raised her voice and the wait-ress glanced over.

   "You were telling me about your mother." Barrett interrupted.
    "Barrett, I'm not sure I want to continue this conversation." Jodi finished her coffee.
   "You probably felt responsible for her death." Barrett took a small sip and pushed his cup aside.
   Jodi sat up straight. "What are you --- a psychologist as well as an optometrist?"
   Barrett smiled and shrugged. "I've talked to a lot of patients about a lot of things over the years." He leaned in closer. "Some-times you have to be their therapist as well as their eye doctor."
   She took her napkin and absently wiped the table in front of her. Then she looked at Barrett, her eyes again small and sad. "Of course I felt responsible."
   "But it wasn't your fault." Barrett continued to play therapist.
   "You try telling that to a vulnerable and overprotected teenager." She took a deep breath. I didn't find out about it until I was a junior in high school. An aunt told me."
   "Your father probably didn't want you to --- well --- to feel guilty."
   "I know. And I never held it against him for that very reason." Barrett nodded sympathetically. Jodi folded her arms and leaned in toward Barrett. "I can't believe I'm telling you all this."
   "I told you." Barrett smiled. "I have a good ear and a strong shoulder."
   "I know, but even so --- " They looked at each other for several seconds. "I must admit you're very easy to talk to." Jodi smiled. The stiffness seemed to have disappeared.
   "Look, Jodi. I know this must be hell to talk about, so if you --- ".
   "It's okay." She hesitated, then continued evenly. "I was despon-dent for a long time. I remember the term. The doctors said I was --- " She put her dirty napkin in her empty cup. Then she looked at Barrett again. " --- suicidal."
   Barrett continued to nod sympathetically. Jodi went on quietly. "So to prove they were right, I --- I drank an entire bottle of Ny-quil!"
   Barrett sat up. "Oh my God!"
   "Wasn't that stupid?" Barrett had no response. After a long pause, she continued. "It took two years with a psychologist to put my life in the right perspective."
   "A good therapist can do that." Barrett finished his coffee. "They know how to say 'that's right' and 'okay' at the right times." He dabbed his lips with his napkin and then he too put it inside of his empty cup. "I'm glad things turned around for you."
   Jodi smiled. "So am I." Then she suddenly asked, "How long have you and Janet been married?"
   Barrett thought a moment. "Almost ten years. It was a major mis-calculation!"
   "Barrett --- "
   "My practice is all I have. And even though I'm burnt out, at least with that, I feel some measure of success."
   "Barrett, that's a depressing scenario."
   "Tell me about it!"
   The waitress came over with her book in one hand and the check in the other. She put the check in front of Barrett and went back to the kitchen.
   "Jodi, maybe we --- "
   The lights suddenly dimmed and the busboy began putting the chairs on top of the tables.
   "We're closing up, folks. It's after ten." called the waitress. Then she yawned, almost choking on her gum.
   Barrett and Jodi got up from the table. As they turned to leave, Barrett put his hand on the small of her back. He said, "I think they want us to leave."
   Barrett paid the bill and they left. When they got to Jodi's car, Barrett opened the driver's door. Jodi stopped a moment before she got in. Then she turned to Barrett. "Thanks for listening. I haven't talked about that in quite a while."
   "I'm glad you could talk to me about it." He got closer. "I enjoyed having coffee with you." He kissed her gently on the lips. They were warm and moist. He made a move to kiss her again. This time she pushed him back.
   "No, Barrett." She got into the car. It started up at once. "Thanks again. Goodbye."
   Barrett, frustrated, could only watch as she drove off.

*
 
   Jodi Bartless was going through a tall stack of overdue books that had recently been returned. She shook her head disgustedly, wondering why people found it so difficult to return a library book on time.
   "Hello, Jodi." The familiar voice jarred her train of thought. She turned to see Janet Jessop walk up to the counter. Janet was wear-ing an expensive looking straight black dress with black mesh hose that accentuated her slim figure. Her hair was pulled back and Jodi thought her makeup looked perfect.
   "Hi, Janet." The two smiled at each other.
   "Jodi, this is Sara Sharkey." Janet indicated the woman next to her. Sara wore very little makeup and Jodi would describe her fea-tures as plain but pleasant. Her short flat black hair was neat but streaked with gray. She had on a red pantsuit that was too tight for her. Sara and Jodi exchanged polite hellos and a cordial handshake.
   "I stopped to see if you still wanted me to come in from two to six."
   "Oh yes. Please." Jodi pleaded. "Carl called in sick and it's just me and Maria until two o'clock."
   "If you like, I can come in earlier." Janet added quickly.
   Jodi shook her head. "Nah. I can manage. It's not that busy --- " She gestured broadly. " --- as you can see."
   Janet then asked, "Listen, why don't you join us for a quick lunch? Annie can cover for you."
   Jodi was taken by surprise. "Oh --- thanks. But I packed my lunch today." Lunch with Janet. Coffee with Barrett. Janet looked dis-appointed. Jodi wondered if she was. But thanks for asking me."
   "We'll do it another time." Janet said as she and Sara went to the door. Then she added hastily, "See you at two." Sara waved and they left.
   Jodi absently picked up a stray book as she stared after them. She was starting to have some good feelings about Barrett. He was sen-sitive. He was kind . He was caring. But unfortunately, he was married. And Jodi just happened to like his wife.
   So even if Janet wasn't aware of the images that flashed in her head regarding her husband, Jodi still felt guilty. She felt like a sneak --- almost a homewrecker!
  Forget it. They're only thoughts. You've done nothing wrong. You're overreacting!
  Jodi knew she had to gather her thoughts and put them in the right perspective. She had to deal with one dilemma at a time. Barrett Jessop wasn't her immediate problem. Aaron Claypool was!
   Jodi thought she could handle Barrett. She wasn't as confident about Aaron!
 

XIII
   "You know, we have to stop meeting like this." Barrett said jok-ingly as he pushed his shopping cart next to Jodi's. Jodi gave Bar-rett a reprimanding look. He continued, undaunted. "Well you must admit, we do seem to do our shopping on the same day."
   Canned cat food lined the shelves on one side of the aisle and canned dog food lined the shelves on the other side of the aisle.
   "So," Jodi asked as she walked up to Barrett. "you're saying this is a coincidence?" Then she cocked her head. "Well --- ?"
   "Uh --- " Barrett cleared his throat then he nodded. " --- yes. I would consider this to be a coincidence."
   "Like the first time you came to the library?"
   "Oh --- " Barrett absently picked up a can of Cycle Four. He looked at it briefly, wondering why someone who hates animals would bother studying a can of dog food. Then he put it back.
   "Look, Barrett." Jodi came closer and spoke quietly. "I'm not stupid and I'm not naive. You call me with the pretext of an apol-ogy." Barrett started to respond. Jodi went on lightly. "You come to the library ten minutes before closing." She cocked her head again. "And you just happen to be in the mood for coffee." Barrett laughed to himself. "We meet in Alber's --- just by chance.
We --- "
   "Meeting in Alber's was by chance." This time Barrett glanced at the cat food.
   "Barrett, I know what you're trying to do." She put her hand on his arm. "It simply won't work."
   "Look, Jodi --- "
   "I don't have time for this. Right now I'm --- somewhat involved." Barrett started to speak but Jodi went on. "And you're a married man. Let's face it."
   "I know, but --- "
   "Barrett, let's change the subject."
   "Jodi, if you would only --- "
   "How do you like the Wouk book?" Jodi moved a can of soup to another part of her cart.
   Barrett took a deep breath. He knew his modus operandi had been thwarted. "The --- Wouk book?"
   "Yes. This Is My God."
   "Oh --- that Wouk book. Uh --- most enlightening."
   "It's supposed to be a keen insight into Judaism."
   Barrett laughed again, only louder this time. "Someday I'll have to tell you about my religious background." He then picked up two large tomatoes from his cart and turned them over in his hand. He looked at Jodi slyly. She was shaking her head. "Okay. You find me better ones."
   They both smiled at a woman wearing a large red hat and pushing a cart with an infant inside.
   Jodi paused a moment then took Barrett's tomatoes to the vege-table section. In less than one minute she brought back two toma-toes that were larger, redder, and more solid. "Now that's how a tomato is supposed to look and feel." Then she laid them gently into his cart.
   "How do you know so much about vegetables?"
   She shrugged. "You know geography. I know vegetables."
   He thought a moment. "I suppose that makes sense. Eventually I'll see the analogy."
   "Well, Barrett," she turned her cart around. "I have some things to do at home so I'd better get a move on."
   He called after her as she pushed her cart away. "Jodi --- " Just then an elderly lady bumped her cart into his. "Oh, excuse me," she said.
   Barrett was ready to yell at her. But when he saw the wrinkled face, the white hair, and the stooped shoulders he changed his mind. Instead, he said meekly, "That's okay." When he turned back, Jodi had disappeared.
   Barrett finished his grocery shopping quickly and checked out with one bag. When he got outside he saw Jodi standing next to a sign that said NO STOPPING. Barrett thought she looked per-turbed. Her brow was furrowed and her mouth was turned down.
   She turned to him abruptly. "Oh. hi, Barrett."
   He walked up to her. "Your bag looks heavy. I have another arm."
   "It's not heavy." she said and looked at her watch.
   "I gather the person picking you up is late."
   "Aaron is always late." She put her groceries in the other arm.
   "Where's your Malibu?"
   "In the shop."
   "Oh."
   "Nothing major. Just an oil change and a tune-up."
   They both stood silently for several minutes as it got colder and darker. Shoppers with and without carts were going past them in all directions.
   Glaring headlights bounced off them as the many cars drove by, then stopped to pick up the shoppers.
   "Is this --- Aaron the same guy you were with the last time we came here?"
   She turned toward the entrance ramp. "Yes, Barrett." Then she looked at her watch again.
   "The guy in the Ford Galaxy?" Now Barrett put his bag in the other arm.
   Jodi turned toward him and sighed. "Yes, Barrett. That's the one." Now her gaze began to systematically alternate between her watch and the entrance ramp. "You don't have to stay here. He'll be along pretty soon --- I hope."
   Barrett shrugged. "I got nothing else to do."
   "My car is --- " He pointed with his head. " --- right over there. The blue Olds."
   Jodi didn't respond. She continued to stare at the ramp.
   "It would serve him right if you left. I think it stinks making you wait like this." Again there was no response. His bag seemed to be gaining weight. He knew Jodi's must weigh a ton. "You sure you don't want me to hold that for you?" She shook her head as Barrett looked at his watch. They continued to wait silently. "Jodi. We've been standing here for forty-five minutes. It's getting cold as hell!"
   "Well --- " She bit her lower lip. " --- it really did cool off."
   "It's past 9:30. I can't believe you don't feel like an icicle." Who is this prick?
   She gave him her small sad look. "Maybe I will take that ride."
   Now it began to drizzle. They walked the short distance to Bar-rett's Olds and Jodi looked over her shoulder the entire time. Bar-rett put his groceries in the back seat and took Jodi's.
   She took one final look at the NO STOPPING area before she slid into the front seat. Then he put her groceries on her lap, got in the driver's side and drove off.
   Jodi gave him directions to her apartment and they drove in si-lence. Then Barrett asked, "Has he stood you up before?"
   "It doesn't happen often."
   "It shouldn't happen at all! Why do you hold still for it?"
   Jodi didn't answer. They drove in silence again listening to the rhythmic banging of the windshield wipers. Then she asked unex-pectedly, "Is that Old Spice?"
   "As a matter of fact it is. You have a good nose."
   Jodi smiled. "My father used it. I love the smell." The rain slowed and the heater kicked in. "All these years later and I still remember the fragrance."
   Barrett laughed. "I guess I'll have to throw out my Brut."
   "Turn left at the next light." Jodi said as she shifted the grocery bag on her lap. Then she pointed her finger. "That's it over there."
   Barrett pulled up in front of a large brick building with oversized aluminum windows. Scattered concrete walks jutted out in all directions leading to various apartments. "What a maze" Barrett said as he got out of the Oldsmobile.
   "I know. If you don't live here it can be quite confusing."
   Barrett opened Jodi's door and took her grocery bag. "I'll walk you to your apartment."
   "Oh, Barrett. That isn't necessary. It's only the second door on the right."
   "I don't mind." Barrett said stubbornly.
  All the doors to all the apartments looked alike in the artificial lighting. After a brief zigzag stroll, they stopped in front of a large oak door. He was certain daylight would offer no further help. Jodi took a key from the purse that hung over her shoulder. She opened the door and started to take the grocery bag from Barrett. They looked at each other for several seconds.
   "Aren't you going to invite me in?" Barrett held the bag tighter.
   Jodi paused and looked around. The grounds were empty. "I'm not sure that's such a hot idea."
   "I think it's a great idea." Barrett produced a giant grin.
   "Well, I don't. You --- "
   He put his forefinger to her lips as he continued to look her in the eye. "Don't say 'you're married'."
   "But you are!"
   The grin faded. "That is going to change soon."
   "I don't want to hear it." She stopped in the doorway. "I honestly think it would be better if
you --- "
   "Can I just come in for a glass of water?" The grin returned.
   "You're stalling, Barrett."
   ""I'm thirsty." They continued to stare at each other.
   "No." Jodi tried to close the door. Barrett's foot was in the way.
   She took a deep breath. "Barrett, what am I going to do with you?" She opened the door all the way. Barrett moved his foot. "You have your drink of water and then you go. Understood?"
   Barrett entered quickly. Jodi turned on the light then closed the door. The entry way was small with black and white tiled floors and off white wallpaper. "Not exactly like your entry way, is it?" she asked.
   Barrett followed her into the kitchen and put the bag of groceries on the counter. The kitchen was all in white, fully equipped and larger then most apartments he'd been in. There was a separate eat-ing area with a dinette and four small chrome chairs. The counters were all Formica and there was plenty of cupboard space.
   Jodi took a glass from a top cupboard and filled it with water from the tap.
   "So who is this --- Aaron?" Barrett asked.
   Jodi took some ice cubes from the freezer and put them in the glass. "I told you. He's a friend." She handed the glass to Barrett.
   "Some friend." Barrett took a sip as Jodi began to empty the gro-cery bag. "What kind of a friend would --- ?"

   "Barrett!" She took the glass from him and laid it in the sink. "I don't want to discuss it. It's hard enough to --- "
   "I think discussing it might help."
   "Well, I don't!" She threw the empty paper bag into a container under the sink. "Okay. You've had your drink. Now you can --- "
   The phone rang. Jodi picked up the receiver on the second ring. "Hello."
   Barrett watched Jodi's expression change. He would describe it as some combination of fear and fury. Her face alternated between an off white and a beet red.
   "I'm sorry, Aaron, but --- " She nodded her head several times. "But your whole life is one long streak of bad luck." There was a short silence. "Aaron, I'm not putting you down. It's the truth and you know it!" Then she raised her voice. "And just where the hell were you tonight?"
   Barrett looked around the kitchen trying to be nonchalant, but dy-ing to hear the other end of the conversation.
   "Car trouble! Did you ever think about calling and leaving a mes-sage at Alber's? It's called being considerate!" There was another long pause. Barrett continued to look around the kitchen as if he were about to remodel. "Aaron, this conversation is going nowhere. I don't know what possessed me to agree to see you again." There was another pause then Jodi raised her voice again. "Don't
you talk to me that way!" Then she was silent for a while, nodding several times. "It just isn't working. I feel like --- like I'm stuck in neutral." Barrett took a couple of steps closer to Jodi. " I told you not to talk to me like that!" She shook her head. "No! This time I mean it. This time it's over!" And she slammed down the receiver.
   Barrett hesitated a moment then walked up to her. Her back was to him and her gaze was downward. "Is there anything I can do?" He put his hand on her shoulder. He could feel her rigid body trem-ble, even through the lightweight sweater.
   At first she was unresponsive. Then she shook her head and turned to him. "It's so strange. I have all these mixed feelings." Bar-rett stifled an urge to hold her. "I feel bad about breaking it off, but I feel good about making the decision." She cocked her head. "does that make any sense?"
   Barrett rubbed his chin "Well, the psychiatrist in me says --- yes." Then he thought a moment.
   "Maybe what you're really saying is that you need to end the rela-tionship, but you feel bad you can't make it work. To me, that makes a lot of sense." Barrett suddenly felt important in Jodi's life.
   "You seem to know so much about people and --- well --- things in general."
   Barrett shrugged, thinking of his own screwed up life.
   Jodi walked into the family room and sat down in the overstuffed chair. Barrett followed her and sat on the edge of the sofa across from her. Besides the two matching lamps, the chair and sofa were the only pieces of furniture in the room. Shelves covered the walls with assorted collectibles occupying every inch of available space. The walls were a dull tan and the carpet was an ugly brown. Barrett wondered how Jodi could stand to look at it.
   "Barrett, you can go. I'm all right --- really." Barrett started to get up and changed his mind. Jodi, deep in thought, went on. "Knowing Aaron as I do, I'm sure he'll call me again." She took a
deep breath. "And as usual, I'll take him back." Then she raised her shoulders and threw her hands out. "So maybe this just one large moot point."
   Barrett pointed his finger at her. "Not if you're strong enough to stand by your convictions." He thought of Janet again.
   "It's really funny." she said thoughtfully. "I was so certain I wanted to end it, and now --- "
   "You're not sure." Barrett finished her sentence.
   She shook her head. "I'm not sure of anything these days. I'm confused."
   "Well," Barrett cleared his throat. "I'm not a therapist, but what little I know --- maybe breaking it off is best." Then he added quickly, "At least for the time being. Until you know what you want." We do have a lot in common!
   "Maybe." There was another long silence.
   "How long have you known him?" Barrett asked.
   Jodi again seemed lost in thought. Her gaze was focused onto a spot at her feet. "We met in Oak Park about a year or so ago." She looked up. "At a bowling alley, no less." Then she laughed nerv-ously. "I remember it was the first game I ever bowled. A whopping sixty-two!" She laughed nervously again. "It was also the last game I ever bowled."
   Barrett wanted to touch her, but didn't. "So he followed you here, right?" Jodi nodded disconcertedly. "What does he do --- for a liv-ing I mean?"
   She hesitated a moment. "He's had a dozen jobs over the past year: gas stations, restaurants, Laundromats." Again she hesitated. "He's a drunk and a bum." Then she looked Barrett in the eye. "But in his own peculiar way, he really cares about me."
   Barrett folded his arms and sat back. "He sure as hell has a weird way of showing it!"
   "And I suppose, in my own peculiar way, I really care about him."
   Barrett stared at her, realizing how that was possible. "Even though he is what he is and he treats you as he does."
   "Am I that stupid?"
   "Not stupid, Jodi." He leaned in toward her. "I remember you telling me how close you were to your father. Maybe you found someone to replace him."
   "Oh --- I don't know. I never thought about it like that." She folded her hands on her lap and looked down again. "I always saw our stormy relationship as --- well --- as being better than no rela-tionship at all." Then she looked at Barrett. "But maybe you're right." She smiled, adding. "You should open a private practice somewhere as a psychologist."
   "Right." Barrett laughed. "In my spare time." My personal life would make me an expert!
   "I can't believe I'm telling you all this." Jodi absently smoothed out the pillows next to her. "I never dumped on anyone in my life."
   "I'm easy to talk to --- remember?"
   She smiled and nodded.
   Barrett cleared his throat, then said philosophically, "If we're wise enough and patient enough everything always works out." Then he looked up as if reading from the ceiling. "Wisdom is an attribute. Patience is a virtue."
   Jodi stared at him for several seconds. "That is truly profound, Barrett." Then she leaned in a little. "How do you know all this? How come you're so smart?"
   Barrett laughed again. "I'm not that smart. If I was so smart I would have a better marriage." Jodi started to respond but Barrett wouldn't let her. "Anyway, I cannot tell a lie." He raised his right hand. "I read that little gem on a bumper sticker."
   Jodi burst out laughing. "Oh, Barrett --- honestly." She paused and their eyes met. "That's the first time I laughed like that in a long time."
   "And I bet it felt good, didn't it?"
   Jodi waited then answered shyly. "Yes. It did."
   Barrett leaned in and put his hand on top of hers. "See what my company does for you?"
   She slowly withdrew her hand. Barrett stood to face her. He put his hands on her arms and pulled her to him until their noses touched. "You must have some feelings for me."
   Jodi waited a long time before she answered. "I do, Barrett. It would be easier if I didn't." Then he kissed her. She hugged him tightly for a few seconds then pushed him away. "What are we do-ing?" she said softly.
   Barrett pulled her to him again. "If you don't know, one of us is doing it wrong."
   "Don't. Please." She pushed him away again. "I'm getting all mixed up inside."
   Jodi broke away and went to the front door. Barrett followed her. "Barrett, this is a bad time for me." She put her hand on the knob.
   "I can help." He smiled.
   She nodded and returned the smile. "I know." She took a deep breath. "This thing with Aaron isn't over yet." She opened the door. "I --- I have to work it out in my own way."
   "Aaron said some terrible things to you over the phone, didn't he? "Look, Jodi --- "
   She put her hand up. "I know Aaron is --- " Jodi made small cir-cles around her ear. " --- a little bit crazy sometimes."
   "So he could really hurt you." Barrett was concerned.
   Jodi shook her head. "He won't. Sometimes his temper gets the better of him and sometimes he makes idle threats --- " She again put her hand up to silence Barrett. " --- but he would never hurt me."
   Barrett was unconvinced. "I sure hope you're right."
   Jodi smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "Barrett, why couldn't we have met at a different time in a different life."
   "It's not too late." Barrett said optimistically.
   Jodi sighed. "It's way past my bedtime and I'm beat." She kissed him on the cheek again. "You were a big help tonight, Barrett."
   "I didn't do much." He spoke modestly.
   "Yes you did." She opened the door. "Goodbye."
    Barrett pushed the door open before Jodi could close it. "Jodi, what would our chances be if I weren't married?" His mouth was dry and his pulse was racing.
   "But you are married. We've been through this before."
   "We've established that. But what if I weren't?" Barrett felt him-self groping.
   Jodi paused. "I see your wife all the time." She paused again. "The last thing I would want on my conscience is that I caused your marriage to break up."
   "Believe me. You have nothing to worry about. If that's what's stopping you --- "
   "Barrett, how can I commit to another relationship when --- ?"
   "Jodi, you still haven't answered my question. I have to know."
   She shook her head. "It's too hypothetical."
   "Give it a try." Keep up the all court press!
   "Barrett," She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "it's get-ting late and --- "
   "You said you had feelings for me, remember?"
   She turned away for several seconds. Then she turned back to Barrett slowly and took another deep breath. "Oh, Barrett." She an-swered resignedly. "I suppose if you weren't married --- it would make a difference. I would more receptive." Barrett nodded. Jodi stiffed a yawn. "Look, I have to get to bed. I have a long day to-morrow. I'm just too tired to think anymore tonight."
   She gently ushered him out of her apartment. He heard the click of the deadbolt as soon as the door closed. He stood in front of Jodi's apartment for several minutes staring at the closed door. Then he nodded his head slowly. Barrett Jessop knew exactly what he had to do.
 
    XIV

   Barrett Jessop looked up at the clock over the arched doorway in his office. It was 7:30 pm and it was time to leave. He paused out-side his office to briefly take in his surroundings.
   The weather report for Wednesday, May 10 had called for clear blue skies and a slight southerly breeze with temperatures in the mid to upper sixties.
   But the sky was gray and ominous and the wind was unusually still. A sudden chill forced Barrett to put up his coat collar.
   Tonight was going to be long and difficult.

*

   Barrett drove his Oldsmobile to Dave Pagel's Auto And Lube, lo-cated at the corner of Rush and Walnut, three blocks from his of-fice. He had to wait for a large MEYERS moving van to turn off Rush Street before he could pull into the service center.
   Dave Pagel was a robust looking fifty-nine year old ex-marine. He was dark complected with deep set eyes and sported a crew cut. He'd once told Barrett that he thought it would be clever to use a sign reading Pagel's Auto And Lube and spell out PAL, indicating that he was a pal to everyone that used his services. It was corny but effective.
   Normally Barrett would pump his own gas, but he was tired from an unusually long and hectic day --- and the day was far from over. So he pulled up to the Sunoco pump that read FULL SERVICE.
   "Howdy, Doc." Dave always had a smile pasted on his face. "Gonna let me do it tonight, huh?"
   "Yeah, Dave. And check the oil." Barrett turned off the engine.
   "Sure thing." Dave put the hose into the tank and lifted the hood.
   While Pagel was doing his thing, Barrett took a moment to look around him. The street was deserted except for two young couples he had never seen before, all riding bicycles. They laughed and talked as they rode. Barrett couldn't hear what they were saying. He wondered if their lives were in as much of a turmoil as his was. He very much doubted it.
   "That'll be twenty dollars and eighty cents." Dave's slightly high-pitched voice jarred Barrett's brief reverie.
   Barrett handed Dave his VISA. "How did I manage without plas-tic money all these years?"
   "I don't know, Doc." Dave's smile remained intact. "I could never run a business without it." He walked to a small island and ran Bar-rett's card through his machine. Then after a couple of minutes he returned. Barrett signed the slip and left.
   He pulled out of the station at 8:15. He had plenty of time.
   Driving on Rush Street, Barrett decided to stop at an out of the way diner called Juanita's. It was small, rustic, and a little run down, reminding him of the one seen on Mayberry RFD.
   He parked his car on the gravel lot and went inside. He sat on a stool by the bar. Barrett was the only patron. The menu said the food was fresh and home cooked. After ten minutes, a tall thin,
unattractive woman with a gray hair net and a soiled apron took his order for a cheeseburger and a large coke. Barrett wasn't very hun-gry, but he knew that if he didn't grab a bite now it might be a long time before he would have another opportunity.
   Barrett, always a slow eater, ate a little faster tonight. When he finished, he looked at his watch.
   It was 9:30. Right on schedule.
   He then drove slowly to the outskirts of town and to his next des-tination.
   When he finally got there he knocked softly at the door. There was no response so he knocked again --- louder.
   Jodi Bartless was dozing on the sofa and did not hear the first set of knocks. The second set jolted her out of her lethargy. She felt as if she had been sleeping with her eyes open. Jodi could see the knocking was not going to cease and the person responsible was not going to be dissuaded.
"Who is it?" called Jodi sleepily.
   "It's me. Barrett."
   There was a long pause. "I'm very tired, Barrett. Is this impor-tant?"
   "Yes." he said through the closed door.
   "And it can't wait?"
   "No."
   She hesitated then opened the door. Barrett came in quickly and stopped suddenly. He stared at Jodi's red eyes and puffy cheeks. "My God! What's wrong?"
   She waited a moment before answering. "Barrett, I don't want you getting involved with --- "
   "I'm already involved." He came closer. "Now tell me what hap-pened!"
   She took a deep breath. "I got off the phone a while ago with Aaron. We --- we had a terrible fight." Barrett shook his head sym-pathetically. Jodi continued. "I knew it wasn't over with him."
   "Goddamn it! I don't even know the son-of-a-bitch and I hate his guts!"
   They were silent for several minutes. Then Jodi folded her arms and said evenly, "Now tell me what's so important that it had to be tonight."
   "This won't take long." He walked up to her. "Now don't ask me any questions, okay? You have to trust me." Before she could an-swer, he began to methodically walk around the room, touching various objects as if he were looking for something.
   Jodi waited only a second. "Barrett, what are you doing?" He didn't answer. His movements were precise and intense. He picked up two glasses and studied them as he turned them over in his hand. Then he put his hands palm down on the glass coffee table. Jodi walked up to him, exasperated. "Barrett! I said I was tired. What in the world are you doing?"
   He glanced at her then he slipped off his Pulsar wristwatch. He read aloud the inscription on the back. "To Barrett Jessop June 3 1960 first place." He turned to Jodi. "My only award. I had the most points at a bridge tournament in Cincinnati." He turned the watch over and read the date and time. "Wednesday, May tenth ten nineteen pm." Then he laid the watch on the floor between the chair and the door and stomped on it with his right foot.
   "Barrett!"
   "Perfect!" He said and made the 'okay' sign with his thumb and forefinger.
   Jodi walked quickly up to Barrett, fuming. "Barrett, what the hell has gotten into you?"
   He squeezed her arm "I realize how absurd all this appears." Be-fore Jodi had a chance to protest he continued. "But there is a method to my madness." Again Jodi started to protest. Barrett put his hand up. "Please don't move anything until I call you later."
   Jodi just shook her head in disbelief. "Barrett, I think you've flipped out!"
   "I told you. I'll call you later and explain everything --- okay? You must trust me!"
   She continued to shake her head. "I don't like any of this, Barrett! I don't --- "
   "Please, Jodi. Promise me you'll do as I ask." He squeezed her arms. "It's very important!"
   "Barrett, you're shaking."
   "Promise me! Please." He continued to squeeze her arms.
   She looked away briefly, then she looked back at the agitated eye doctor. She took another deep breath and nodded resignedly. "Okay, Barrett." Then she shook her forefinger at him. "But you better have a damn good reason!"
   He nodded slowly. "Don't worry. I do." He looked around the room carefully then looked Jodi in the eye. "Now remember. Don't move anything." He opened the door quickly. "I'll call you later." And he was gone.
   When he was outside, he took a quick and final glance at the apartment then headed for his car.
   "Hello, Dr. Jessop."
   The scratchy voice startled him. "Hello, Mrs. Purdy." Barrett walked up to the elderly cleaning lady. "You're working late to-night."
   "Well. these apartments --- the empty ones that is --- couldn't clean 'em if they was occupied now, could I? These apartments got to be cleaned for tomorrow. And this is the only time I can do it."
   Magenta Purdy, in her mid-seventies, was considered by all who knew her as being forgetful, but honest and always dependable. "I know it's late," she said, "but after awhile you get used to it." She took a pail, some cloths, and a box from her Ford pick-up truck that was parked next to the walk.
   "Mrs. Purdy," Barrett seized the moment. "can you tell me which apartment Jodi Bartless lives in? I have to deliver a pair of glasses." He took a mop out of the truck and laid it next to the box.
   "Why yes. It's that one over there." She put the pail and the cloths in the box. "I didn't know you made house calls."
   "As a rule I don't." Barrett laughed nervously. "But there are al-ways those exceptions, you know."
   "Yes. I know the feeling." She picked up the box and the mop and disappeared into the darkness.
   Barrett made certain Magenta was out of sight before he went to his car. "Well." he said to himself. "What an extraordinary piece of good luck."
   He got into his car, turned on the ignition and looked at the clock on the dash.
   It was 10:27. Still on schedule.

   Barrett took one final look around him, then drove off into the moonless night headed for his final destination.

*

   Ten minutes after Barrett left, there was another knock on Jodi's door. She put down her toothbrush and walked to the door shaking her head disgustedly. "Now what, Barrett? I swear I --- " She opened the door part way and Aaron Claypool kicked it open the rest of the way.
   His hair was a mess and his soiled white shirt was half out of his pants. He walked towards her. The familiar smell of alcohol added to her fatigue brought a strong but brief wave of nausea. "Did you really think you could get rid of me that easily?" He backed her into the apartment then slammed the door shut.
   "Aaron, you've been drinking. Please don't --- "
   "And after all we been to each other." Aaron said as he walked past her to the bedroom.
   She followed him. "Aaron, listen to me. Please!"
   He yanked out the top drawer to her nightstand. The wood split and the contents flew everywhere. He quickly took out the .22 cali-ber Baretta pistol and put the barrel against her chin. Jodi screamed. "Didn't know I knew your hiding place, did you?" Now she was backed up against the
wall. He smiled menacingly. His eyes resembled two plums and his teeth weren't as white as they used to be.
   "Aaron --- please --- " She closed her robe as tight as she could.
   "I saw your doctor friend leave." Jodi absently glanced through the open doorway at the broken watch Barrett had left. She was sure Aaron hadn't seen it. "Did you two have a --- quickie?"
  Jodi couldn't move. She felt like a giant ice cube. None of her body parts seemed to function. When she spoke her words were as slurred as Aaron's. "You --- you have to listen to me."
   His smile turned to a snarl. "I don't have to do shit, baby!" He pressed the barrel harder.
   "You --- you have it all wrong, Aaron." she stammered. " Barrett is nothing to me. He's --- "
   "Is that the prick's name --- Barrett?"
   "Please put the gun away." She was shaking all over. "You're making a big mistake."
   "Am I?" He put the gun up to her ear. "You must think I'm a fucking moron!" As he spoke discolored saliva ran down his chin.
   Jodi shook her head "No, Aaron --- I --- "
   "I told you I would fucking kill you before I give you up!"
   Jodi broke away for an instant intent on reaching the front door or a window or anywhere away from this spot. She barely got by him when he reached out with his powerful arm and grabbed the front of her robe. Then he threw her against the wall. She felt like hundreds of knives were sticking her all over her back. She screamed again. Aaron put the gun to her temple with incredible speed and pulled the trigger. Her head jerked and then seemed to explode.
   She was dead before she hit the floor.
   Aaron stared for a long time as the body became a distorted heap. Then he knelt down and carefully laid the weapon next to her hand.
   He stood up slowly and studied Jodi's bloody head as a first year medical student would study a cadaver. "So long, Baby."
   Then he staggered out of the apartment cautiously looking in all directions. When he was certain no one had seen him, he quickly got into his Galaxy, removed his gloves and sped away.

*

   At 10:55 pm Barrett Jessop entered his home. As the door slowly opened, a foreign creaking sound emerged from the unoiled hinge. Barrett stopped and listened. There was only silence. He closed the door as quickly and as quietly as he could. Again the hinge squeaked. And again he stopped and listened. He was still sur-rounded by silence. He turned the small latch until he heard the click.
   The house was dim and uncommonly quiet. The only light was from a ten-watt bulb he'd put in at the base of the wall in the entry-way.
   He took off his thin topcoat and slung it over a chair. Then he paused. Now he could hear the soft ticking of the kitchen clock.
   He began to inch closer to the stairway, finally pausing at the foot of the stairs --- waiting --- listening. Then he climbed the steps and accidentally stepped on a loose floorboard. It gave off a soft pop-ping sound causing Barrett to freeze in his tracks. Damn it!
   He waited again, silently, for several minutes.
   Then he proceeded slowly --- cautiously, toward the bedroom. The door was open. Barrett paused again.
   The faint ghostly glow of the ten-watt bulb gave Barrett all the light he needed. He entered the room quietly and stopped at the foot of the bed. Janet was sound asleep.
   Her raspy breathing and the pounding of his heart were now the only sounds he could hear.
   Janet was on her back, as usual. One of the two pillows she slept with was under her head. The other one was next to it.
   "You're right." whispered Barrett. "Divorce is not an option."
   He very calmly and very methodically picked up the stray pillow and carefully put it over Janet's face. Then he pushed down as hard as he could. Horrible muffled sounds began to erupt from beneath the pillow and Janet began to squirm violently --- her arms and legs moving wildly.
   He climbed on top of her, putting each of his knees on each of her arms. He had to stop the erratic movements.
   He pushed with all his might. He had no idea his wife was this strong --- but she was not quite strong enough. After what seemed like eons, Janet stopped fighting. But Barrett continued to hold the pillow over her face firmly for another ten minutes. He had to be certain he had done the job correctly. He knew he would never have another chance.
   Barrett finally removed the pillow, wet with Janet's saliva, and climbed down off the bed. His pulse was racing and he was sweat-ing profusely.
   "You've won all the battles." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "But you've lost the war!"
   The dim light cast an eerie shadow across Janet's lifeless face. She looks so peaceful, thought Barrett. Her glassy eyes were wide open, staring vacantly at the ceiling. Her limbs hung motionless over the sides of the bed.
   He closed her eyelids. Then he replaced the pillows and moved her arms and legs to a more normal position. Finally he smoothed out the wrinkled sheets to remove any sign of a struggle.
   He tried to be calm and collected.
   Hopefully, when old Doctor Marcus would come over early to-morrow morning, his diagnosis would be death by natural causes. How could there be any other explanation?
   Any idea that murder was a probable cause would be ludicrous. Who would want to kill Janet? Certainly not her loving and devoted husband! Barrett knew that a husband was usually the first suspect. But he was confident that this case would be an exception to the rule.
   'She died in her sleep' would be what Doc Marcus would say --- 'probably a heart attack'. And when Barrett would refuse an au-topsy, which was his right, it would be case closed!
   Barrett now realized that using Jodi for an alibi may not have been necessary. He had overreacted. But he had to protect himself --- didn't he? If there were even one chance in a million that Janet's death might be ruled homicide, he had to show he was someplace. No one knew he was at home. Barrett could certainly not be in two places at once! Mrs. Purdy was an extra bonus.
   So far everything had gone according to plan.
   His pulse was returning to normal and his hands were remarkably dry. Barrett could not believe how calm he was!
   He looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was 11:30. It seemed to him that he had been home for hours --- but it was only 11:30!
   His phone call to Doc Marcus was not going to take place until 6:30 am. He had seven hours!
   He picked up the receiver to call Jodi. He dialed the first digit and hung up. "What do I say?" Hello, Jodi. I just killed my wife. I'm not married anymore. Are you more receptive now?
   "Forget it! I'll call her in the morning."
   And considering how tired she had looked, Barrett was certain she was sound asleep.
   He looked down at his hands. They were still steady. Way to go, Jessop!
   For the first time in his life Barrett Jessop felt in total command. He knew he had a tight grasp of things and no one was going to force him to back off. No one was going to make him feel like a piece of shit! Not this time!
   He closed the bedroom door and walked down to the family room. Then he set the seldom-used clock radio for 6:30 am.
   He lay down on the sofa and tried to sleep. "I could sleep with Janet tonight." thought Barrett. "What would be different?" He continued to think out loud. "I can sleep anywhere I choose. And I choose the family room."
   But whether his eyes were open or closed and no matter which direction he looked, all he could see was Janet's lifeless face. Damn it!
   Finally after two hours, he drifted off --- wearily.
  At 3:40 am Barrett Jessop awakened with a start. Or rather some-thing awakened him. What was it? He sat on the edge of the sofa and listened. He heard the same sounds he heard before:
the creaks; the squeaks; the pops. They were sounds not usually no-ticed. But when they were surrounded by a deathly stillness, Barrett thought these noises sounded like explosions!
   Again he heard it. It was the sound that awakened him. Thump --- thump. Thump --- thump.
   What is it? Then it got louder. THUMP --- THUMP. THUMP --- THUMP.
   What the fuck ? It sounds like a --- heart beat. No way! Can't be!
   THUMP --- THUMP. THUMP --- THUMP. Barrett heard it coming from outside the family room. He listened more intensely. Then his eyes widened and he grabbed hold of the sofa.
   Holy shit! It's coming from the bedroom! THUMP --- THUMP. THUMP --- THUMP. Janet! Janet's heart beat? Absurd! Impossi-ble! Barrett stood up too quickly and almost passed out.
I'm fucking hearing things! This is bullshit!
   Then he ran to the bottom of the steps and listened. It stopped. There were only the same house noises as before. Then silence. Whatever it was had definitely stopped. All he could hear now was his own loud and rapid heartbeat. What the hell was it?
   He stood at the foot of the stairs for fifteen minutes. There was only silence. Maybe it was a bad dream. Maybe it was a hallucina-tion. But whatever it was is gone. Thank God!
   Barrett walked back to the family room. His hands were clammy and not as steady as before.
                                                   XV
   Now he was shaking. Why is it so cold in here?
   He covered himself with a blanket and curled up on the sofa.
   He prayed for sleep. He was so tired ---

*

   At 6:30 am the alarm went off causing Barrett to almost jump off the couch. He slammed down the alarm button to still the strident sound and in doing so, knocked the clock radio off its stand.
   The events of the past eighteen hours suddenly returned and hit him like a July fourth rocket.
   Janet! Holy shit! He sat pensively for several minutes. Then he raised his head slowly and smiled sardonically. Freedom! Finally! He thought of Janet and his mood changed abruptly.
His mind kept jumping back and forth between relief and sorrow. He looked at the telephone. He couldn't dwell on it right now. He had things to do. Jesus! It's cold in here!
   He had to call Jodi. He knew it was early, but --- . He let it ring ten times. There was no answer. Barrett replaced the receiver won-dering where she was at 6:45 am. At work?
   I'll call her later.
   He picked up the phone again and dialed. While he waited he put the clock radio back on the table. It took three rings. "Hello. Dr. Marcus speaking."
   "Sy, this is Barrett Jessop." His mouth was suddenly dry. He would have to speak slowly. He stood up unsteadily.
   "Oh yes, Barrett." Everyone in town would agree that Sy Marcus always answered the phone, day or night, as if he were sitting and waiting for your call. Barrett could practically see the smile at the other end of the line. "What can I do for you?"
   "Sy, something --- something happened to Janet." Barrett was go-ing to fake the pathos in his voice. He didn't have to.
   "Oh my." Sy sounded concerned.
   "I just got up and --- well --- could you please come over?" Bar-rett continued to speak slowly.
   "Well yes. Of course. Just let me wash my face and get my bag." Barrett wondered if his bag was by the phone. "Maybe you should call the emergency squad."
   "No, Doc. Janet is dead!" Barrett had to sit down. His mouth was still dry and now he felt clammy. Christ! What's the temperature in here?
   After a brief pause, Sy said, "I'll be right over." The click ended the conversation.
   Barrett then made his final call. All according to plan. There were six rings. "Hello." A drowsy voice answered.
   "Hello, Marie. It's Dr. Jessop." Barrett could feel his heart in his throat.
   "Dr. Jessop. Oh my --- " He heard her yawn. " --- it's so early. Is something wrong?"
   Barrett paused in an effort to catch his breath. "Janet died last night."
   "Oh my God!" Marie gasped.
   "I --- I got up a short time ago and she was in bed --- just lying there --- " Barrett cleared his throat repeatedly. He wanted a glass of water. "She must have had a heart attack --- or some
thing. She died in her sleep." Barrett's body temperature continued to play games with him. Now his palms began to sweat and he had trouble holding the telephone.
   "Do you want me to come over?" Marie started to cry. Barrett knew he had to end the conversation quickly.
   "No, Marie. I'm okay." Actually I'm freezing! "Dr. Marcus is on his way over now." Barrett cleared his throat again. "There is something you can do for me."
   "Anything, Dr. Jessop." Marie continued to speak through her sobs.
   "Please call the following people for me." Barrett read off a list of names with everyone he could think of. "And tell Dr. Richardson that I'll call him tomorrow." He sat forward with his head against the palm of his hand.
   "Oh yes. I'll do it at once!"
   "And please! Under no circumstances are any of these people to call on me." The last thing Barrett wanted was a house full of peo-ple moping about and saying how sorry they were.
   "I will certainly make that quite clear." Then after a short silence, Marie asked casually, "What about the funeral?"
   The funeral! The thought brought a sudden gnawing sensation to the pit of his stomach. "I --- I don't know yet. But as soon as I do I'll give you all the details." Barrett couldn't stop shaking. "And please cancel my appointments until --- Tuesday --- maybe."
   "Oh yes. Of course. Is there anything else?"
   "No. Not really." Barrett wondered if the furnace was broken. "Just take care of the office until I get back."
   "You know I will." There was another pause. "Are you sure you're okay?"
   "Yes. Quite sure." Barrett took a deep breath.
   "Well --- goodbye, Dr. Jessop." The assistant sounded as drained as her boss. "And don't worry about a thing."
   "Goodbye, Marie."
   Now it was 7:15 and Barrett dialed Jodi's number again. His hand was trembling. No answer.
This is strange! He would call the library later. Now he had to turn up the heat.
   At 7:30 am Dr. Sy Marcus entered Barrett Jessop's home. They shook hands warmly and Barrett led Sy, bag in hand, to the master bedroom.
   Syrus Marcus had practiced medicine in Patton since 1939. At seventy-eight, he was as spry and as alert as men half his age. Sy was short and stocky with a full head of thick white hair, a large red nose, bushy eyebrows and a ruddy complexion.
   The two professionals were never friends --- only acquaintances. But they referred to each other on a regular basis. Each man had great respect for the other, which Barrett hoped would weigh heav-ily in his favor.
   The first thing Sy did was to turn on the light in the bedroom. Then he slowly put down his bag and carefully studied Janet's corpse as she lay there face up --- just as Barrett had left her.
   Barrett tried not to look. But he had not seen Janet's body in the light and curiosity forced him to turn his head slowly in her direc-tion. He had to see. And he did! He saw the horrible ashen blue
color of her distorted face. He saw the ghastly purple color of her quiet lips. She was very still. Barrett had seen to that.
   A sudden wave of nausea hit Barrett causing him to run to the bathroom, vomiting and retching until he thought there was no more left of his insides. Looking about the bathroom brought back the dreadful night he had urinated all over it. He was immediately riddled with severe pangs of guilt. Don't think about that. Not now! Barrett threw cold water on his face, took several deep breaths, and re-entered the bedroom.
   Sy was lifting Janet's eyelids --- just as gently as the eye doctor had closed them. He carefully examined her face and her fingers.
   His expression was cold and seemed void of emotion. Then he stood back rubbing his chin and nodding his head. His attention was still totally focused on Janet's lifeless body.
   What is he thinking? Why is he looking like that? Barrett was sweating profusely. Why is he just standing there?
   "Oh, Barrett." Barrett jumped. "Remind me to give you some samples of Composine." Sy then gently closed Janet's eyelids. "They should help the nausea and also relax you."
   Barrett kept shifting his gaze from the wall to Sy and from Sy back to the wall. He couldn't look at what used to be his wife any-more. He had had enough. He wanted this bizarre ordeal to end!
   "Barrett, you want to tell me about it?" Sy looked at the optome-trist. The two locked eyes.
   What the hell is that supposed to mean? "T --- tell you --- "
   "Yes. I want you to tell me what you told me over the phone. Hell! I'm seventy-eight years old. Sometimes I forget things."
   Barrett felt his stomach drop then rise back up. He breathed an audible sigh of relief. Then he proceeded to tell the physician his prepared prevarication of how he got up early this morning to find his loving wife just lying there. There was no pulse --- no sign of life. He was, of course, devastated! What would he do? How could he go on? He spoke slowly. His voice was filled with desolation. He slurred his words at times because of the slight tremor in his lips.
   Barrett felt certain that his story was plausible and genuine. Sy Marcus would not question one word of his professional colleague. And the anguish that showed through as he spoke would add fur-ther credibility to the tale.
   "Mmmm --- tell me. Did Janet have any sort of --- sleep disor-der?" Sy again turned his attention to Janet. The optometrist looked quizzically at Sy as he continued. "Some people with sleep disorders, especially severe ones, have actually stopped breathing during the night." Sy leaned over looking even closer at Janet. "It's called apnea." Barrett continued to be puzzled. "From what little I know about it, it only lasts a few minutes. And on rare occasions people have been known to --- die." He brushed Janet's eyelids lightly with his fingertips. "It would appear to me that she --- as-phyxiated."
   "Then it wasn't a --- a heart attack?" The thought of Sy Marcus coming up with another cause of death other than heart related had never occurred to Barrett.
   "Well --- it could be, but --- here. Look at her lips. If you can, that is. Never mind!" He squinted his eyes and went on. " Cyano-sis. Her lips are purple. Her skin is a sort of --- bluish. Blood be-comes depleted of oxygen. You don't have to look. Just take my word for it." Sy turned to Barrett. "Her lungs quit working and she just quit breathing --- in the middle of the night. Sorry, Barrett."
   Just as Barrett had hoped, the thought of foul play wasn't even a remote possibility. And now he suddenly saw an opportunity to help substantiate Sy's surprise diagnosis. "Well, Sy. Now that you mention it, over the past few months, Janet did sound peculiar when she was asleep. I heard funny snoring sounds like --- well --- what you just said." Barrett cleared his throat. "We talked about it once or twice in passing but neither of us paid much attention to it." He cleared his throat again. "Maybe she did have a breathing prob-lem. Maybe if we had acted sooner --- "
   "Those things are very difficult to treat." Sy interrupted. "So don't be too hard on yourself." The elderly doctor then slowly took hold of the sheet and pulled it over Janet's head. "Listen, Barrett." Doc Marcus came over to Barrett and sympathetically patted him on the shoulder. "Do you want an autopsy? That way we'll know for sure."
   "Sy, I'll tell you." Barrett spoke firmly. "I don't think I could go through the ordeal of an autopsy. I've had about as much trauma as I can handle." Barrett knew he was home free.

   So far, so good!
   "Well, I certainly can't blame you for that." Syrus paused again to take a long look at the mound under the sheet. His next comment seemed to Barrett to be an afterthought. "Why don't I just put
down DEATH BY NATURAL CAUSES on the death certificate. We'll forget the autopsy. Let's try and keep it --- simple."
   Case closed! Thank you Sy Marcus!
   "Oh. I almost forgot. Here." Sy handed Barrett a bottle marked COMPOZINE SAMPLES NOT FOR SALE. Barrett absently put the bottle in his pants pocket.
   "One more thing, Sy. If I could impose." Barrett suddenly felt dizzy. He had to hold on to the bedpost. "Would you call Janet's parents for me? We never got along all that well and since you know them maybe this would be better coming from you."
   "Oh sure. No problem. Hell, Jack and I went to school together in Illinois." Sy again patted Barrett's shoulder. And we did a lot of rabbit hunting --- Jack and I. Yeah boy! That sure was a long time ago." He cocked his head and rubbed his chin. "I think he and Ellie still live in San Diego."
   "Yes they do." Barrett continued to look at Sy. He still couldn't look at the mound under the sheets that used to be his wife.
   "The last correspondence between us was --- oh maybe nine or ten months ago." The physician rubbed his chin again. "Yeah, I'll call 'em for you. I know I got their phone number at home some-where."
   "I really appreciate that, Sy." Barrett turned and faced the door. "That would be a tremendous weight off my shoulders."
   "Consider it done!" Now Sy and Barrett were both standing in the open doorway. Sy added, "Why don't I call Mowery's Funeral Home for you?"
   The funeral! I keep forgetting about the fucking funeral!
   "It's only one more phone call." continued Sy, "And seeing as I know Gene Mowery so well, it might be easier for me to make the arrangements. You just tell me how much to spend."
   "Use your own judgement. Janet had a small life insurance policy. So whatever it is, it is." Barrett gently tried to push Sy past the open door. He had to close it behind him! "I can't worry about the money part of this. As you said, keep it simple."
   "Okay. But Gene is fair. He will always work something out with you."
   "Sy, I owe you one large favor." You'll never know how large! Barrett again tried to usher Sy from the open door.
   "Forget it." Sy turned toward Barrett, still standing in the open doorway. "Maybe you should stay at our place tonight." Sy was concerned. "I'm not so sure you should be alone --- at least until af-ter the funeral."
   "Nah. I can handle it." Barrett again tried to get away from the open doorway. He knew he had to leave this room and he had to do it now! "And I really would prefer to sleep at home."
   "Okay. Suit yourself." The two colleagues shook hands. "Well --- I'll be seeing you."
   "Yeah, I'll see you Sy. And thanks again."
   As soon as Sy Marcus left, Barrett slammed the bedroom door shut so hard the walls shook. Then he stood still for several min-utes with his back to the door waiting for his vital signs to re
turn to normal. He took the bottle of pills out of his pocket, looked at it for a second, then put it back, hoping he wouldn't need them.
   He went downstairs to the family room and picked up the phone. His hand was shaking. First he called the apartment. There was no answer. He called the library. There was no answer. Thirty minutes later he called the library again. And after twenty rings he slammed down the receiver, totally frustrated. Then he tried her apartment again. After twenty-five rings, he hung up.
   Where the hell is she? His thoughts were interrupted by a fright-ening but familiar sound. Thump --- thump. Thump --- thump. Barrett ran to the foot of the stairs. It was louder now. THUMP --- THUMP. THUMP --- THUMP. "Shut up Goddamn it! SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Barrett raced up the steps and stopped at the closed door to the master bedroom. He put his ear to the door and listened. He was sweating profusely and breathing erratically. The awful sound had stopped. Now he could hear the pops and creaks again. He heard the soft ticking of the kitchen clock.
   Barrett felt his imagination had once again taken control --- like last night.
   Be calm. Don't panic!
   He waited for what seemed like a millennium. Then satisfied that the ungodly noises had ceased, he went back to the family room. He was trembling and he felt like his heart was in his throat.
   I should have slept at Sy's until after the funeral.
   Barrett knew he had to get some sleep. He would need all of his strength to help him through the next few days --- and especially the funeral!
   The optometrist lay down on the sofa and prayed that sleep would come and rescue him from this horrendous day. Maybe if he counted backwards starting with one hundred. By ninety-six he was asleep.

*

   At 10:15 Mowery's Funeral Home removed Janet's body. Barrett stayed in the family room the entire time. He knew he had to turn his back on the grim maneuver. As soon as her body was put into the hearse Gene Mowery came back into the house to extend his condolences. And, yes, he had spoken to Sy Marcus. And, yes, he would take care of everything.
   After the funeral director left, Barrett again called the library. No, they hadn't seen her. But they would tell Ms.Bartless that Dr. Bar-rett Jessop had called.
   Later that day Sy Marcus called. The funeral would be on Satur-day at 10:00 am. The extra day would allow the Stevens' time to come in from California.
   Discomposure and agony were close at hand.

*
 
   XVI

   At 12:30 and in spite of Marie's request that no one bother the 'bereaved' husband, people started coming over. First the Richard-sons, then the Sharkeys, then some of Janet's canasta friends, then the Mintons. Back and forth! People arrived and left all day. Some stayed for hours. Others stayed only a few minutes. Some that left returned later. Some seemed to have never left!
Many were people he had never seen before. They all came over and gave him their condolences. Barrett remembered very few, if any, names.
   He tried desperately to get to his telephone. He had to reach Jodi. But there was so much confusion all day, he never got the chance to make the call. Every time he got near the phone, someone would put their hand on his arm and tell him how sorry they were.
   When the last person, a wet-eyed Sara Sharkey, left, Barrett lit-erally collapsed onto the sofa. He was sure he could swim the Eng-lish Channel up and back and not feel this drained! He knew that if he had to hear 'It must have been a shock' or 'I am so very sorry' or 'What a terrible ordeal for you' or 'What a shame. Such a kind person', one more time, he would scream!
   He took off his tie and his shoes and loosened his shirt. He was drenched with sweat.
   He first bolted the door then picked up the phone. He let it ring thirty times! No answer. Barrett would go to her apartment after the funeral. He couldn't think any longer. He had to get to bed. It was only 8:30, but he couldn't function. His eyelids felt like lead, his entire body ached and his head was ready to explode.
   Tomorrow was another day.

*

   Barrett walked up the stairs for the first time since Gene Mowery had removed Janet's body. He stopped in front of the door to the empty master bedroom. He stared at the closed door, un
able to look at the vacant bed inside. There was no way he could enter the room, let alone sleep in it!
   He would sleep in the spare bedroom tonight, even though he hated it. It was small, there was no closet space, and the bed was extremely uncomfortable. The light switch never seemed to work and the wallpaper was an ugly blue and yellow made up of circles of varying diameters. Barrett remembered when Janet picked it out. The only other bedroom had been re-done into a large walk-in closet. Barrett had very little choice. And as bad as the bed was, it was still better than the sofa.
   He threw his shirt and pants over the chair and lay down in his socks and boxer shorts. Now he would try and find a place on the bed that did not have large bumps or deep crevices. Staring at the ceiling, Barrett suddenly realized that this was the first time he was sleeping alone. It gave him a strange and eerie sort of feeling. He felt guilty. Then he felt free. Then it was deep remorse. His thoughts bounced back and forth until he thought his mind, now a disoriented mess, would disintegrate. He tried unsuccessfully to make his mind a blank. He wondered how long it would be this way. "I had to do it --- didn't I? The rest of my life was at stake --- wasn't it? It was Janet's fault. She should have granted me a divorce sensibly. But no. Not Janet! She shouldn't have been so fucking adamant! Goddamn her anyway! But if her death was justified, why do I feel so guilty? Shit! It's too fucking late for second thoughts." He realized he was talking out loud. "So far I've lucked out. No one knows. No one will ever know!"
  
 

XVII

   Janet Jessop was buried at Mt. Zion Cemetery on Saturday May 13th at 10:00 am. Mt Zion was one of the oldest cemeteries in cen-tral Ohio. It was also one of the best cared for. The grounds looked as if the grass were cut one blade at a time, the headstones always appeared to be brand new, there were no weeds, and all the graves were separated enough so that when people walked about, they never had to feel as if they were walking on 'someone'.
   Barrett thought it best to have graveside services. He felt the cus-tomary funeral too long, too painful, and in general unnecessary.
   Sy Marcus felt, and Barrett agreed, that as a courtesy to Janet's parents, a Catholic Priest should be employed to perform the rites and give the eulogy, even though it was common knowledge that the deceased had absolutely no affiliation with the Catholic Church. So Father Jordan Smoot, a longtime friend of Sy Marcus, had been obtained for this occasion. The elderly priest was short and thin with a large bald spot directly in the center of his oversized head. He wore steel rimmed half-eyes that were normally at the end of his hook nose.
   On this particular day the skies were heavily overcast with the threat of rain imminent. Barrett wondered why funerals always seemed to be predisposed to inclement weather. Why, he won-dered, was there always a drastic drop in temperature for no appar-ent scientific reason?
   Suddenly a brisk wind that seemed to have erupted from out of nowhere, showed its impartial hostility and outright supremacy as it viciously attacked those that had come to pay their respects. Eve-ryone, including Barrett, finally conceded that the elements had won out --- as they always did in any encounter with nature.
   Barrett, distressed and shivering, tried to focus on Father Smoot's words to avoid looking at Janet's casket, which was now being lowered to its final resting place by two muscular young men with neatly trimmed beards. But Barrett, with his hands deep in the pockets of his topcoat, felt himself drawn to look at the freshly dug grave. It was as if the casket was a large magnet and his eyes were two small pieces of metal.
   After Father Smoot ended his brief generic eulogy, in which he had referred to Janet as kind and giving, a good wife, and a fine and loving daughter, he cleared his throat roughly and pushed his glasses up on his nose.
   Barrett knew the words were directed at her parents.
   The Reverend continued in competition with the elements. "Please join me for the Twenty-third Psalm. The Lord is my Shep-herd --- "
   Barrett tried with difficulty to concentrate on the words but his mind wouldn't cooperate. He wasn't able to reconcile his inner con-flicts. Then he heard it again. Thump --- thump. Thump --- thump. It was very soft.
   "He leadeth me beside the still water --- "
   Then it got louder. THUMP --- THUMP. THUMP --- THUMP.
   "Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me --- "
   There was no doubt in Barrett's mind that it was coming from his late wife's casket.
   This is not real! It can't be!
   THUMP --- THUMP. THUMP --- THUMP.
   Barrett closed his eyes tightly and put his hands over his ears. "STOP IT! STOP IT!" he yelled.
   Then there was a long silence. Even the wind had quieted.
   "Barrett. You okay?" Lysle Richardson was at his side, his hand on his arm.
   The eye doctor put his arms down and looked at his friend as if he had just come out of a deep sleep. He felt momentarily disoriented. Then Barrett looked away and listened. The sound had stopped. Barrett turned back to Lysle. "Yes. I --- I'm okay." He was embar-rassed.
   "Are you sure?" Lysle seemed scared.
   Barrett knew that everyone was looking at him: The Mintons, the Sharkeys, Marie, the acquaintances that had been bombarding him with visits and phone calls, and even the two young gravediggers. The only exceptions were Ellie and Jack Stevens. They kept their eyes glued to their daughter's casket as it was being lowered into the ground. The sunglasses they wore covered up any despondency they felt.
   "Are you okay, son?" Sy Marcus came up to Barrett on the other side. He and Lysle exchanged concerned glances.
   "I --- I'm fine. The strain --- " Barrett looked at the two men. He could see they were unconvinced. "I'm all right, fellas --- really!"
   Sy nodded to Reverend Smoot. The coffin was completely low-ered. The befuddled priest continued. "And I shall dwell in the House of the Lord forever."
   Then as if it were a prearranged situation or a prepared script, as soon as the service was over, the wind lessened and the sun scam-pered out from behind the clouds.
   As the mourners slowly filed out of the cemetery, they once again extended their deepest sympathies to Barrett. No one seemed to know what to say other than 'I'm sorry'.
   Barrett thought condolences were meaningless and only a way for someone to make themselves feel better. And like every other area of society, he would never accept it at face value.
   "Oh, Barrett." Sara Sharkey suddenly emerged. Ralph was by her side. "You don't need me blubbering like this." Ralph just nodded. "I simply can't believe it. It was so --- so sudden."
   "Yes, Sara. Very sudden." Barrett's eyes were on the Richardsons as they walked to their car. Lysle turned toward his friend and Bar-rett waved.
   "It's so hard for all of us." Sara continued. "Especially for you."
   "Yes, Sara. Especially me." Barrett now saw the Stevens' out of the corner of his eye. They still stood in the same spot, their gaze still on their daughter's grave.
   As the Sharkeys turned to leave, Ralph put his hand on Barrett's shoulder. "Listen. I know a guy that wants to buy your house. I as-sume that --- "
   "Ralph!" snapped Sara. "This is not the time nor the place." She put her handkerchief back in her purse. "I'm sure Barrett isn't ready for a decision like that yet."
   "Look, Sara! I just thought --- "
   "Ralph, let's go!" She roughly pushed her husband toward the car. "He probably wants some time alone --- with Janet."
   "Yes, Sara. I would like some time alone with Janet." Barrett put his hands back in his coat pockets.
   As Sara dragged Ralph away and out of the Mt. Zion grounds, Barrett again turned his attention to Janet's parents. Even though they had shown only contempt for each other over the years, he nonetheless felt sorry for them at what was obviously a most diffi-cult moment.
   But to go over to them now would, in Barrett's mind, be hypo-critical and a selfish attempt to
alleviate some of his own personal guilt.
   Suddenly Jack Stevens looked up, took off his sunglasses, and turned toward Barrett. Their eyes locked for several seconds. Ellie kept her focus on the grave as the last shovels of dirt were
tossed in. Then Jack put his arm around his wife's shoulders. They exchanged a brief somber glance and left.
   Barrett doubted if he would ever see either of them again.
   Now with everyone gone, including the two young gravediggers, Barrett Jessop was in fact alone with Janet.
   He thought of their life together: when they first met at the Stu-dent Union, when they'd gotten married, when they made love --- so many times in the beginning when all they ever wanted was to be with each other. When did it end? He couldn't recall.
   This was your fault, Janet! I tried --- remember?
   He looked at the scattered flowers. He looked up at the sky. He looked at the many maple trees. He looked at the green grass. He looked everywhere except at Janet's fresh grave.
   Feeling a sudden chill, Barrett again put up his coat collar. He walked toward the car and stopped abruptly. What would everyone say, he wondered, if they knew the truth? She didn't just die. I killed her! What do you think about that, Mint? The thought of it was too mindboggling!
   Barrett looked at his new watch. It was 11:35. It was time to leave.
   The funeral was over and Barrett felt he had survived it reasona-bly well --- considering.
   He was convinced that the strange sounds were a manifestation of a bad case of nerves and any physical or emotional pain was psy-chosomatic and an integral part of his readjustment period.
   It was all a temporary situation. It would soon end.
   Sy Marcus had written DEATH BY NATURAL CAUSES on the death certificate and as far as Barrett was concerned the case was closed.
   And now he would be free to be with Jodi. Wasn't that what he wanted? Isn't that what this is all about? Did the end not justify the means?
   Barrett was shivering and at the same time he was soaked with sweat. He knew he had to leave this cemetery --- now! He ran to his car and without a single backward glance, he sped away.
   As he drove home, he began to visualize the phone calls and the visits that would occur over this long, tedious and draining week-end. During that time he would be the brooding husband that eve-ryone expected.
   Then come Monday, his new life would begin!

*
 

XVIII

   Just as Barrett had predicted, during the entire weekend, a steady stream of visitors arrived to pay their respects, coming and going at all hours. And they were --- 'so sorry!'
   They also made certain that Barrett had plenty of food. Nellie Minton brought two large bowls of chopped liver which Barrett tossed into the garbage as soon as she left. Others brought over all sort of cold cuts, whole chickens, briskets, and tubs of fresh fruit, cole slaw, and potato salad.
The Jessop refrigerator had not seen this much food in years!
   At 10:30 pm Sunday night, the Richardsons left, and that was the end of the mourners. And as far as Barrett was concerned, that was the end of his period of bereavement.
   At 10:40 Barrett dialed Jodi Bartless' number. This time there was trouble on the line, but they would take care of it at once. Bar-rett was too tired to go to her apartment. He would call first thing Monday morning.
   Tonight he would sleep in the spare room again. He would strug-gle with the discomfort and the inconvenience because he knew it was only temporary. The door to the master bedroom was still closed and Barrett could see no reason for opening it. He was sure this feeling was also temporary.
   He knew he would have to sell the house eventually. Thanks but no thanks, Ralph Sharkey!
   He also knew he would have to go through and sort out all of Janet's things. Sara and Ronnie would help.
   But he wasn't ready for either of those two activities yet. Right now he had to get some sleep.
   Tomorrow was going to be a devastating day for him!


   On Monday morning at 9:00 am sharp Barrett Jessop, his hand trembling, dialed the number for the Methodist Church Library.
   "Hello." a young female voice answered.
   "Hello. May I speak to Jodi Bartless please." The optometrist could hear his heart almost drown out the tiny voice at the other end.
   "Well, this is my first day here and I don't really know everyone --- who did you ask for?"
   "Jodi Bartless." Barrett sat down. His chest hurt him.
   "I don't think I know her. But the regular staff --- you see, I'm only a part timer --- the regular staff is --- can you hold for a sec-ond? I have another call."

   Being put on hold at ill-timed moments was unacceptable, and in-comprehensible. But in this situation, where his anxiety was in con-trol, he would make an exception. The two minutes that the young voice was gone could, in Barrett's assessment, have been two days.
   "So anyway," she continued as though there had been no break in the conversation. "all of the regular staff are at a meeting until 11:30. But I can give her your name and phone number."
   "My name is Barrett Jessop." Anxiety was now at its peak. "My number is 614-6012. Please have her call me at once. It's most ur-gent!" He hung up without waiting for a response.
   His only thought now was to get out of the house. Maybe go for a long walk or a peaceful drive in the country. Anywhere, he thought. Just go!
   Jodi's meeting wouldn't be over before 11:30 and Marie hadn't scheduled any appointments today. He had plenty of time.
   As Barrett was putting on his jacket, he picked up the Patton newspaper that had just been fed through the mailbox in the front door. It was delivered by Edna Johnston, a sixty-two year old widow who also drove the school bus.
   The Patton News was started in 1898 and had passed through three generations of Mastersons to the present owner, Jeeter Masterson III, a gruff hard nosed bigot, that Barrett avoided when-ever possible. The newspaper had only ten pages, which were de-voted to church news, local politics, little league, PTO and the obituary --- which Barrett immediately turned to.
    There it was in print: JANET JESSOP. Age 51. Survived by Dr. Barrett Jessop, husband and parents, Jack and Ellie Stevens of San Diego California. It listed the residence, some of her activities, and requested any donations go either to the heart fund or cancer re-search. These were the only two charities that Barrett could find worthy enough to earn his support.
   Seeing Janet's name in the obituary section gave Barrett a sudden chill and a feeling of lightheadedness. It was as if he were not read-ing it, but someone else outside of his body was reading it to him.
   His glance then just happened to turn to the next column. It was a sledgehammer hitting him deep in the pit of his stomach! It was numbness over his entire body! It was an explosion in his head!
   JODI BARTLESS. Age 28. SUDDENLY.
   That was as far as Barrett could read. His legs became rubbery and he had to hold on to the doorframe to keep from falling. His heart began to pound at break neck speed --- SUDDENLY!
   "Jesus H Fucking Christ!" He screamed it out loud in disbelief. He read it over and over again. His fingers became numb and the newspaper fell to the floor.
   This can't be. It just can't be!
   It took four long rings before Barrett Jessop realized it was the doorbell. With one hand against the wall for balance, he opened the front door. Darrell Saltz and his deputy, Sam Ingles, were standing on the small front porch.
   "Howdy, Doc." said Darrell. "Can we come in for a minute or so?"
   Barrett, still somewhat dazed, stared at Darrell for several sec-onds before he responded. "Uh ---yes. Come in." The eye doctor spoke slowly and disconcertedly. Suddenly!
   The sheriff closed the door behind him and now he and Sam stood in the entryway facing Barrett. "Hey, Doc." continued Dar-rell. "You don't look too good" Barrett and Darrell had made eye contact. Sam Ingles looked away, remaining silent. "And what I'm about to say ain't gonna make you feel any better." The sheriff picked up the Patton News, glanced at the open section, then put the paper on the chair. "Well --- " Darrell began to grope. " --- I don't rightly know how to say this, but --- well, we got ourselves a situation. Yep! A real situation. Seems like --- " He cleared his throat uncomfortably. " --- uh, Sam and me --- we got to take you into town for questioning."
   "Questioning?" Barrett's initial state of incomprehensibilities was replaced by another state of incomprehensibilities.
   "Seems you are a suspect in the death of one --- " He picked up the paper and looked at the obituary section. Then he looked at a small piece of paper he was holding. Then he looked at Barrett. " --- Jodi Bartless."
   Barrett opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. And once again he had to grab hold of the door frame.
   "Now this ain't my idea." Darrell forced a smile. "I am truly sorry but we got orders from the county prosecutor." Darrell put the pa-per back in his pocket and the News back on the chair. He turned to his deputy. "Sam, read Doc here his rights."
   "Sure." said Sam. "As soon as I find the paper." The third pocket attempt was successful. "Here it is. Okay --- you have the right to remain silent --- "
   Barrett heard only the first two words of the Miranda Paper. His chest began to hurt and he couldn't catch his breath. Too much is happening all at once. Too much ---
   Then the room began spinning and spinning and spinning --- .

*

   When Barrett woke up he was lying on his back on a cot in a small private cubicle in an emergency room. A large sign across the hall said ELKINS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL. He was wearing his shorts and a blue paper gown. Looking up, he saw the sheriff and his deputy on one side
and a young clean shaven man with large blue eyes and thick blond hair on the other side. The man had on a long white coat with a large pin saying Dr. Abe Fein.
   "Well now," said Dr. Fein cheerfully, "how are we feeling?" He was looking at a medical chart. Barrett assumed it was his.
   I don't know about you but I feel like shit!
   Dr. Fein did not wait for an answer. "While you were out --- you must have fainted --- we took a couple of x-rays, an EKG, and drew some blood. And everything was normal. Your heart is
fine." Dr Fein spoke to the chart. "What you had was a severe anxi-ety attack." He put the chart away and turned to his patient. "At least that's what it looks like."
   Barrett was awake and sitting up, looking around the tiny room. He felt weak and nauseous.
   "All of your vital signs are good." continued the doctor. "And you look a hell of a lot better than you did when you came in here two hours ago."
   "Two hours?" Barrett stared at Fein in amazement.
   "Yes." Dr. Fein took a stethoscope out of his pocket and put it to Barrett's chest. "Just one final listen --- "
   After a brief pause, Dr. Fein said, "Well, I'd say you're free to go."
   As he was leaving he turned and added, "It might be a good idea for you to see your family doctor. And do try and stay relaxed." He nodded politely to the two policemen and left.
   Stay relaxed? What a joke!
   The sheriff and his deputy then emerged out of the shadows and approached Barrett. Darrell said, "Yeah, you sure do look better now, Doc. I'll tell you --- "
   "Goddamn it, Darrell," Barrett interrupted angrily, "what the hell happened?" He took off the gown and began to get dressed.
   "Well, it seems like the people from the County Prosecutor's of-fice were here in Patton all weekend. Can you believe they were here on a Sunday?"
   "Hard to believe." echoed Sam.
   "Actually, Doc," continued the sheriff, "Sam here should be tell-ing you all this cause I been out of town since Wednesday night." He turned to Sam. "Ain't that right?"
   "Yep! That's right!" Sam adjusted his holster.
   "Can you skip the fucking preliminaries and get to the point?" Barrett felt so frustrated he had trouble buttoning his shirt.
   "Doc, you gotta understand our position." Darrell folded his arms. "I'm truly sorry, but there just ain't much we can do." Again he turned to his deputy. "Ain't that right, Sam?"
   "That's right." Sam looked everywhere except at Barrett.
   "So," continued Darrell mechanically, "we got to take you in to the county jail with no bail --- pending trial that is."
   Once again Barrett opened his mouth to speak and once again nothing came out.
   "I'll tell you Doc," The sheriff spoke softly. "I ain't so sure we're supposed to be discussing this here case like this."
   "It's okay." added the deputy. "You can tell him what happened. Hell, it don't matter no way." Then Ingles smiled exposing ugly yel-low teeth. It was at that moment that Barrett knew for certain he unequivocally detested Sam Ingles!
   "Well, Doc. It seems she was shot." Darrell said it without any emotion.
   "Shot?" Barrett screamed.
   "Yep! Shot." Darrell unfolded his arms and nodded, his lips tight.
   Barrett paused and again stared at the sheriff. "Who the hell would want to shoot her?" Both men looked at Barrett accusingly. "Hey, it wasn't me! I was --- " He felt faint again and had to sit on the edge of the bed.
   "You were what?" asked Barrett skeptically.
   "Nothing!" snapped Barrett. "Just tell me what happened."
   "Okay." Darrell was blasé. "I spoke to the prosecutor and this is how he sees it." He waved his forefinger in the air. "Now remem-ber, this is the county talking."
   "Go ahead." Barrett had trouble holding his head up.
   "I know we ain't supposed to be talking about this." Darrell glanced at his deputy. Sam nodded.
   "Go ahead!" yelled Barrett. Then he softened his tone. "Please."
   "Well --- " Darrell cleared his throat. " --- you were over at this --- Jodi Bartless' apartment on Wednesday night." Darrell looked at Sam helplessly. This time the deputy shrugged.
   "Darrell --- please!" Barrett gripped the sides of the cot.
   Darrell cleared his throat again then spoke coldly, as if to a stranger. "You were there at or near the time of her death. And that makes you a suspect --- in fact, the only suspect!"
   Sam was looking at the floor. Darrell and Barrett were staring at each other. Both men seemed equally confused. Then Barrett began shaking his head back and forth. "This is un-fucking believable!" He covered his face with his hands for a moment, then he looked at Darrell again. "And I suppose you have a motive?" Shot --- sud-denly!
   "Well, the prosecutor thinks that maybe you and Jodi had a --- thing --- and --- "
   "A thing? A THING? What the fuck is a thing?" Barrett could feel the veins in his neck bulge. He knew his face was red.
   "Now just calm down, Doc" The sheriff adjusted his cap. "I'm try-ing to get this story out the best I can."
   "Yeah." said Sam Ingles, again displaying yellow teeth. "Calm down!"
   "You shut up!" roared Barrett.
   "Listen, you --- " The deputy took a step toward Barrett.
   "Hey! Both you guys cool it! This here ain't no damn football stag." Darrell walked between the two men with his hands in front of him. "Now let me finish this here story!"
   "Un-fucking believable!" Barrett spoke softly and to no one in particular. "Un-fucking believable!"
   "Doc, we aren't your enemy. We aren't prosecuting you. All we're doing is what we're told to."
   Shot --- suddenly!
   "And," continued Darrell condescendingly, "that is to bring you in as a suspect. And only as a suspect."
   "Holy shit, Darrell! How could you possibly think I would have anything to do --- ?"
   "Whoa now! We're not saying you're guilty." Saltz put his hand up and forced a smile. "We're only taking you in --- "
   "As a suspect!" Barrett finished Darrell's sentence defensively. "I know."
   "Now the cleaning lady says she saw you going into her apart-ment just before she was shot. And she says --- the cleaning lady that is --- that you was there once before." Darrell adjusted his cap again. "And that's why the prosecutor thinks you two had a --- thing."
   "I see." Barrett again gripped the sides of the cot. "Go on."
   "Now, Doc, I wasn't gonna discuss any of this with you. But see-ing as how we went this far ---"
Darrell took a deep breath. " --- well, the county thinks you could have killed her to keep her from telling your wife about this --- thing."
   "Un-fucking believable!" Again Barrett felt the veins in his neck bulge.
   "And," continued Darrell, "the police found your fingerprints eve-rywhere in the apartment. They were probably left there that night." Darrell and Sam exchanged a brief glance. "Look, Doc, I know this is kinda tough on you, the fact is this girl died between nine and midnight. And unless you got an alibi to prove you were not there at the time of death, --- with them fingerprints and --- cleaning lady and all --- well, there's nothing to substantiate otherwise."
   "My fingerprints?" Barrett was starting to sweat. "My fingerprints are on file?"
   "I reckon so." answered Darrell.
   "And they can trace prints that close?"
   "Sometimes. They --- " Darrell suddenly snapped his fingers "Damn! I forgot the clincher!"
   Barrett knew what was coming.
   "The clincher is," continued the sheriff, "you left your daggone watch there. The face was busted --- like maybe you dropped it and then accidentally stepped on it."
   Accidentally!
   "Did you know your watch was missing?" Darrell asked noncha-lantly.
   Barrett paused a second then said, "Maybe it's not mine."
   Darrell and Sam exchanged glances again. Darrell looked at Bar-rett and said quietly. "Hell, Doc, it had your name on it."
   Barrett didn't respond this time. Fear replaced anxiety.
   "Well, anyway," Darrell went on. "the watch read 10:19."
   Barrett slid off the cot and stood face to face with Darrell. Then he saw it all: Mrs. Purdy, his fingerprints, his watch. His prear-ranged alibi was now working in reverse! Why did I ever involve Jodi as a witness? Barrett could not believe what a bizarre set of circumstances he had created and was now faced with! It felt like a sharp knife was running up and down his spine and a huge weight lay on top of his head. He looked down as he spoke and all he could say was, "Un-fucking believable!"
   "Now take it easy." Darrell spoke soothingly. "We should never have discussed any of this."
   Barrett looked up. He felt hollow inside. "But we did."
   "And besides," Darrell got blasé again. "As far as I'm concerned, this is all circumstantial and purely conjectural."
   "Darrell, how on earth can you say exactly when my fingerprints were at her apartment?" He cleared his throat nervously as someone would do if they had just revealed a giant secret. "Assuming they are my prints!"
   "Oh, they're your prints alright, Doc." Darrell said evenly.
   "It sure as hell was your watch though!" said Sam grinning.
   "Doc." Darrell put his hands on Barrett's shoulders. "I would suggest --- now mind you this is only a suggestion. But I would suggest that you get yourself a good lawyer."
   Just then a short, heavyset elderly nurse opened the door to the cubicle. "Oh --- I'm sorry. I was told it was vacant."
   "It will be in about five minutes." said Darrell smiling as he dropped his hands to his side. "Okay. Sorry to disturb you." And she left.
   There was a long silence. Then Barrett sat down slowly, folding his hands in front of him. He looked at his hands as he spoke. "Dar-rell, I did not have a --- thing with Jodi Bartless." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "And I swear to God I didn't shoot her." There was another long silence. Barrett's head suddenly jerked up. "But I know who might have! In fact, I'd bet on it!" Darrell and Sam turned slowly toward him. He continued breathlessly. "Aaron --- shit! What's his
last name?" He slammed his hand down on the narrow bed. Then his eyes widened, almost popping out of their sockets. "Claypool! Aaron Claypool!"
   Darrell squinted at the agitated optometrist. "Who the hell is Aaron Claypool?"
   "Some creep that Jodi was seeing." Barrett could feel his stomach turn at the words.
   "Hmmm --- " Darrell took out a pen and a notebook. "What all do you know about this guy?"
   Barrett thought a moment. "Well --- not a whole lot." He tried to keep his voice steady as he told the sheriff all he knew about Aaron Claypool and his relationship with Jodi Bartless. Barrett empha-sized every abject and damning detail he could think of, exaggerat-ing whenever possible. Darrell wrote quietly, nodding occasionally, as he spoke.
   When Barrett was finished, Darrell studied what he had written then turned the page. "Very interesting." He said, and looked up. "Listen, Doc, can you give me some idea of what this guy looks like? Something I can go on? It don't have to be perfect."
   Barrett could sense that Darrell was getting tired and beginning to lose patience. "I only saw him once, Darrell, and it was dark. So I can't give you much of a description. But he was driving a dirty green Ford Galaxy."
   "And you think maybe this --- " Darrell glanced at his notes again. " --- Claypool zapped the Bartless woman?"
   "No maybe about it!"
   "Aaron --- Claypool --- " Darrell spoke to the small notebook. " --- Ford --- Galaxy --- " He closed it. "Okay, Doc. This'll have to do. I'll try and check it out for you." He put his pen and notebook back in his shirt pocket. "Hell, you never know." Then he turned to his deputy. "Ain't that right, Sam?"
   "That's right, boss." Sam spoke to the wall. "You never know."
   Barrett took a deep breath. "Darrell, the main point here is that I didn't do it. I wish to hell I could make you believe me." He stood up but his knees had other ideas and he had to sit back down. "Does it do me any good to tell you any of this?'
   "No!" Sam spoke up.
   Barrett ignored the deputy. "Tell me what to do, Darrell."
   "Well, Doc, like I say, you need legal counsel." He took off his cap and scratched his head.
"I don't think I'd use Joe Calvin, even though he does live in town." Darrell put his cap back on. "Joe does mostly wills, divorces --- domestic shit like that."
   "Yeah. Domestic shit," echoed the deputy, grinning. Barrett wanted to take something and bash his head in.
   "Now don't get me wrong, Doc. I got nothing against Joe." Dar-rell scratched the back of his neck. "But frankly, I doubt if he would even take the case."
  "I doubt it." Sam again echoed Darrell's thoughts.
   "But I would call Joe and ask him to refer you to someone else." The sheriff spoke enthusiasti
cally. "He could do that."
   Barrett Jessop said nothing. He just kept shaking his head back and forth, hoping he would soon awake from this awful nightmare, but wondering if he ever would.

*
   
   
 

BOOK THREE
MILES
 

XIX

   It was 4:30 pm when Sam Ingles pulled the cruiser into the Ge-rald County Courthouse parking lot. Both Sam and Darrell got out of the police car first then came back serving as escort to let Barrett out. They moved quickly, aware of the fact that in thirty minutes there would be a swarm of attorneys and legal secretaries ending their work day. Barrett knew Darrell wanted to beat the rush.
   The courthouse building itself was an old and recently restored all stone structure. It was built in 1920 and occupied one square city block. There was a new bronze plaque next to the front door that read AND JUSTICE FOR ALL. Barrett remembered passing the impressive building many times when he was in Columbus. He had only been inside to register his optometry license. And by no stretch of his imagination would he ever have expected to be mounting the wide concrete steps as a murder suspect.
   As the three men walked down the long musty and dimly lit hall-way, Darrell said, "Now, Doc, you got to understand. My orders come from the county prosecutor. And as much as I would like not to have to lock you up, I got no choice." Darrell put his hand on Barrett's arm. They stopped
abruptly in the middle of the deserted hallway. "You do understand that." It was more of a statement than a question. "Just be glad I didn't cuff you."
   "Darrell, I have to ask you something." The two men were face to face.
   "Go on, Doc. I'm listening."
   Barrett cleared his throat several times. He felt close to another panic attack. "What happens if you can't find Claypool? Or worse yet, what happpens if you do find him and it turns out he didn't do it? Am I still the only suspect? Help me out here, Darrell!"
    Shot --- suddenly --- Un-fucking believable!
   Two young men in dark three-piece suits walking toward them stopped and stared at Barrett. When he ignored them they moved on.
   "Well --- " Darrell took off his cap and scratched his head again as he carefully measured his words. " --- I don't think I can com-ment on any of that."
   The three men then picked up their pace. Barrett wanted to re-spond. He needed some encouragement. He needed a sympathetic ear. He could see he would get neither. And why should he, he thought, these men are nothing to me --- less than nothing! And besides all that, he knew he wasn't thinking logically. He wondered if his brain cells had been jumbled. He hoped things would get bet-ter. He was beginning to have his doubts.
   "Like I said, Doc," Darrell put his cap back on. Sam continued to look away. "I would suggest you call Joe Calvin." Darrell then glanced disconcertedly at his deputy. "He does have one phone call. Right, Sam?"
   "Right!" Sam's yellow teeth showed through his smirk.
   "Now, I personally wouldn't use Joe." Darrell scratched the back of his neck again. "Did I already say that?"
   Barrett only nodded in response.
   "Just see what Joe says." Darrell continued, "Maybe he'll refer you to a real lawyer."
   Barrett wondered what Joe Calvin would say if he knew the local police chief did not consider him a real lawyer. It was the same horseshit as when people would refer to him as not being a real doctor. It was something Barrett loathed!
   The sheriff and his deputy led Barrett to a quiet empty room al-most at the end of the hallway. In the center was a large round badly scratched brown wood table. It sat on a worn tan shag throw rug. On top of the table was nothing but an old black rotary tele-phone. The beige bare walls were stained and chipped. The only window had bars. There were two smaller tables against the far wall that were in as bad a shape as the one in the center. Cobwebs were everywhere and everything was covered by a thin layer of dust. Barrett could see that this room had not been utilized in quite some time. Then he suddenly thought, and for no apparent reason, how much Janet would have hated this room.
   Barrett and Sam stood on opposite sides of the doorway while Darrell consulted a small notebook in his hip pocket. Then he slowly dialed the phone number. "Hello, Joe. Darrell Saltz here." Darrell took out a handkerchief and wiped off the receiver. "Yeah, fine. And the misses? Well that's fine. Listen, I got Doc Jessop here --- right --- the eye doctor. He has a real situation here and needs to talk to you. Yeah --- okay." Then Darrell put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, "Now remember what I told you." He motioned to his deputy and they both went into the hall leaving Barrett alone.
   "Hi, Joe --- yeah, fine --- listen. I have a serious problem." Barrett Jessop then proceeded to tell Joe Calvin as candidly as possible about his brief relationship with Jodi Bartless.
   And yes, the last time he saw her she was very much alive. Bar-rett included all he could up to and including his arrest. He was careful not to mention anything concerning Janet!
   'I'll tell you the truth, Doc." said the attorney, "This sort of thing is a little out of my territory. Not that I couldn't handle it but --- it's just a little out of my territory. See, I do mostly wills, trusts, traffic fines --- little stuff like that. This here big stuff is just a little out of my territory."
   If he says 'out of my territory' one more time ---
   "But," continued Joe, "I got this cousin of mine --- on my father's side, that is. He lives somewhere in New York. And he is the best trial lawyer anywhere. Yes sir, he is the best!" Calvin cleared his throat. "He's retired now --- well partially retired. But, he does owe me a favor. Yes sir!"
   "Really?" Barrett didn't know if he was supposed to get excited or not.
   "See, I helped him with a case once. I mean a very big case. It was somewhere near Cleveland --- I think."
   Barrett was getting tired and now wished he had never called the local attorney.
   I can't believe this room has no chairs!
   "It seems that this kid --- oh, age nineteen or twenty --- I forget his name. But anyway, he was accused of killing both of his parents. Can you imagine that? Killing both of your parents?" Barrett knew Joe Calvin was going to tell him the entire story whether he wanted to hear it or not. "But I was able to find someone who said that this kid was somewhere else the night of the murder. So this kid --- Jesus! I wish I could think of his name. Well, anyway, now this kid has got an airtight alibi."
   Barrett winced at the word 'alibi'.
   "His testimony," continued Joe, "really screwed up the case that the district attorney had put together, see? And this kid ends up beating the rap. Now Miles --- that's his name --- my cousin, that is. Miles Garrison. So Miles, who as I said represented this kid, says to me, 'Joey' --- he always called me Joey. 'Joey', he says, 'I owe you one big favor'!" Joe Calvin paused to catch his breath before con-tinuing his long narrative. "Now I'll tell you, Doc. To this day I'm not sure whether or not this kid's alibi was legit or not. But it does-n't matter. The kid --- damn! I wish I could think of his name. The kid is free. Free!" Barrett could almost see Calvin beaming at the
other end of the line, but was too distraught to be impressed. Joe Calvin continued. "Miles and I never discussed it much, but this courtroom victory got Miles a lot of money and a lot of notoriety. Miles to this day loves notoriety." The attorney paused a second. "Now it seems like this kid had some kind of a trust fund come due. This fund was up in the millions. Miles got a big chunk of it. And I got a --- small portion., which was okay. But Miles at age forty-two retires! Can you beat that? Some of us work our asses off all our lives and Miles Garrison retires at forty-two!" Calvin paused again. This time Barrett took advantage of the brief silence to ask re-signedly, "Will he take my case?" His mouth suddenly got dry.
   Why did I ask that? What the hell am I doing here? What if I don't survive this?
   "Oh, I don't know. Maybe. If he ain't too busy, that is. He don't do much these days, unless it's a challenge. A case he can really sink his teeth into. Like --- oh --- maybe a famous personality. Or a crime of passion --- so to speak. Like the one you're involved with."
     Barrett again winced at Joe's casual choice of the words 'crime of passion'.
   "Or," continued the local attorney, "if he wants to repay a favor --- if you get my gist."
   "Yeah, Joe. I get your gist." I don't believe this is happening! "Do you have his number handy?" What am I doing? Barrett Jes-sop was out of patience. He began to pace. His mouth was dry and he couldn't breathe. He only wanted to throw the telephone against the wall as hard as he could and then be transported in time to a dif-ferent century! At this point, he didn't care if Calvin's cousin took his case or not.
   "Sure." Joe went on nobly. "But better yet, why don't you let me call him? He might be more inclined to take your case if I asked him."
   Barrett suddenly felt both frustrated and relieved. "Thanks, Joe. Goodby." He finally stopped pacing and slammed down the re-ceiver. The noise brought Darrell and Sam back into the room.
   "Listen, Darrell, I know I'm only allowed one phone call. But I have to call Marie at the office and let her know I won't be in for awhile." If ever! Barrett spoke only to Darrell.
   "I reckon we can stretch a point." He turned to his deputy. "Can't we Sam?"
   "Yeah, we can stretch a point." Sam's beady eyes continually darted in every direction. "Don't matter no way." Then he shook his head slowly. "Nope! It sure don't."
   "Okay, Doc." said Darrell. "You call Marie. Sam and I will be right outside the door.
   Barrett closed his eyes, took a deep breath and lifted the receiver. He felt like his head was in a vise and bees were buzzing all around it. "Un-fucking believable!" He spoke louder than he meant to.
   "What?" asked the sheriff poking his head around the corner.
   "Nothing, Darrell. Nothing!" He began to dial his office and for a split second couldn't think of his own telephone number.
   How stupid can it get? When is this all going to end?
   "Dr. Jessop and associates. Marie speaking." Barrett always had Marie add the word 'associates' because he felt it made the office sound like a bigger operation. Then she would introduce herself to give it that 'personal' touch.
   "Hello, Marie." Barrett took a deep breath. "Listen, I won't be in for awhile." He again felt weak and nauseous. Where are the fuck-ing chairs? "Please don't schedule any appointments until I call you."
   "Something is wrong. I can tell by the tone of your voice. If you want --- "
   "Marie! Don't ask me any questions right now. Please! Just do what I say --- for the time being anyhow." Barrett's mouth was still dry. He spoke slowly.
   "Okay, Dr. Jessop. If you say so." Marie sounded confused and frightened.
   "I do say so." Barrett tried to speak gently and sound optimistic. It was impossible! "Goodby, Marie."
   "Okay, Doc. Let's go." said Darrell. He and Sam were back in the room. "I hate to do this but until you and your lawyer go be-fore the municipal judge, you got to go to jail." Darrell paused. Sam remained silent. "Sorry, Doc. But that's the law."
   Then the sheriff and his deputy escorted Barrett out of the room and proceeded down the hall. Barrett walked between them. They walked slowly.
   The eye doctor stopped unexpectedly and grabbed Darrell's arm with both hands. He was shaking all over. "Darrell, I --- I'm scared shitless!"
   "Hey, Doc." Sam asked mockingly, "You having one of them --- anxiety attacks?"
   "Oh hell, Doc." Darrell gently removed Barrett's hands from his arm. He spoke consolingly. "Just try and take it easy. You'll be all right."
   "Jesus Christ, Darrell! How can I take it easy? I read all the time about these horror stories regarding prison life." He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. "How you get --- fucked in the ass. Or --- or knifed for no reason. Or --- "
   "Now look ,Doc." Darrell continued to try and be as comforting as possible. "You'll be in your own private cell --- and only for a day or so." He gave Barrett a friendly hit on the arm. "No one is gonna bother you. You shouldn't believe all that shit you read!"
   Barrett nodded his head, but for all intents and purposes, he re-mained unconvinced.
   How in the living hell did I end up in this abominable mess?
   Fearing his fate and knowing his future was in the hands of a se-lect few, Barrett slowly and deliberately resumed his stroll straddled between the two policemen. The three finally stopped at the
end of the hallway in front of a large desk. There were two police officers at either side of the desk and one seated behind it, seem-ingly involved in some in-depth paper work.
   "Excuse me." said the sheriff in his most professional tone of voice.
   "Just hold on there." The policeman that was seated spoke to the papers on his desk. "Be with you in a minute."
   After several minutes had elapsed, Darrell asked impatiently, "Could you please --- ?"
   "I said in a minute!" The policeman interrupted rudely.
   "Not in a minute, Goddamn it!" roared Darrell. He had both hands flat on the desktop. "Now!"
   With that the cop stood up. Barrett thought he could easily have stood seven feet and weighed three hundred pounds. But the size difference didn't seem to be a factor. Darrell stood his ground and didn't flinch one bit. His reputation was that he was basically a soft spoken guy, but was not afraid to stand up to anyone --- regardless of size. And now he had proven it. Barrett couldn't believe it.
   Two plain clothes men then walked up to the desk and the large policeman sat down. They spoke quietly with one of the men point-ing in Barrett's direction. Barrett surmised they were in the legal process of finding him a new temporary home.
   After the extended conversation had ended, Darrell Saltz with Sam Ingles closely behind, walked up to Barrett. "This way, Doc." he said as he led the terrified optometrist down a different and nar-rower hallway. At the end of the hall were a large number of cells. Most seemed to be vacant, but with a minimum amount of illumina-tion, it was hard for Barrett to tell.
   "In about an hour they'll be bringing you some new clothes --- jail garb." said Darrell casually. When the sheriff saw the distraught look on Barrett's unresponsive face, he talked in a lighter vein. "This cell is one designed for the nicer element." Darrell's attempt at easing the tension was unsuccessful. Then he patted Barrett on the back. "I'll try and find this Claypool for you, Doc." He nodded to Sam and they left. Barrett stood with his hands at his side appar-ently frozen on the spot. He stared vacantly into the empty cell, guessing its size at about seven by nine.
   It had a small cot in one corner and a toilet in the other corner. And that was it!
   The floor was a dirty concrete and the walls were a nondescript gray.
   A far cry from what I'm used to!
   Barrett realized he was walking uneasily and unsteadily into a section of society that represented the misfits. The unaccepted! The residents here were, for the most part lowlifes that sucked the life blood from the veins of humanity. This was evil personified!
   How could I possibly belong here?
   Yes, he had committed a heinous crime! But, he thought, some-times external forces take control of our mind and our body. And consequently our vision becomes hazy and our thought processes become irrational. So we act purely on emotion --- not reason.
   Still, in his own mind, he felt what he did was justifiable homicide --- wasn't it? He was no hardened criminal. He was no incorrigi-ble. He was a professional --- a pillar of the community. How could he possibly be a part of all of this?
   Too fucking bad --- Doctor Jessop!
   Barrett sat down on the edge of the cot. He was drenched with sweat. Then he heard the cell door close and lock. He stood up and looked through the bars. He saw only more jail cells. He heard only his own heart beat.
   They had all left him to deal with his dilemma in his own private way. Barrett sat back down and put his face in his hands. Now what?
   As he was sitting on his cot, a bizarre and frightening thought suddenly struck him. Would he be made to pay for a crime he did not commit as a means of punishment for one he did commit? Would this be society's way of 'getting even' with him for not con-forming to its social structure?
   Un-fucking believable!
   Again Barrett began to shake all over as he continued to sit and ponder his precarious future, knowing it was totally out of his hands. Then he got down on his knees to pray. It was something he had not done in a very long time. He tried to fight back the tears. "Dear God --- "
   "Hey you!" The deep resonant voice belonged to someone in a cell twenty feet away and across the hall. "Hey you! You deaf, or what?"
   Barrett stood up slowly and put his face to the cell door. He looked in the direction of the voice. There was just enough light for Barrett to see someone short in stature with large dark and hairy arms and a large dark and hairy face.
   "Why you in here, whitey?" The other voice belonged to his cell mate --- a tall ugly looking man with a bald head and a huge scar under one eye. They both had their faces up to the bars and were looking directly at Barrett.
   "Hey! Whitey!" said the short man.
   "Hey! You unfriendly son-of-a-bitch!" echoed the taller one.
   They began to make 'cat calls' and hissing sounds. then they stopped for a second, talking softly to each other. Barrett could make out the words 'fucking' and 'nice ass'. His skin felt numb, with tiny needles poking him up and down his spine. All the horror sto-ries he heard were going to come true!
   He decided to talk to them instead of ignoring them. Maybe then, he thought, they would quit taunting him. "I --- I'm here for a crime I didn't commit."
   "Hey! Hey!" said the short one, "It talk!"
   "You is right. It do talk!" echoed the tall one.
   "Yeah, well no shit, whitey! We here cause of a crime we didn't commit neither!" continued the short one. "See man. We is innocent too!"
   "We is here due to a --- misunderstanding." added the tall one.
   Then they both laughed hysterically and began to hit the bars with their hands.
   "Ain't this a bitch!" said the short one derisively. "We is all inno-cent."
   Then after a short pause, the tall one asked, "So why you think we is in here, mother fucker?"
   The laughter stopped.
   Barrett started to answer them even though he knew it would be a major lesson in futility. It was another no win situation. Either way they would taunt him unmercifully. It was the beginning of the end. And unless some sort of miracle happened, he was doomed!
   He sat down on his cot and once again put his face in his hands. He then began to cry softly and quietly.
   After awhile the two derisive men finally shut up.
   Barrett put a pillow under his head and lay down.
   Who was she --- really?

*
   
 

   XX


   "Okay, Jessop." A small elderly white haired man weighing no more than one hundred twenty pounds, and wearing a policeman's uniform, called out his name as he opened the cell door. "You are Barrett Jessop, aintcha?" The patch on his left arm read 'GUARD'.
   "Yes! Yes, that's me." Barrett felt as if someone had clubbed him over the head. He couldn't find one spot on his entire body that did-n't ache. He attributed the deplorable way he felt to sleeping, or try-ing to sleep, on the hard and lumpy undersized cot in his cell. He si-lently vowed never again to complain about sleeping in the spare room --- a castle by comparison.
   "You got a visitor." said the white haired guard. "A real slick looking dude."
   The short hairy man re-newed his derisive taunts. "See you later --- sweetheart!"
   "Yeah. See you later, you sweet little thing." added the tall bald one. Then they started with their cat calls and kissing noises.
   "Don't listen to those two scumbags." said the guard as he let Barrett out of his cell and down the hall. "They're both on their way to Lewisburg."
   At the end of the hall Barrett stopped. Standing next to an open door was a small man in a three-piece suit.
   "If you need me," said the guard, "just holler." Then he walked away leaving Barrett and the 'slick dude' alone.
   "Barrett --- Jessop?" the man asked. He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing.
   "Uh --- yes." Barrett answered apprehensively and quizzically.
   "I'm Miles Garrison. I believe you talked to my cousin --- Joey Calvin."
   "Yes. Of course."
   The two walked toward each other and shook hands. Miles' hand-shake was firm as Barrett had expected it to be. Other than that, Miles Garrison was nothing like Barrett had pictured. In fact, his conjured up 'Greek God' image was not even close. In reality, he was, about five feet six and weighed maybe one hundred forty pounds. His thick black wavy hair was slicked back neatly. His closely shaven face was as smooth looking as a newborn's. He had a small nose, narrow face, and deep-set dark brown eyes. He wore a three-piece gray pinstriped Italian suit. His silk paisley tie matched the handkerchief in his jacket pocket. His nails were immaculate and his shiny outrageously expensive looking English leather shoes put Ralph Sharkey to shame.
   "I'm here to represent you in your case against the state regarding the death of one --- " He consulted a small notebook he had in his hand. " --- Jodi Bartless." Then the attorney put the notebook in his inside jacket pocket and led Barrett to an empty room with two chairs and a small desk in the center. A ceiling fixture provided the barest of light. They sat down facing each other. "Now I will tell you right from the start that you have to be totally honest with me. That's extremely important." Miles leaned in, his arms folded on the table. "Because unless you're honest, I cannot properly repre-sent you." Barrett thought Miles' stare would drill a hole through the center of his eyeballs. "Now, is that understood?"
   "Yes." Barrett cleared his throat. "Yes it is." Then he unbuttoned the top button of his gray jail shirt. "Uh --- look, Mr. Garrison --- "
   "Call me Miles. I hate formality." The attorney sat back in his chair.
   "Okay, Mr. --- Miles." He cleared his throat again. "Can --- can we discuss your fee first?" Barrett began rubbing his hands to-gether.
   "You'll pay me what you can afford. Money is not important."
   "Well --- I appreciate that, but ---"
   "Why don't we discuss all that sort of mundane business later." Miles took the notebook out of his pocket and laid it on the table. "For now, I need you to tell me exactly what happened. Tell me everything. Don't rush. Take your time and try to be as accurate as possible" He then took out a gold Cross pen and held it over the pad. He looked at Barrett, waiting.
   Barrett talked as Miles wrote. Yes, he had tried to establish a re-lationship with Jodi. He avoided the word 'sexual'. But it didn't mat-ter. A glance from Miles told Barrett that his intentions were no se-cret. He continued. Yes, he was at her apartment the night of her death. Yes, the cleaning lady had seen him. And yes, he must have dropped his watch and inadvertently stepped on it. But no! He did-n't kill her. When he left her apartment she was alive. Barrett then went on to say that he got home at 11:30 and went right to bed. When he arose the next morning, he found his wife, Janet, dead. She died during the night as a result of a sleeping disorder. They slept in twin beds. Barrett hadn't noticed until morning.
   Miles paused, staring at Barrett again. Then he nodded and con-tinued to write.
     He finished his story, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes tightly. He was suddenly back in the master bedroom. "Thump --- thump. Thump --- thump." He envisioned Janet's ashen face and lifeless limbs. "Thump --- thump. Thump --- thump." A short crisp cry came out of his mouth. "Acchh --- " Then he felt a strong grip on his arm. "Barrett --- "
   He opened his eyes and saw Miles looking at him sympathetically. "Look, Barrett, I know this is a terrible ordeal for you --- to re-live a moment like that. So if you want to rest --- "
   "No. No --- it's --- okay." Barrett took another deep breath.
   "You're sure?" asked Miles frowning.

   "Yes." Barrett was trembling but he spoke confidently. "I'm sure."
   Miles paused a few seconds and looked at Barrett. He gently tapped the pen on his nose. "What about Jodi?"
   Barrett scratched his head then rubbed his hands together. "What about --- ?"
   "Was it sexual?" Miles laid the pen down and folded his hands under his chin.
   Barrett looked down a moment. Then he looked back up at Miles. He cleared his throat several times and spoke just above a whisper. "It never got that far."
   Miles nodded. "You were interested --- but she wasn't."
   Barrett hesitated. "Something like that."
   Miles picked up his pen. He looked at his notebook. "Go on."
   "Well --- I think that's about it."
   Miles continued to write quickly, filling almost every page. "And you left Jodi's apartment
at --- "
   "10:20." Barrett finished his attorney's sentence.
   "And she was alive when you left." Miles looked back at his cli-ent.
   "Very much so." Barrett spoke emphatically. Then as Miles pe-rused his notes, Barrett leaned in closer to him. "There's one more thing you should know."
   Miles looked up. "I'm listening, Barrett."
   "Jodi had a --- and I use the term loosely --- friend. A male friend by the name of Aaron Claypool. A worthless piece of shit!'
   The attorney smiled. "I gather he's not one of your favorite peo-ple." He jotted down notes on the last page as Barrett elaborated.
   "He had no consideration for her. He had no respect for her. He treated her like garbage!" Barrett leaned in even closer and raised his voice. "He actually threatened her."
   Miles looked up again. "You know this for a fact?"
   "Yes!" Barrett answered with no hesitation. "I overheard part of a conversation she had with him and --- "
   "Wait a minute, Barrett!" Miles sat up and raised his hand. "What do you mean --- part of a conversation?"
   Barrett paused a second. "I heard Jodi's end. I distinctly heard her yell 'don't talk to me that way!' She sounded scared."
   "And you viewed this as a threat?"
   "Yes!"
   "Hmmm --- " Miles tapped the table with his pen. "Maybe he used foul language. Maybe he called her a name. Maybe --- "
   "He threatened her!"
   "Barrett, you only heard one side of a conversation. How can you --- "
   "I know he threatened her!"
   Miles nodded resignedly and sat back in his seat. "Continue, Bar-rett."
   "Well, she and I had several --- talks." Barrett cleared his throat. "She told me what a prick he was!" Barrett's stomach began to turn again.
   "Was that the word she used --- prick?"
   "Well --- " Barrett cleared his throat again. " --- not exactly."
   Miles grinned. "I see."
   "Look, Miles. I'm convinced that Aaron Claypool killed Jodi Bartless."
   "Because of what he said?"
   "Because of what he said and because of what he is."
   Miles nodded. "Interesting observation." He looked his client di-rectly in the eye. "Barrett, let me give you some advice. I know you're on a long sharp hook here and Claypool is a way out." Be-fore Barrett could respond, Miles raised his forefinger and added, "And I'm not saying this guy is innocent. But for an accusation as powerful as that you need a lot more to go on. Being a prick is one thing. Threatening someone is quite another thing. The two do not go hand in hand."
   "I figured you'd say something like that."
   "You figured right." Miles laid down his pen. "Does anyone else know about Claypool?"
   "Darrell Saltz."
   "The local sheriff?"
   "Yes."
   "What did Saltz say?" Garrison asked.
   "He said he would check it out."
   "Meaning --- "
   "Well, I hope it means he'll try and find the son-of-a-bitch!"
   "Okay, Barrett. I'll take all of this into account." Miles carefully put away his pad and pen then slowly got up. "The prosecutor and I will meet with the municipal judge and a preliminary hearing will be set to determine whether there is probable cause that a crime has been committed."
   "Probable cause?" Barrett's mouth was suddenly dry.
   Miles continued as if Barrett had not spoken. "Then bond will be set and --- " When he saw the frightened look on Barrett's face, he put his hand on his client's arm and spoke sympathetically, "Barrett, this is the way it's done. It's referred to as the legal process." Then he gave Barrett's arm a friendly squeeze and added, "I'll check back with you as soon as humanly possible." They shook hands, and Miles left.

*

   Miles Garrison visited Barrett two days later. They sat in the ex-act same seats.
   "Probable cause has been shown." Miles said.
   "Meaning what?" Barrett could feel his heart in his throat.
   "Nothing yet." Miles forced a smile. "But every cloud has a silver lining."
   Barrett leaned in and spoke a little louder. "Meaning what?"
   "Bond has been set and you have been released on your own re-cognizance."
   Barrett sat back and stared at his attorney. "You mean I can go?"
   Miles put a small suitcase on the counter next to him. "I believe these clothes are yours."
   Once outside the courthouse, Barrett patted Miles on the back. "Thanks, Miles. I can't tell you what a relief it is to get out of that slimy fucking hell hole!"
   "Well, don't thank me yet. We've got a long way to go."
   "So what's next?" Curiosity was mixed with fear.
   "You'll find out eventually."
   "I know, but --- "
   "All in good time, Barrett." Miles took his client by the arm. "The limo is parked around the corner. Come on. I'll drive you home."
   The limo pulled into Barrett's circular driveway. Miles turned to him. "Take a nice hot shower and get some sleep. Here's my tele-phone number." He gave Barrett a small piece of paper.
"I'm staying at the downtown Hilton. Call me tomorrow when you get up. If I'm not in, leave a message at the front desk."
   The two men shook hands. Barrett got out of the long black automobile and watched as it drove away.
   He paused reflectively a moment on his steps. He was relieved for the present but apprehensive about the future. For now he was free to go home. But next week or next month he knew things could change drastically.
   Barrett Jessop's purposeful alibi continued to be a nemesis. And now it appeared to be haunting him more than ever. He wanted the whole world to know he was at Jodi Bartless' apartment that fateful night. And his elaborate plan had worked well --- too well!
   Now he would have to live --- or die with it intact!

*

   It was 6 am and Barrett had had another sleepless night. Now he sat at his kitchen table with the brochures of Maui and Aruba in front of him. They were faded, torn and barely readable. But using more memory than vision, he was still able to discern the unsullied aqua waters, the clear blue skies, and the white sandy beaches.
   After several minutes of intense scrutiny, Barrett finally pushed the papers to one side. He found himself staring at an empty table and wondering if he would ever get to these remote utopian lands.
   He was beginning to have some strong serious doubts!
   
*










XXI

   Barrett pulled his Oldsmobile into his circular driveway and en-tered his home, which was very quiet now. Even the strange pops and creaks were silent. The soft ticking of the clock was the only sound he could hear.
   He proceeded up the stairs cautiously. "Please! No weird or un-usual noises!" He spoke aloud. And so far his wish had been granted. When he got to the bathroom, he stopped to look at him-self in the mirror. It revealed an old washed out face he had never seen before. His eyes were dull and his hair was a mess. He had a five day growth of beard, his clothes looked like they had been slept in, and he smelled awful. He felt more like a derelict than a profes-sional --- let alone a pillar of the community!
   Barrett's thoughts were shattered by the piercing sound of the telephone. "Hello." He grabbed the receiver, knocking over the end table in the process.
   "Barrett, this is Lysle." His breathing was heavy. "Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to call you all week! You're not at home! You're not at the office! What is going on? Are you all right?"
   "Well --- " Barrett put the end table back on its legs. " --- you're going to hear about it sooner or later. And I humbly apologize for not keeping you informed --- I mean you are my best friend and --- "
   "I know all that, Barrett. Get to the point for Christ's sake!"
   "You better sit down for this one."
   There was a pause. Then Lysle said, "Okay. I'm sitting."

   "This will probably make the evening news, so you might as well hear it from me." Barrett sat down slowly in his favorite chair in the family room. "I've been arrested!"
   There was a long pause before Lysle answered. "You --- what?" Barrett could hear the shocked tone in his friend's voice.
   "I know I should have confided in you, but I tried to keep a low profile. Not easy in a small town. I'm sorry I --- "
   "Arrested! Arrested for what?" Lysle's shock was now turned to confusion.
   Barrett began rubbing his forehead. "For the murder of Jodi Bart-less."
   There was another long pause. "Barrett, isn't she the librarian they found shot? How the hell are you tied into that?"
   Barrett then recounted as much as he could from the time of Jodi's death until his release from jail. He had to speak slowly be-cause his mouth was so dry. "Some story, eh Lysle?" Barrett's head felt the size of a volleyball.
   Lysle took a deep breath. "I swear to God Barrett, I don't believe any of this!"
   "Well, if you don't believe it, you can imagine how I feel." Barrett continued to rub his forehead.
   "Holy shit!" Lysle paused, then spoke more compassionately. "Is there anything I can do?"
   "No. Not yet anyway." Barrett felt like he hadn't slept in a year. "This time I promise to keep in touch. When I know, you'll know."
   "You better, Barrett. And if you need anything --- "
   "Right now I need a long hot shower and about forty-eight hours of uninterrupted sleep!" His body odor was more than he could stand. "Oh, Lysle. I know this is going to sound stupid. But --- what day is this?"
   There was a brief silence. "Thursday, Barrett. Today is Thurs-day!"

*

   Barrett shaved and took a hot shower, staying under the spray an extra ten minutes. He felt clean but far from refreshed. As he headed for the spare room, the phone rang.
   "Hello, Barrett." said an agitated Sara Sharkey. "I spoke to Lysle and --- "
   "Sara, I don't feel like talking now." I have to get to bed!
   Sara ignored Barrett's pleas. "I just can't believe --- "
   "Sara, my eyes are ready to pop out of my head. Just --- "
   "Now you promise me if you need anything --- "
   "I promise. I promise! Just don't ask me any questions." I hope I make it to bed before I drop dead! "And call everyone you know and tell them not to call me. I have to get some rest." He quickly hung up. No more calls! Please!
   Then he went downstairs and took the phone off the hook in the kitchen. The buzzing would stop in a few seconds.
   He crawled back upstairs past the master bedroom, which still had the door closed. No need to go in there just yet, he thought, maybe --- tomorrow. He finally made it to the spare room and lay down on the bed he hated. Now it never felt so good.
   He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

*

   Barrett Jessop sat up wearily in bed and looked at the clock. It was 10:05 am. He had slept nearly twelve hours! And the few aches from the bed in the spare room were insignificant compared to those incurred from the horrid cot in the jail cell.
   May I never see the inside of a jail cell again!
   He then watched a strange shadow move back and forth across the window. "What the
hell --- ?" It took him several minutes to figure out that it was the tall oak tree at the side of the house moving with the wind. He re-membered planting it as a tiny twig nearly ten years ago. "On to matters at hand." he said as he picked up the phone in the kitchen. It took a while for the dial tone. He turned on the news while he waited.
   "Hello."
   "Hello, Miles." He could feel his insides begin to shake. "This is Barrett Jessop."
   "Barrett. Yes!" Miles' voice was fresh and crisp. "Listen, why don't you come to my hotel and meet me at the coffee shop --- say at --- 11:30."
   "No problem." Barrett yawned. "See you then." What am I get-ting myself into?
   He had one more phone call to make before he left.
   "Dr. Jessop and associates. Marie speaking."
   Barrett interrupted her to fill her in and bring her up to date on everything that had happened since he last spoke to her.
   "Oh, Dr. Jessop! How can they do all this to you? It isn't fair!"

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   "I know. The courts will have to decide that though. And that's why I've hired an attorney."
   "Well, I sure hope it's not Joe Calvin!"
   "No, Marie. It's not Joe Calvin." Boy! Calvin certainly has some reputation!
   "That's good." Marie paused. "What about appointments? People have been calling. What should I do?" Barrett knew his assistant was fighting back the tears.
   "Just put it all on hold for a while." A while?
   "Well --- okay --- but --- "
   "I have to warn you though." Barrett turned off NPR. He wasn't interested in national news right now. "When folks out there hear I've been in jail, they may think twice before coming in to see me." Barrett started to pace.
   "I certainly hope you're wrong. That would be simply awful."
   "I agree. But let's face it. People are fickle. And you know as well as I do that there is very little, if any, allegiance in this world!" He sat down on a chair. "Anyway, I have to meet my lawyer in less than an hour. As soon as I have more information, I'll call you."
   "Please do. And don't worry about the office. I'll take good care of it."
   Or what's left of it! "Thanks, Marie. Goodbye."
   "Goodbye, Dr. Jessop."

*

   The Downtown Hilton was located directly in the center of Ge-rald, Ohio. It was built two and a half years ago as a part of a mammoth convention center, supported by bond revenue and individual merchants in the area.
   The huge lobby was plush with thick maroon carpeting and two enormous ostentatious chandeliers hanging equidistant from the middle of the ceiling. The sofas and chairs were all done with black leather upholstery and the walls were covered with red velvet. It all conveyed the ultimate in elegance!
   Barrett walked through the splendor into a very plain u-shaped coffee shop. It was smoky but quiet. There was a small counter in the center. The stools were occupied by casually dressed middle-aged patrons. The men wore short-sleeved shirts and Dockers. The women had on warm-ups and sneakers. They were all drinking ei-ther juice or coffee. The booths were full.
   He spotted his attorney sitting alone at a far corner booth reading the Gerald News and drinking black coffee. Barrett waved the eld-erly hostess away and came up to Miles. "Hello, counselor."
   "Hello, Barrett. Sit down. Coffee?"
   "Yes. And some toast." Barrett suddenly realized he was starv-ing. "Maybe some bacon and eggs."
   "Okay --- "
   "And --- hash browns."
   "That it?"
   "I think so." Barrett patted his stomach.
   Miles called the waiter over, who quickly took the order and left.
   Neither man spoke for several minutes. Miles read the paper. Bar-rett looked at Miles.
   The attorney broke the silence. "Nice day, huh?"
   "Yes. Very nice. Uh --- Miles --- "
   Miles looked up at Barrett. "You want to know what's next."
   "Yes! I want to know what's next!"
   Just then the waiter came over carrying a large tray with more coffee.
   "Fast service." said Barrett.
   "Microwave." answered Miles.
   "I can't believe that a five star hotel would use a microwave." Barrett took a bite of toast and a forkful of eggs.
   "Believe it, Barrett. Believe it!" Miles briefly examined his nails. "I've stayed in hotels all over the world and eaten in some of the finest restaurants anywhere. As far as I'm concerned, they are all the same."
   There was another short silence before Barrett said, "Talk to me, Miles." He took two large bites of his hashbrowns and a long sip of coffee.
   "Okay. This is it --- in a nutshell!" Miles put the paper on the seat next to him.
   "I'm listening." Barrett had finished his entire breakfast and Miles was only two-thirds done with his coffee.
   "You eat too fast."
   "I was hungry." He pushed his dishes aside. Now his focus of at-tention was solely on Miles.
   Miles took another sip of coffee. Then he spoke, weighing each word. "The next thing to happen is that the grand jury of the com-mon pleas court will convene and determine if there is to be an in-dictment, which is a formal accusation." Miles put up his finger be-fore Barrett could respond. "If there is an indictment, then an ar-raignment is set before the judge."
   Barrett's heart pounded in his throat. "How the hell can they in-dict me?" He began to rub his forehead. "They have no evidence."
   "They have your fingerprints. They have your watch --- " The at-torney leaned in toward his client. " --- which was kind enough to tell us precisely when you were at the murder scene.
   And we have a cleaning lady who says she saw you." Miles put down his cup and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "I wouldn't say that they have no evidence."
   "You're not painting a pretty picture here, Miles." Barrett looked at his hands. They were wet and shaking.
   "Look, Barrett. I'm being as honest with you as I can. We need to prepare for any and all possibilities."
   "In that case, find Aaron Claypool. Then we won't have to pre-pare for any possibilities."
   Miles took a deep breath. "We're working on it, Barrett."
   There was another long pause. "How can they indict me?"
   "Barrett, we're dealing with a jury. When you deal with a jury you're dealing with human emotion." Miles downed the rest of his coffee. "Anything is possible."
   Barrett sat back in his seat and wiped his sweaty hands on the sides of his pants. "So what happens if I'm indicted?"
   "That's what you have me for." Miles spoke with a strong self-assurance.
   "I appreciate that." Barrett absently picked up his dirty napkin, looked at it, and threw it on top of his dirty dish. "But you didn't answer my question!"
   "We bargain with the prosecution for a lesser charge, or we go to trial." Miles motioned to the waiter.
   "Miles, I did not kill Jodi Bartless!" His hands were fists. "How the hell can I bargain for a lesser charge?"
   "Look, Barrett, if you are innocent --- "
   "What do you mean --- if?" The frustrated eye doctor could feel his body heat begin to rise. "There is no --- if!" Barrett slammed his hands down on the table and leaned way in towards his attorney. "When you find Aaron fucking Claypool, you'll --- "
   "First of all keep your voice down!" Miles spoke quietly but firmly. "Second of all I'm not saying you're guilty. I am only point-ing out to you all of the possibilities."
   The waiter came over and poured more coffee into their cups, all the time looking oddly at Barrett. Then he took away the dirty dishes and left.
   Miles' tone became more compassionate. "This is not a hopeless situation." Then he put his hand gently on his client's arm. "Now, if there is a trial --- and I'm not saying there will be --- we'll need some people that can testify on your behalf."
   "Be more specific, counselor." Barrett wanted to stand up and scream at the top of his lungs.
   "As far as your character is concerned and as far as your where-abouts at the exact time of Jodi's death is concerned." Miles picked up his cup. "You want more coffee, Barrett?"
   "No, Miles!" Barrett yelled into his empty cup. Then after several minutes of silence he said, "Well --- there's Dr. Sy Marcus. Except I didn't see him until the next day. And he only knows what I told him."
   "Which was --- ?" prodded Miles.
   "That I was home in bed at the time Jodi died." Barrett's insides began doing somersaults and cartwheels again.
   "That's very flimsy. Hearsay evidence is not usually admissible. But if things start to get a little hairy, maybe we can use him as a character witness."
   "Hairy?"
   "A figure of speech --- you want anything else?"
   "No, Miles. Look --- "
   "You're sure you don't want more coffee?"
   "Positive!" Barrett was exasperated. "Why don't we call him now?"
   Miles leaned in across the table. "Because over the years I've had lousy results with physicians on the witness stand." He took a sip of coffee, grimacing from the heat. " Their damn egos always get in the way. And they end up being more of a hindrance than a help."
   "Sy isn't like that. I know you could count on him."
   "Bullshit! They're all the same! They have this --- this attitude problem. They pretend they care about the human race, but all they really care about is their fucking fee!" Miles sat back in his seat.
   "I know, Miles. But Sy is --- "
   "Yeah. I know! Sy is different. Well --- we'll see." Miles pushed his cup to the side. "Let's hope we don't need him." Then the attor-ney took out a small notebook and turned several pages. "Do you know a --- Lucille Napier?" Barrett shook his head. "Well, her name was in Jodi's address book." Miles put the notebook away. "She's a psychologist."
   "So?" Barrett shrugged.
   "So --- maybe she was seeing a therapist. Maybe she had some emotional problems. Maybe she was --- "
   "Suicidal!" Barrett finished his attorney's sentence.
   Miles stared at his client. "Maybe she was and maybe she wasn't."
   Barrett sat up quickly in his chair. He spoke elatedly. "She was suicidal!"
   Miles folded his hands on the table and leaned across. "Explain!"
   "I just remembered something. When she was a junior in high school she found out her mother died giving birth to her."
   Miles continued to stare. "So?"
   "She felt so guilty she became despondent --- suicidal in fact!"
   Miles paused then said quietly. "I doubt if that would cause such severe guilt."
   "That's what she told me, Miles. Those were her exact words."
   "You're certain."
   "Yes, I'm certain." Barrett then cleared his throat. "She told me in confidence of course."
   "Of course."
   There was another silence. "Miles, why are you looking at me like that?" Miles didn't respond. Barrett went on. "I know what you're thinking --- and you're wrong!'
   Miles grinned. "And just what am I thinking?"
   Barrett hesitated a moment before he answered. "That Jodi and I were --- closer than I'm letting on."
   "You said it, Barrett. I didn't."
   "Miles --- "
   The attorney put his hand up. "I'm not interested in that at this point." Then he made some notes in the notebook. "And besides, that was then. This is now."
   "Well --- I still think Claypool is our man. But let's pursue this suicide premise a second." Barrett licked his lips. "She's alone. The gun is on the floor next to her. What more evidence do you need?"
   "A little more than that."
   "I know, Miles, but even so --- "
   "Because she was despondent or even suicidal early in her life doesn't mean she was suicidal later on."
   Barrett sat back in his chair and folded his arms. He tried valiantly not to lose hope. Miles also sat back and rubbed his chin in deep thought for several minutes as he studied his notes. He spoke softly to himself. "So this --- " He turned some pages then stopped. " --- Lucille Napier must have been her therapist." Miles nodded to him-self. "Interesting. Very interesting." He closed the book and put it back into his pocket.
   "Are you going to contact her?" The waiter came over and cleared the table.
   "I don't see why not. I've always had good luck with psycholo-gists." Miles quickly inspected his manicure. "They try to be as ac-commodating as possible. Needless to say, this makes my job a hell of a lot easier."
   Barrett sat up abruptly, elated. "Miles, we've been talking about getting people to speak in my behalf."
   Miles shrugged. "So?"
   "What about me?"
   "What about you?"
   "What about putting me on the witness stand? "
   Miles' mouth dropped open. He started to interject, but Barrett continued.
   "If --- God forbid --- Claypool can't be located. Or if the suicide theory turns out to be invalid. Or if --- "
   Miles put up his hand to silence his overanxious client. "Barrett, haven't you forgotten one small point?"
   Barrett thought a moment. "What?"
   "None of this is definite. We may not have to go to trial." The at-torney adjusted the knot on his tie. " We are talking generalities here. Just some idle chatter."
   Barrett sat back, exhausted. "Miles, I hope you're right."
   "Let's just sit tight and not jump the gun. The grand jury will con-vene on Monday or Tuesday. When the reach their decision I'll call you. Don't worry."
   "I hear you, Miles. But it's my ass out there on the fucking chop-ping block!"
   "And my reputation --- which is maybe not as important to you as your ass. But it's of considerable importance to me!" He leaned in very close to Barrett and added, "And I'm a rotten loser!"
   "Your self-confidence is consoling, but --- "
   "No buts!" Miles stood up and smoothed out his jacket. "Let's wait until next week." He paid the check and shook hands with Barrett. "Relax! Enjoy the weekend and leave everything to me."
   Miles quickly left and Barrett continued to sit in the booth by himself for several minutes trying to put everything in the right per-spective. He was unable to get Janet out of his thoughts. He kept seeing her ghostly face. He kept hearing her muffled cries. "God-damn it! Why did it have to happen?" Barrett was talking out loud. "But it did! Nothing can change it! It's over! Forget it!"
   "Sir? Sir? --- " The voice sounded miles away.
   Then he thought of Jodi: Her sensuous eyes, her soft skin, her beautiful hair, her luscious lips. "Why did I ever involve her? Why couldn't I just leave well enough alone?" His uncontrolled thoughts kept jumping back and forth between Jodi and Janet. He felt as if his head would blow up. "Now what am I going to do? Shit! Shit!"
   "Sir? Are you all right?" asked the bewildered waiter.
   "What? Yes. I --- I'm okay." He felt confused and disoriented. "Please excuse me." He left the coffee shop and then the hotel. Barrett had had enough of the Hilton for one day.

*
XXII

   Barrett threw the plastic utensils and the flat empty box that had contained the frozen TV dinner into the garbage can under the sink. Then he washed out the glass and put it back in the cupboard. It was the first time he had eaten in the kitchen since he had become an instant widower last May.
   After he had finished, he picked up the phone and with a shaky hand dialed the number he knew from memory. It took four rings before the unfriendly voice answered. "Sheriff's office. Deputy In-gles speaking."
   "Sheriff Saltz, Please."
   "Who's calling?" The unfriendly tone became unfriendlier.
   "What's the difference? Just put the sheriff on!" Wrath replaced fear.
   "I asked --- who's calling?" Sam repeated.
   Barrett could feel his neck heat up. "It's Barrett Jessop. Now let me speak to --- "
   Sam clattered down the receiver before Barrett could finish. Dar-rell got on the line almost instantly. "Hello, Doc. I was about to call you."
   "Really?" Fear had returned. Barrett struggled to regain his com-posure. "Well, I just wanted to touch base to see if you found Clay-pool yet. Now I know that --- "
   "We found him." Barrett could feel his color go from red to white. "Or rather, we found a charred remains trapped in a car that was registered to Claypool."
   For several seconds Barrett stared open mouthed at the receiver. "Charred remains?" He could barely get the words out.
   "Doc, the body was burnt beyond recognition." Barrett remained silent. Darrell continued.
   "It seems a Ford Galaxy --- a green one like you said --- with Massachusetts plates was found at the bottom of a ravine about eight miles west of here. The car apparently exploded and caught fire on impact." Darrell took a breath. Barrett just listened. "Pre-liminary investigation indicates that the accident occurred several days ago."
   "And they just discovered it?" Barrett was dumbfounded.

   "Last night to be exact. A passing motorist spotted the wreck-age."
   Barrett's head felt like someone had stepped on it. If Aaron Claypool is dead, so am I! "Son-of-a-bitch!"
   "I spoke with the state police. We're going to try and ID what's left of the person who was fried to the steering wheel."
   Barrett sat back and closed his eyes. A car honked far off in the distance, and a dog barked right outside his window. Then the room began to swim. Darrell's words were barely audible.
   "If I was you, Doc, I'd call my lawyer." The click ended the con-versation.

*
 

XXIII

   Pansy Stalder was forty-eight years old, had long stringy red hair, was fifty pounds overweight causing her to waddle when she walked and wore dresses that were too short and too tight. She used an excessive amount of makeup and adorned herself with cheap costume jewelry.
   Pansy had just gone through a traumatic divorce in which her abusive ex-husband was awarded custody of their three teen-aged boys. Dr. Lucille Napier was in the midst of helping her to put her life back in order when the intercom buzzed. The psychologist dis-liked being interrupted during a session, especially one in which the emotional fever was at such a very high pitch.
   "I am sorry to disturb you," said the agitated receptionist, "but there is a Miles Garrison here. He insisted that I ring you. He does-n't have an appointment, but he says he has to see you on a matter of the most urgency."
   After a brief pause, Lucille asked with restrained fury, "When is my next appointment?"
   "In forty-five minutes." answered the receptionist.
   Again Lucille paused. "Okay, Joyce. I will be done in --- oh --- about ten or twelve minutes. You can send him in then. But not one second sooner! I don't care how urgent it is!"
   After a perturbed Pansy Stalder left the office, Lucille pushed the button on the intercom. "Please send in Mr. --- "
   "Garrison!" said Miles as he burst into the room. "Miles Garrison. May I sit down?" He did not wait for an answer and sat in the chair vacated by Pansy.
   The psychologist stopped and stared for several seconds then said with as much sarcasm as she could muster, "Mr. Garrison! I find your behavior very rude and ill-mannered." She looked at the clock.

   "You have exactly twenty-five minutes to tell me what is so ur-gent to necessitate your interrupting me as you did!" She then calmly lit up a cigarette.
   "Dr. Napier, what you think of me is of little importance. And I would appreciate it if you did not smoke!"
   The psychologist slowly put out her cigarette, never taking her eyes off the attorney. Then she sat back, folded her hands on her lap, and waited patiently for this audacious little man to speak.
   "Well, Lucille --- may I call you Lucille? I hate formalities."
   "Uh --- Mr. --- " Her body was tense.
   "Miles. Call me Miles." He spoke cordially. He knew the atmos-phere was hostile.
   "Okay --- Miles. Now just what is it you so desperately want?" She looked at the clock again "You have seventeen minutes!"
   "Your timing me is most annoying! However --- " The attorney took out a small piece of paper. Lucille looked on, angry and puz-zled.
    "I need to speak with you about a --- " Miles turned some pages. " --- Jodi Bartless."
   "Jodi --- " Lucille pursed her lips and squinted. " --- why is that name so familiar?"
   "You treated her a few years ago. I believe she was a patient of yours."
   Lucille Napier thought a moment. "As a matter of fact I do re-member Jodi." She moved some papers to the side and put her folded hands on top of her desk. "What about her?"
   "She was found dead a few weeks ago."
   "Oh --- I am truly sorry." Lucille Napier did indeed remember Jodi and wondered what happened to the young girl she had lost touch with.
   But she was not about to convey any of her thoughts or feelings to this insolent attorney.
   "Well, I have a client who is a suspect for murder." Miles leaned in and added, "Jodi's murder!"
He paused and sat back in his chair. "However, we feel that suicide may be a very real possibility."
   Lucille Napier remained silent. Yes. Suicide is definitely a very real possibility!
   "Therefore," continued Miles, "If there is a trial, and there very well could be, we would like you to testify as to whether or not Jodi Bartless was in any way --- suicidal."
   "How did you know she was a patient of mine?"
   "I didn't. You just told me!" Miles smiled victoriously.
   "Maybe we were --- friends." Lucille couldn't smile. She was livid.
   "Hardly." The attorney put the small notebook back in his inside jacket pocket. "Your name was in her rolodex. You were definitely her therapist!"
   "I see." There was a long silence. The psychologist remained adamant. "Well --- I will not do anything that would reveal what took place between me and my patient. You seem to have discov-ered that particular aspect of the situation." She took a deep breath. "My patient's files are not for public distribution. They are private and it would be most unethical of me to share them with you or anyone else. As a professional yourself you should know that bet-ter than anyone!" She reached for a cigarette then met the attor-ney's eyes and changed her mind.
   "I can appreciate that. And on any other occasion I would be in agreement with you. But this situation is unique. Jodi is dead!" Now Miles had raised his voice slightly. "And my client is fighting for his life. If this case comes to trial, I'm afraid I will need your tes-timony!"
   "Mr. --- Miles. You have four minutes." Lucille stood up, her hands at her sides, starring daggers at the attorney. "I am sorry. But you have wasted both your time and mine as well."
   Now Miles stood. He spoke firmly and confidently. "I understand your position and you must
understand mine." He waved his forefinger dramatically in the air.
"My record as a defense attorney is par excellent! Whether there is a trial or not is immaterial. Either way I do not plan on losing this case!" Miles turned abruptly, heading for the door. As he was leav-ing, he turned back towards Dr. Napier. "But if there is a trial, you will testify!"

*

  XXIV

   Barrett Jessop, seated comfortably in his easy chair in the family room, would have dozed off had it not been for the sharp sound of the telephone. He grabbed the receiver on the second ring. "Hello."
   "Barrett, I'll get right to the point." Miles said agitatedly. "You have been indicted." The optometrist was silent. "Barrett, are you there?"
   His response was barely audible. "Yes."
   Miles continued. "An arraignment has been set next week. The trial is in one month."
   There was more silence. Then Barrett said evenly, "I suppose all this is the result of there being probable cause."
   "That is correct." Miles felt helpless.
   "Shit!" Fear was mixed with anger.
   After a brief pause, Miles added, "Well, Barrett, as long as I'm in the neighborhood I might as well dump this on you too." He took a deep breath. "I spoke to the medical examiner this morning about the body in the car."
   Barrett felt his inside drop to his toes.
   According to him --- " Miles took out his notebook and began to read. " --- individually the results are inconclusive."
   "That's good, isn't it?"
   Miles ignored the comment and continued. "There were two healed fractures. One was from a broken femur. The other was from a cracked humerus. There were some old scars that could have been anyone's.
   His belt buckle was a popular item two years ago and could have belonged to any of a thousand different people. Dental records were negative since most of his teeth were blown out. But believe it or not, his wallet was intact. His drivers license and Visa were in-side."
   Miles chuckled. Barrett was unable to share in the gaiety. "He was actually sitting on it!" The papers stopped rattling. "But he could have stolen the wallet --- along with the car."
   "Okay, Miles." Exasperation and fatigue had temporarily re-placed fear and anger. "So where does this leave us?"
   "Well, as I said, individually the results are questionable. But col-lectively --- the wallet, the scars, the belt buckle, the car, his physi-cal size --- strongly indicate that this hunk of charcoal is indeed Aaron Claypool." Miles took another deep breath. Barrett remained stunned and speechless. "Between you and me, Barrett, it really doesn't matter if Claypool is alive or not. There's not one shred of evidence to link him to Jodi Bartless. And even if there was, there is no data that would place him at the scene of the crime. There are no fresh prints, no witnesses --- nothing!"
   "Why am I not surprised?" Again Barrett's response was almost a whisper.
   "Barrett, I think we should stop wasting time on Claypool and pursue other avenues."
   "Goddamn it, Miles! I hear what you're saying. But I'm still con-vinced ___ "
   "That Claypool is guilty. Well, forget it!"
   "So he gets away with murder, right?" Like someone else I know!
   "Barrett, I can't answer that. But it's of no consequence either way. No judge or jury in the world would look at us twice with what we have. Dead or alive, we have no case against him!"
   There was a long silence. Barrett sighed deeply. His breathing was erratic.
   "I know this is not the way we wanted it." Miles said compas-sionately. "I'm sorry. There was just no easy for me way to tell you."
   Barrett waited for several minutes before he responded. His voice was edgy but calm. "We both know this is total bullshit, but --- I understand. I'll just have to put my faith in your judgement and --- my life in your hands." He took a deep breath. "I know we'll beat it!"
   "Good attitude, Barrett!" Miles knew his patience would be put to the test.
   "Yeah, right!" After a short pause, Barrett asked, "What's the next step, Miles?"
   "We go to see Judge Wymant and enter your plea --- which is obviously going to be not guilty."
   "Obviously!"
   "I'll pick you up tomorrow morning at eight thirty." Miles' opti-mism sounded forced. "And good luck --- to both of us."
   "Goodbye, Miles." Barrett hung up, then sat down dejectedly, trying his best to digest the dismal news and perceive some logic. After several minutes, he felt he was beginning to envision some sort of pattern. Maybe, he thought, this strong decision on the part of the grand jury had nothing to do with Jodi. Maybe it was a de-layed reaction concerning Janet!
   If this were true it would mean he hadn't gotten away with any-thing after all. He could very well end up paying for the wrong crime.
   Perhaps he would be a victim of poetic justice!

*
 

XXV

   Miles and Barrett, both wearing three-piece suits, followed a po-liceman to a closed door with a small sign reading: JUDGE JOSLYN WYMANT - COMMON PLEAS COURT. The police-man left, and the two men walked into a large crowded courtroom, finding seats in the next to the last row.
   Miles got up and handed a piece of paper to the tall thin bailiff, who in turn handed it to a young muscle-bound clerk, who placed it under a stack of papers on Judge Wymant's huge desk.
   Barrett looked around the room filled with 'seedy' looking char-acters. They were unshaven and dirty with uncombed hair and slept- in clothes. It was a frightening reminder of whom he saw in his mirror after he got home from leaving his jail cell. A sudden cold wave shot through his body.
  Interspersed with these 'seedy' characters were a number of men and women with dark suits. Some were criminals and some were in the legal profession. It was be difficult to make the distinction.
   The longer Barrett sat, the more jittery and the more uneasy he became as case after case was brought up --- many resembling his own. The cases ranged from robbery to rape to murder. He wanted desperately to leave, but he knew he couldn't since the rest of his life might depend on the well-dressed man sitting next to him.
   "Miles." whispered Barrett. "What do I say? We've never dis-cussed it."
   "You say nothing. I'll do all the talking." Miles whispered back. "We'll enter a not guilty plea. Then bond will be set and that will be that!"
   At ten minutes to five, one of the clerks stepped forward.
   Barrett figured him for a first or second year college student. He was young, clean-shaven, and his noticeable air of innocence was unmistakable.
   "Call Barrett Jessop. Docket case number 3391511. Please step forward." Miles led Barrett to Judge Wymant's desk. "How do you plead?" continued the young clerk.
   "Not guilty, your Honor." said Miles confidently. "And if it please the court, considering the fact that the evidence here is circumstan-tial and that my client has a clean record and is a member of the professional community, I would ask that minimal bond be set and that my client continue to be on his own recognizance, pending trial as so stipulated."
   Judge Wymant sat back in his chair. He looked at Barrett, then at Miles, then back at Barrett --- rubbing his chin the entire time. He had rough olive colored skin, a thin mustache, and narrow gray eyes. His clear plastic eyeglass frames were halfway down his wide nose. His bald head showed several small pink birthmarks. Barrett thought him to be in his middle to late forties.
   "So," Wymant said, "You are an --- optometrist. Well --- " He picked up several pieces of paper, studying them one at a time. "I haven't had an eye exam in --- oh --- four or five years." He then looked directly at Barrett and smiled. "Terrible isn't it? You would think I'd know better." He began to turn over the papers in his hand one at a time, perusing them closely. Barrett felt as if he had been standing there for eons. "I will set bond at one-hundred-thousand dollars. And you may continue to be on your own recog-nizance." He folded his hands and looked Barrett in the eye. "I would have your counsel advise you not to leave town." He banged his gavel. "Bailiff, call the next case."

*
 

XXVI
   George Archer was a sixty-eight year old ex-cop. But his wiry six feet two frame and solid one hundred-eighty-five pounds easily passed him off as someone much younger. He ran five miles a day and worked out on the nautilus regularly. He felt trim and strong and knew he could keep up with men half his age.
   It was 11:15 pm and he was sitting in an overstuffed easy chair eating low fat popcorn and completely engrossed in an I Love Lucy rerun when the telephone rang. "Who the hell is calling at 11:45?" He spoke aloud then picked up the receiver. "Hello."
   "Hello, George. Miles here."
   "Miles --- do you know what time it is?" George sat up almost spilling his popcorn.
   "Forget the time. I need your help!"
   "Oh." The attorney's statement was familiar.
   "I have taken on a case in this small hick town in Ohio."
   "Really?" I knew it!
   "I did it as a favor to my cousin Joey."
   "How small a town is it?" George suddenly felt more like a straight man than a cop.
   "If you count the farm animals the population is tops --- two thousand. Anyway, tomorrow I want you to meet me at twelve noon in the lobby of the Capital Hyatt on Market Street. You can't miss it. It's an old building in downtown Chicago near the Water Tower." Miles moved the receiver to the other hand. "I've made all the necessary arrangements for you. Your plane leaves LaGuardia at 10:05 am. Flight 161 US Air. Any questions?"
   George had no questions. He knew from experience that you never questioned Miles Garrison when he had specific plans on spe-cific dates at specific places. It was something he had never gotten used to.
   He put down his half eaten bag of popcorn, took a pencil and pad, which he always kept by the phone, and wrote down all of the pertinent information. "Okay, Miles. See you tomorrow. The Hyatt at noon."
   "You got it." Miles hung up with no goodbye. It was something else George would never get used to. He knew that Miles could be rude and difficult at times and tomorrow he would have to drop everything and go to Chicago. But the pay was good and the bene-fits even better. They traveled first class, ate at only the best restau-rants, and stayed at only the finest hotels.
   After their brief conversation, George turned off the TV and went right to bed. He had a hunch that tomorrow was going to be a very long day.

*

   George Archer arrived at O'Hare International Airport at 11:10. A black chauffeured stretch limousine awaited his arrival and took him directly to the Capital Hyatt, getting him there a little ahead of schedule. But he knew it wouldn't be a problem because Miles Gar-rison would be on time. Miles was always on time.
   The small lobby had thick black carpeting and bone white walls and ceilings. The two huge sofas were black leather and the scat-tered chairs were white leather.
   At 11:55 the two men exchanged cordial hellos and a warm hand-shake. "You know, George, with that fancy warm-up and those Reeboks, you look more like a jogger then a detective." They both smiled. "Come on." Miles continued as he put his arm around the detective's shoulder. "Let's go into the bar and have a drink --- and talk."
   "I assume we're both checked in." George said rhetorically. He knew the answer.
   "You assume correctly." Miles waved his hand in the direction of the porter stand. Soon a short gray-haired black man in a fresh blue uniform walked up to them. Miles then gave him money and he took George's two suitcases to the room.
   George knew better than anyone that the well-dressed attorney's reputation always preceded him as being generous, organized, pre-cise, and prepared to get the job done regardless of what it took.
   The two men found a clean and out of the way booth at the back of the bar. "George, I'm glad this place is not very crowded. What I have to say to you must be said in the utmost of confidentiality. And as you know, I trust no one. You are my one and only confi-dant." Miles leaned in toward the detective, his hands folded on the table. "So just listen!"
   Two tables away, three teenagers temporarily left abandoned by their parents, began to get rowdy and at the same time a jet plane flew over the hotel. It all happened just as Miles was ready to speak. Over the din it was difficult for George to hear what Miles had to say. But he spoke slowly and distinctly so that his associate could hear and understand every word.
   "Are you serious? Jesus, Miles! That is one tall order!"
   "Yes, I know it is. But if anyone can do it, you are the one. And --- I need it in two or three days." Miles sat back grinning as he watched George's mouth drop open.
   "I --- I don't know --- " George began to move the salt shaker back and forth nervously. "Five or six days would be pushing it."
   "I understand all that." Miles put his hand on top of George's and put back the saltshaker. "But time is a factor."
   George shook his head drearily and stared at Miles incredulously. "Well --- I'll do the best I can."

   Just then a young waitress with long blond hair and a short white skirt came up to the table with two glasses of water. "I'm sorry you had to wait." she chirped. "Can I take your order?"
   "Just coffee." Miles answered abruptly as he gazed disconcertedly about the restaurant.
   "I think for a change of pace, I'll have a Belgian waffle. Can you fix me one?"
   "You bet." She wrote down the order. "Be right back."
   "Cute, huh?" said George, never taking his eyes off her.
   "Yeah. Cute." Miles answered absently. "Young too!" The attor-ney took a sip of his water. "We have a suite on the eighth floor. Separate bedrooms of course --- and separate baths --- as usual."
He then gave George a key which was more like a credit card that slipped into a slot right above the doorknob. "George, I'm a bit tired so I think I'd like to go up to the room and take a nap." Miles stood and immediately smoothed out his pants and jacket. "My room is 810A and yours is 810B. There is a door between the rooms.
   And you are under no circumstances --- repeat, no circumstances --- permitted to wake me. Unless it is an emergency --- like a fire!" George only nodded. He knew the routine. "Now, George, you are certain you know what to do." It was a statement, not a question.
   "Yes, Miles." George took a deep breath and repeated his instruc-tions for the third time.
   "Good. Because it's most important."
   The young blond waitress returned with Miles' coffee and George's waffle. "Sorry it took so long. We had to brew a fresh pot and the chef is new." She smiled at George and sauntered away.
   Miles took a long sip of his coffee, gave the check to the cashier, signed his name and left.
   George ate his waffle which he thought was below average for a fancy hotel. But he was not a complainer and finished it in silence.
   As soon as he stepped outside, the private investigator looked at his watch. He knew it was time for him to go to work doing what he knew he did best. Getting things that were not available by doing things that were not possible!

*
   
   During the next two days Miles and George went about doing their own personal investigation and research, keeping busy to a point that they did not see each other at all during that time.
   On the third day at 8:05 pm, George, wearing a silk shirt and light weight wool blazer, both compliments of Miles Garrison, re-sponded to a knock on his bedroom door and found Miles standing there in his usual three piece suit with, of course, a tie and handker-chief to match.
"We haven't spoken in a couple of days, George, and I thought it would be a good idea to sort of --- touch base." He rubbed his hands together eagerly.
   "Good idea." He led the attorney into the hallway and closed the door behind him. "Do you think we can talk over dinner?"
   "As a matter of fact, I did make dinner reservations tonight at 8:30." Miles consulted his Rolex.
"I was hoping you hadn't eaten."
   "Actually, I'm starving."
   "Good. Let's go."
   "We are almost there, Miles." said George as they walked to the elevator. "And I must say I had some real doubts about this one."
   "Not me, George. I never for one moment had that first negative notion."
   They got on the slow moving elevator and went downstairs. The limo was waiting.
   The two men went to a five star restaurant called The Golden Globe, located on the east side of the city. It was a family run steak and seafood restaurant and had been around for fifty-six years.
And even though the food was expensive, there was always a long line of patrons waiting to get in.
   The inside of the restaurant was oval shaped with fifteen equally spaced tables. The recessed lighting was low and the piped in mu-sic was classical. Various culinary awards and certificates of merit for outstanding cuisine covered one whole wall. The other walls displayed pictures of celebrities that had frequented the place over the years. There was a picture of Harry Truman shaking hands with the chef. Eisenhower was waving from a corner booth. Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton were smiling and holding hands. Ed-ward G Robinson was posing as Little Caesar. The impressive array went on and on.
   After a forty-five minute wait, the present owner, Godfry Withesrpoon, led Miles and George to a table near the far corner. Godfrey was tall, thin and arrogant looking. He wore a black and white tuxedo. "I hope this table is satisfactory." He produced a broad phony smile. "We take very good care of our customers." His smile got broader and phonier and he spoke as if the three men were the best of friends. "Please enjoy the food."
   First the busboy, all in white --- hat included, brought the water. Then a young man in a tight red vest, heavily starched white shirt, and baggy black pants took the drink order. George had a glass of Chablis and Miles had black coffee.
   George glanced around him quickly, then reached down to make sure his briefcase was there.
   "Do you have everything?" Miles asked softly.
   "Yes." George took a sip of water. "I think so."
   The man in the baggy pants brought the drinks and a short bald waiter in a dark green waistcoat and dark green pants took their order. Both men ordered prime rib and Caesars salad.
   The food came quickly and both men ate silently. Then the bus-boy returned to clear the table except for the water and Miles' cof-fee.
   "Miles, you really do know your restaurants. That was without a doubt the best damn prime rib I've ever had!" George put his nap-kin to his lips and moved his water to the side.
   "You said that about Elaine's in Roanoke and Armonds in Dallas and --- "
   "I know." George interrupted. "But this absolutely the best."
   "Okay." Miles laughed. "I always say --- trust me. If I pick a res-taurant it will always be the best." He finished his coffee. "That is something you never have to worry about." Then he put down his cup and looked at George. Neither spoke for several seconds. George opened his briefcase and after taking several quick and cau-tious looks around the room, gave Miles two stacks of paper.
   The bald waiter suddenly appeared and asked if either would like dessert. "No." said the attorney, his gaze fixed onto the papers. "Just the check please."
   After the waiter left, Miles wiped the table with his napkin then sat the papers down. He looked over them slowly turning each page deliberately. He nodded his head frequently. "Excellent! Excellent!" He continued to turn each page carefully. "George, you have out done yourself --- and in only four days!"
   "Well, I know a guy that knows a guy that --- "
   Miles put his hand up emulating a stop sign. "You needn't tell me your methods. How you do it is not important. That you do it is important! It 's the reason I take care of you. It's the reason I pay you so well. It's why I wine and dine you in these most outlandish establishments.
   Miles carefully put one stack of papers in a large envelope then folded the smaller stack, putting it in a smaller envelope. "Well, George, your job is done --- for the time being." Now he looked at the detective. "I have to go over these papers. But you can do whatever you want for the next couple of days." Miles produced a wide smile. "Relax. See the windy city. Visit the Museum of Natu-ral History or take a walk in Fairmont Park." Miles got up quickly, waved goodbye to George, paid the check and left.
   George remained seated at the table for a while staring after the attorney. Then he finally got up, resigned to the fact that Miles was right. He was always right. But then again, he had to be because his reputation depended upon it.
   The limo was parked in the same spot. George climbed into the back seat. The chauffeur immediately turned on the ignition and the engine began to purr.
   "Fairmont Park." said the detective, his hands clasped behind his neck. "And you don't have to rush. I've got all day."

      
XXVII

   The two large file cabinets in Lucille Napier's office were an em-barrassment. They were as old as they appeared: rusted out, dented, and had handles that barely hung on. The drawers were almost im-possible to open and close.
   Normally the psychologist did not bother with the files or the file cabinets. That job belonged to the receptionist. But she was tired of looking at the messy overstuffed cabinets and chose this particular Monday to reorganize the files into the two new file cabinets that had been recently delivered. And, she thought, maybe doing it her-self was not such a bad idea after all. Thirty years of paperwork!
   She was down on all fours, her hair askew, her slacks wrinkled, her blouse half in and half out. And she was soaked with sweat. Cards and papers were scattered all over the desk and all over the floor.
   Something was missing --- two things actually. Both were unre-lated and both were several years old. She knew one of the items was in the top drawer and the other was at the back of the bottom drawer. "Where are they?" She spoke aloud.
   "Is this what you're looking for?" Miles Garrison's voice startled her. "Your secretary was not at her desk so I thought I would take the liberty of paying you a little --- social visit. May I sit down?" But he was already seated.
   Lucille Napier got up slowly and ran her fingers through her hair. Then she took a tissue and wiped her face. Her eyes never left Miles. "What the hell --- ?" The folder and manila envelope in Miles' hand stopped her. She stared at the folder then at the enve-lope then back at Miles.
   Miles calmly tossed the folder on her desk as he looked directly at the psychologist. She absently tucked in her blouse, now focusing her attention on the folder. Then she slowly opened it, gasping at its contents. "Where in God's name did you get this?"
   "Oh, I have a friend that is quite good at --- "
   "You mean someone came in here and just took it?" She was so angry she began to tremble.
   "I could have gotten a court order but that would have delayed things." He smiled. "This way was far superior and much easier."
   She could feel the veins in her neck pulsate. "How dare you! How dare you!" She threw the folder down and hit it with her fist. "You son-of-a-bitch! Get out! GET OUT!"
   "First of all, calm down." said the attorney softly. "Second of all, I have two other copies of Jodi Bartless' file." Miles' smile vanished and he spoke firmly. "So you better damn well listen to me!"
   Lucille again looked directly at Miles. She spoke through clenched teeth. "If you are trying to coerce me into testifying --- forget it! I told you once this is confidential. Court order or no court order, I will not testify. Now get out!" She leaned on the desk for support. The blood was visibly rushing to her face.
   Miles then threw the other envelope on the desk. Lucille did not respond. She only glared at it. "Open it up." he said.
   Lucille Napier continued to stare fearfully at the envelope. Miles leaned in closer to her. "I said open it up!"
   Lucille sat down and slowly picked up the ominous looking con-tainer. She then nervously took the papers out one at a time. But it wasn't necessary to go through them all. She knew well enough the nature of its contents. It wasn't missing any more.
   "I also have two copies of that!" Miles sat back and crossed his legs. "And there are numerous court documents --- not to mention some obscure newspaper clippings."
   "I --- I don't believe this!" A violent shudder shot through her body. "How on earth --- ?"
   "I told you." Miles smiled triumphantly. " I know this guy."
   The psychologist closed her eyes and put her face in her hands. There was a long silence. Then she slowly lowered her hands. She cleared her throat and spoke very quietly. "This happened almost thirty years ago. It --- it was my second year in practice." Her voice had a definite tremor. "I know it was a horrible mistake on my part. I'm sorry it happened. But it did --- " She took a deep breath. Her voice cracked. " --- and I paid the price. I paid dearly!" She looked fiercely at the attorney. "How long must I be reminded of it? HOW LONG?" Now she was screaming.
   "Lucille." He continued to speak softly. "I don't think you would want the press to get hold of this --- would you?" Lucille was si-lent. Miles went on. "Many of your patients would be upset --- to say the least, if they knew their therapist once had her license sus-pended for fondling a six year old boy."
   The psychologist remained silent, still looking at the large enve-lope lying on her desk. She felt as if she were in another world.
   Miles folded his hands under his chin and looked up at the ceiling as he continued, carefully choosing each word.
   "Sometimes it's difficult to find out --- certain things about peo-ple. Sometimes you just draw a blank. They are spotless. But then there are --- other times --- "
   "How can you be so --- merciless?" Lucille waited for a re-sponse. When she got none she went on mournfully. "I am asking you --- begging you. Don't make me go through it again." She paused to catch her breath. "I made a mistake and I paid the price. Please. Please! Let it go!"
   "I'm afraid I can't do that, Lucille. I told you last time that I play to win." He leaned in a bit and raised his voice. "And yes! I will use any means available to me!"
   "You sanctimonious bastard!"
   "Oh --- " Miles smiled smugly. " --- I know I will never win any popularity contests." Once again the smile vanished. "But I could-n't care less!" He continued to ignore Lucille's obvious emotional pain. "A famous football coach once said 'Winning isn't everything. It's the only thing!' And that is exactly how I practice law. My aim is to give my client the best defense I can so that victory is auto-matic." Then he spoke slower, careful to enunciate each word. "And I don't give a damn how I do it. If it's at someone's expense, that is just too bad! I want no one or nothing in my way!"
   The psychologist and attorney locked eyes for a viscous moment. Neither spoke. Miles broke the spell. "Your testimony can be cru-cial to our case. All I ask is that you tell the truth about Jodi Bart-less --- and maybe stretch a point here and there --- if you know what I mean."
   "Yes. I know what you mean!" She knew she was beaten.
   "She was a patient of yours. She was under therapy because she was suicidal."
   "Maybe she wasn't suicidal." Lucille could feel herself grasping.
   "Oh, but you're going to say that she was!" Miles spoke firmly and confidently.
   Lucille nodded before answering resignedly. "I see."
   "Good! Because if you co-operate you can have all copies of both files." The smug smile returned. " And you can have the court re-cords --- even the newspaper clippings. Your past is your own and this conversation never took place."
   "Okay, damn it! You win!" She stood up. "But after this trial is over, I don't ever want to see your disgusting self-righteous face or hear your rotten name again. Ever!"
   "Your subpoena will be delivered to you --- " Miles' voice was still at an even keel.
" --- probably sometime tomorrow."
   The attorney got up quickly and as he opened the door to leave, he turned back to Lucille Napier. "Don't be too judgmental about me. You never know. One day you too might need my services."
   Lucille looked up and started to answer him. But she never got the chance. "Have a nice day, Lucille." And he was gone.

*
 

   XXVIII

   July tenth was two months to the day that Janet and Jodi had died following a most bizarre set of circumstances. And except for oc-casional brief interludes, Barrett Jessop felt he had handled
those traumas adequately. His eating habits were virtually un-changed, his quiet moments were unremarkable, and he slept un-usually well --- considering it was still in the spare room.
   But now he had a new trauma to face. He had been condemned for a crime he did not commit. How ironic. To be free from some-thing you were guilty of and to be charged and burdened with
something you had nothing to do with. It felt like the emotions of a bad dream or the words from a cheap novel.
   The ensuing trial gave the mass media more ammunition than they could handle. The tragic story had made all of the newspapers in the area and was a regular feature of the local nightly newscasts. According to the press releases, Barrett Jessop was a middle aged professional in a small town in Ohio accused of murdering his lover, a young and beautiful librarian. They went on to say that informa-tion on both were rather sketchy at this time, but everyone should 'stay tuned' for further updates. Then the media went on to specu-late that the motive was twofold: One was to avoid a scandal that would ruin him professionally and his practice financially; The other was to keep his wife from finding out about the torrid love affair. Except his wife had died in her sleep. How unfortunate --- or fortu-nate for the eye doctor!
   And, as expected, no mention was made of Aaron Claypool. Why should there have been?"
   Barrett hid from the press as much as possible. But Miles was basking in its provocative glow. The attorney seemed to thrive on the publicity, making certain that he got his face into as many pic-tures and his quotes into as many news releases as possible. When he was interviewed on TV, he would speak in his own meticulous manner, playing the part of the ultimate lawyer as far as he could stretch it. At times it was difficult to tell what was fact and what was fabrication.
   "Yes." Miles would say. "I am Dr. Jessop's attorney. And I am from New York --- the big city. Ha Ha! And yes, we will emerge triumphant, as the better participant always does. And no, my
client is not available for comment. That is why he has hired me to properly represent him. Isn't that what legal representation is all about in this great country of ours?" Then and whenever possible, Miles, without discussing the trial per se, would expound on his abilities and on his record as a trial lawyer.
   During this alien and odious time period, Barrett received all sorts of prank calls. Some would threaten to kill him claiming God had told them to. Some gave him sincere sympathy and hope, while others said he was the devil and would burn in Hell.
   He finally had to have his number changed to one that was unlisted.
   He received dozens of love letters --- from both men and women. Most of them were sealed with a kiss. The contents ranged from vague subtlety to vivid graphic detail.
   Barrett then had to stop opening his mail.
   Special duty police guarded Barrett's home and his office twenty-four hours a day to protect him from the public and the press --- and unstable minds.
   He went nowhere except to the office, and then it was with a plainclothes cop. If he needed anything such as toiletries or grocer-ies, Ronni or Sara would do his shopping for him.
   The trips to the office became frustrating and counter productive. Many patients would express vocal dismay at the prospect of hav-ing Barrett Jessop continue to be their eye doctor. "Why, I
wouldn't think of ever using him again. Imagine!" Others were merely nosy onlookers who wanted to see what a 'killer optome-trist' looked like. Most, if not all, of the office visits were
spent trying to evade outlandish personal questions. His patients ( or ex-patients ) seemed intent upon absorbing every detail of Bar-rett's life. And none of it had anything to do with eye care!
   Marie did as much screening as she could, but Barrett knew it was only a matter of time. After three weeks of insane activity and unacceptable office procedure, Barrett had to take a temporary 'va-cation'. Marie did her best to keep the office going, but Barrett knew that when he returned --- if he returned --- he would have to start all over again.
   How he would do it and where he would do it ( He certainly couldn't continue to practice in Patton ) he hadn't the foggiest no-tion!

*

   Since Barrett was now confined to his house almost twenty-four hours a day, he had to make some drastic changes in his daily rou-tine. So he dug up all of his old books --- hundreds of them. Either he had never read them or he had read them so long ago he would not remember the story line. He re-read The Caine Mutiny, From Here To Eternity and Advise And Consent. He read the classics: The Hunchback Of Notre Dame, The Picture Of Dorian Gray; and Wuthering Heights. He read Dickens and Tolstoy. He purchased a three-hundred dollar stationary Schwinn bicycle which he rode every day in front of the new thirty-five inch TV --- another recent activity he tried to cultivate. He began watching daytime soap op-eras like General Hospital and One Life To Live. He watched quiz shows and talk shows. He found a cable channel that showed old movies of the thirties and forties and re-runs of old TV shows: You'll Never Get Rich; Your Show Of Shows; and Mayberry RFD.
   The only people Barrett stayed in touch with, besides Marie, were Sara Sharkey and Lysle Richardson. They spoke every day.
   After Sara and Ronni finally came over and cleaned out all of Janet's things --- clothes, toiletries and such, ( most of which ended up going either to Goodwill or The Salvation Army ) Barrett im-mediately re-organized the house giving every room what he called a 'lived in' look. Everything would be asymmetrical! No more ob-sessive neatness and compulsive perfection. The pillows would no longer lie perfectly. The towels would no longer be folded flaw-lessly. The furniture would be uneven. The statues and other acces-sories would never be equidistant from each other again.
   The food pantry would be re-arranged so that all of the boxes and all of the cans were intentionally mismatched.
   And the bathrooms would be clean --- not sterile!
   After Ronni and Sara removed what little clothes and other per-sonal items Barrett had in the master bedroom, he could see no valid reason for going in there --- ever again! Until he sold the house, he would continue to sleep in the spare room. He was get-ting used to it and he knew, as with every other aspect of his new life, that it was temporary,
   So now, with the exception of the master bedroom, the entire house was his. Totally and undisputedly his! He could do whatever he wanted in it wherever he wanted and whenever he wanted! He was his own person and living a life of seclusion.
   And that was exactly what he always wanted --- wasn't it?
   But was he secluded or was he isolated? Barrett never made the distinction. But it didn't matter. Because tomorrow his trial would begin. And the private world of Barrett Jessop would never be the same!

*

   Barrett would guess that he slept, at the most, two hours. And he was up at 5:00 am on this --- the first day of his trial. He crept slowly out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. First he scratched his head for five minutes, as he always did. Then he stared at his hands. They were dry and steady.
   He shaved and showered, finishing with a dash of Old Spice. Then he put on a plain white shirt and a light weight wool suit fresh from the cleaners. A soft gray striped tie along with shiny black loafers completed the outfit. He took one final look at himself in the mirror. His hair was showing more gray, and his hairline seemed to be receding at breakneck speed.
   He went into the kitchen --- his kitchen --- and made a cup of in-stant coffee, which he drank in front of the TV. The news telecast lasted thirty minutes. Fifteen minutes was devoted to the 'killer op-tometrist'!
   At 7:30 the doorbell rang. His pulse suddenly began to race, and he couldn't catch his breath. It made him wonder if he was really as calm as he had thought. He opened the front door to find a smiling Miles Garrison standing before him. He was dressed in his usual three-piece suit, his nails shone brightly, and his slicked back hair looked perfect. A man he didn't know was at Miles' side.
   "You ready, Barrett?" The attorney's smile stayed intact.
   "I --- I guess so." Barrett opened his closet and took out a light tan topcoat, staring at the long black limousine parked in his drive-way. It reminded him of the hearse that carried Janet's body away two months ago. He tried desperately not to think of that.
   "You won't need that." said the other man. He also wore a three-piece suit. It was dark brown. His shirt was a tan stripe and his tie was a loud print. There was no handkerchief in his breast pocket.
   Barrett absently put the topcoat back in the closet. His eyes stayed riveted to the long black limo.

   "Barrett, this is George Archer." Barrett and George shook hands.
   "George is my right hand man." Miles smiled. "I don't make a move without him."
   Barrett nodded absently. He couldn't take his eyes off the limo.
   Miles and George then escorted Barrett to the chauffeured vehi-cle, leaving the two policemen behind to continue their role as guardians of the Jessop home.
   Barrett sat between George and Miles in the back of the stretch limo.
   "Barrett," said Miles, "I have tried to brief you as best as I can regarding what the prosecution might say or do. I have also tried to give you some idea of what the final outcome might be. Our chances are very good. But as I told you before, you never know."
   "We're dealing with human nature here as much as we are dealing with the law." added George. "Anything is possible."
   Miles then put his hand firmly on his client's shoulder. "I can only promise you that I'll do all I can."
   Barrett looked down, unconvinced. His hands were sweaty and not as steady as they were. . All sorts of disoriented thoughts bounced around in his head.
   Why did I try and get involved with Jodi? Why couldn't I just leave well enough alone?
   During the thirty-five minute drive to the county courthouse, Miles continued to try and brief Barrett as well as console and reas-sure him. Only half of him absorbed it. The other half could only think of Janet and Jodi. First one than the other. Back and forth un-til his entire body felt on fire. He was convinced that at some time during the next few weeks Janet's death, and not Jodi's, would come back to haunt him.

*
 
  
XXIX

   The limousine turned sharply at the large sign that read COURTHOUSE PARKING and followed the arrow to the paved lot next to the courthouse, finally pulling into a space that said RESERVED.
   As they began their walk up the wide concrete steps to the front door, they were suddenly besieged from all sides by photographers and reporters. "How do you feel about this?" "Do you have any comments?" "Did you really do it?" The barrage of questions went on and on.
   The trudge up the steps seemed the longest of Barrett's life. Now he had to deal with these obnoxious and aggressive strangers. Who are these fucking idiots? What right do they have to invade my privacy? I owe them less than nothing! "GO AWAY!" Bar-rett was screaming.
   He felt his anger mount and his patience dwindle when a skinny curly headed man rushed up to him and shoved a camera right up to his nose. George tried to restrain him but it was too late. Barrett, never having had any tendencies toward physical violence, put his hand over the man's face and pushed him, sending him and his ex-pensive equipment flying everywhere. "Get your fucking camera out of my face!" he yelled.
   Just as a group of Hari Krishnas was about to bless Barrett, four policemen intervened. Using themselves as protective shields, they were able to get the three men through the unruly throng and inside the courthouse. With the men in blue leading the way, Barrett, Miles and George
walked hurriedly down the long deserted hallway as the sounds be-hind them slowly faded into
silence.
   After what seemed to Barrett like a millennium, they finally made it to the large musty court room. As they sat down, Barrett looked around him at the unfamiliar surroundings.
He suddenly wanted to re-live the last few months of his life. Tough shit, Jessop! Barrett knew the noisy crowd at the back of the room were the onlookers. Noisy curiosity seekers crowded the back of the room. They considered this garish spectacle as a major entertainment event rivaled only by the Saturday night ABC movie! And he --- Barrett Jessop --- was the main focus of attention. The star of the show. The center of it all! A mild mannered optometrist from a tiny town in the conservative midwest on trial for murder. Who would have ever thought such a thing was possible? Incredi-ble! Inconceivable! He could almost feel the fiery gazes of every-one in the room burrowing into the back of his head.
   Miles quietly and methodically pointed out the various sections of the courtroom, which certain people would occupy: the clerks; the court stenographer; the county prosecutor; the witnesses and the jury.
   As he spoke, the members of the jury began to file in one by one, all having been questioned and approved by both the prosecution and the defense. There were seven men and five women. One was black, one was Asian, and the rest were white. They were all totally expressionless. And not a single juror looked at Barrett.
   At this point Miles turned toward Barrett and said very quietly, "Just keep looking at me and listen." He spoke slowly, carefully pronouncing each word, "I know you are scared shitless!"
   "You know --- "
   "Shhh --- just be quiet and listen. It's imperative that you try not to let that fear show. Remember, you're innocent. So look like it --- and act like it!"
   "I --- I'll try." Barrett answered nervously.
   "Just do it!" Miles turned back to the jury box and smiled.
    Being calm and collected was going to be a major effort for Bar-rett, but he knew it was important. Barrett sat up as straight as he could, pasted a smile on his face, and did his best to look --- inno-cent. He thought of all the hardened criminals that had sat in this very seat over the years, which made the task Herculean.
   "Please rise." said the young male clerk as he introduced Judge Mason Stoner, the only black judge on the bench of the common pleas court. The judge paused and looked over the courtroom for several seconds before he spoke.
   "You may be seated." His voice was powerful and intimidating. He was handsome --- almost regal looking. Barrett figured his height to be near six feet four inches. He had dark wavy hair with just enough gray in it to give him that look of sophistication and maturity. His piercing black eyes cut through the courtroom like a scalpel.
   The judge banged his gavel to start proceedings. Everyone sat down and the courtroom suddenly became very quiet. Stoner then looked at the County Prosecutor for his opening remarks.
   "Mr. Ivers, you may commence."
   Barrett Jessop remembered Miles telling him that the County Prosecutor's name was Walt Ivers. He'd been in that position for three years. He was a forty-eight year old widower, tall, gaunt, and slightly bald. His eyebrows were pale and his lips were thin.
   Barrett quietly compared the techniques and the tactics of Garri-son and Ivers.
   Walt stood away from the jury box, avoiding any eye contact. He kept his hands behind his back or in his pockets most of the time and in a monotone told the jury how the State would seek a murder one conviction based on the findings of the defendant's ffingerprint-sand his wrist watch, as well as the testimony of the cleaning lady. Then he would link it all to a torrid love affair between the defen-dant and the deceased. He described how Barrett killed Jodi to avoid his wife's finding out. As an after thought, he said that as it turned out it wasn't necessary! Barrett cringed silently. Walt added that a scandalous affair like that would have ruined him profession-ally. "Thus", he said in closing, "we have established motive."
   Then Miles slowly and confidently walked directly to the jury box, going out of his way to make as much eye contact as possible, sometimes adding a smile or a wink. Barrett remembered the jury's first impression was critical. As he spoke he made all sorts of theat-rical gestures to make his points come across with as much drama as possible. All his performance needed was a spotlight.
   He said the State's evidence was weak and conjectural and the motive was unsubstantiated. And that if there was even a hint of uncertainty, 'not guilty' was the only verdict. And he would prove beyond any doubt that his client was innocent of all charges.
   Barrett was mesmerized by his attorney's performance. Even George Archer, who had worked with him so many times over the years, looked amazed at Miles' ease in presenting his case. The only person in the courtroom besides Walt Ivers that didn't seem impressed was Judge Mason Stoner. He was visibly fuming!
   After both attorneys were seated, Judge Stoner banged his gavel and asked both Miles Garrison and Walt Ivers to come to his pri-vate chamber. There would be a twenty minute recess.
   The small room that comprised the chamber was newly paneled and recently equipped with a new wood grain desk and matching chair. The wall behind the desk was bare. The other two walls were filled floor to ceiling with law books. Only the doorway interrupted the profound look. The tight dark green carpeting matched the ve-lour drapes. There were no windows.
   The two attorneys took two small chairs from against the wall, placed them across from Stoner's desk, and sat down. Neither spoke. Their attention was focused on the judge as he carefully re-moved his robe and laid it over his chair.
   "Gentlemen! I am tired. My feet hurt and my back aches. In short --- I am burnt out!" Stoner then walked back to his desk and sat down. The desk was clean except for a large stack of papers in one corner. An intercom and telephone were in the center. "Next year I plan to try and get back to one of the lower courts. I don't know where yet.
   But I'll take care of traffic fines, petty thefts, and stray dogs!" The judge's voice began to rise as he spoke. "Otherwise I will take an early retirement. I am fed up with all of this bullshit! I don't want it! I don't need it!" He sat back in his chair and paused for a moment as if to gather his thoughts. His gaze darted back and forth between Miles and Walt. He went on quietly. "Therefore I would entertain a compromise between the state and the defense."
   Walt Ivers cleared his throat nervously and spoke. Miles thought, maybe too quickly. "We could possibly settle for a lesser plea --- oh say --- second degree murder? Say --- second to a --- lovers quar-rel. They argue. The gun goes off --- et cetra --- " He waited for a response from Miles.
When he got none he cleared his throat again. "We could ask for a reduced sentence instead of either life or --- the chair. Maybe --- twenty years and a fine of --- say --- twenty thousand." Walt then folded his hands and put them in his lap. He looked at his adversary then he looked at the judge.
   "Hmmm --- " Stoner rubbed his chin. "And just how do you feel about all of this, Mr. Garrison?"
   Miles stood, put his hands in his hip pockets, and began to pace slowly. He had done enough trials to know when the opposition was in trouble and faltering. Even before the trial began he knew their evidence was lacking and their motive was flimsy. Their case was weak and the State was reaching. He knew it and he was cer-tain Walt Ivers knew it. Otherwise there would be no reason for such an early compromise.
   "Mr. Garrison." continued Stoner, "If you like, you can mull it over for a day or so."
   "That won't be necessary, your Honor. I don't have to --- mull it over." Then Miles turned and faced Walt. "There will be no com-promise!" Miles turned back to Stoner and added, "We cannot
settle upon any sort of agreement that would in any way suggest that my client is guilty. We cannot settle upon any sort of agree-ment that would hinder us in our quest for the truth --- can we? You above all others, your Honor, know that justice must be served."
   "Mr. Garrison!" boomed the judge with fire in his eyes but a con-trolled temper. "I just said that I was burnt out. And I am trying to make this as painless as possible --- on all concerned!" He began to drum his fingers on the desk.
   "Miles put his hands behind his back and once again faced Mason Stoner. "I am sorry about your personal problems, your honor. But in the true cause of justice, I can not and will not agree to any sort of a compromise."
   "You are making a mistake." said Walt, fixating on the blank wall behind Stoner's desk. His hands were locked behind his head and his back was arched.
   "I'll take my chances." said Miles Garrison and he headed for the door. Then he turned back and faced the prosecutor. "Gentlemen, I am glad we had this little --- get together. I do believe my case has just suddenly gotten a lot stronger!"
   Walt stood and faced Miles. "Eighteen years and fifteen thou-sand."
   "No deal!" Miles had his hand on the doorknob.
   "Have it your way, Mr. Garrison." said Stoner now standing and pointing his finger at Miles. "But I will only warn you once. I will not allow you to turn my courtroom into a damned carnival and ve-hicle for your disruptive antics!" His voice was loud but firm.
   "I am quite aware, as is everyone else involved in this noble legal profession, of your provocative reputation. And I will not put up with it in my courtroom!"
   "Your Honor." Miles walked up to the desk. "With all due re-spect. I resent your implying that my record as an attorney leaves any doubt as to its quality and integrity!"
   Mason Stoner put his folded hands on top of the desk and leaned in to the riled attorney. "Mr. Garrison. We do not question your ability." The judge forced a smile. "We question your tactics!"
   Miles, without looking back, stormed out of the judge's chambers and went directly to his seat between George and Barrett. They both looked questioningly at him.
   "What the hell was that all about?" whispered George.
   "Later, George. Later!"

*
   
   The first witness for the prosecution was Sal Petrow. Sal was a forensic scientist with the County Coroner's Office. He was of me-dium height, very thin and dark complected. His black eyebrows matched his short black hair. He also sported a large waxed handle-bar mustache. He spoke with an Eastern European accent.
   Sal Petrow was sworn in and the trial began.
   He testified that the bullet that killed Jodi Bartless was fired from the twenty-two caliber weapon found next to her body.
   "Yes. It was shot from close range." And "Yes. The fingerprints found on the gun belonged to the deceased." And "A Pulsar watch was found at the scene. According to the inscription on the back it belongs to the defendant. The time and date registered on the watch corresponded to the time and date of death which was May tenth, ten twenty pm. The watch stopped when something smashed the face of it. It is assumed that the defendant stepped on it while he was in the apartment or as he was running out of the apartment." And "Yes. Fingerprints matching those of the defendant were also found at the apartment. They were left there on May tenth between ten and eleven pm."
   "Miles." Barrett taped the attorney on the shoulder and whis-pered, "What about Aaron Claypool's prints?"
   Miles didn't turn his head. He whispered back through the side of his mouth. "Claypool is a dead issue both figuratively and realisti-cally. Forget it!"
   Barrett started to respond, then changed his mind and re-focused his attention onto the proceedings.
   "No further questions." said Walt. "Pass the witness." He did not look at Miles. He walked quickly back to his chair. He crossed his legs after he sat down.
   Miles hesitated a moment before he got out of his seat. Then he walked slowly up to the witness and just stood there staring at him.
   "Mr. Garrison." said the judge. "Are you going to interrogate this witness or merely stand here and model your three piece suit?"
   Everyone in the courtroom either smiled or laughed --- except Mason Stoner and Miles Garrison. Even Walt Ivers found the caustic remark amusing.
   "Mr. Petrow." Miles ignored the intrusion. "How long have you been with the coroner's office in your present capacity?"
   "Eight und von half years." Sal began to twirl the ends of his mustache.
   "Well, Sal --- may I call you Sal? I hate formalities."
   Mason Stoner opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind as he looked away disgustedly.
   "Yah. Sure --- I guess so." The forensic expert looked puzzled.
   "Good!" Miles clapped his hands. "Now, Sal. Have you ever been involved in a case where a weapon was found next to the body? And that weapon was responsible for the person's death?"
   Sal thought for a second. Then he nodded. "Uh --- vell yes. Sure."
   "And if that particular weapon only had the fingerprints of the de-ceased on it, wouldn't you consider the possibility of --- suicide?"
   "Objection!" yelled Walt Ivers. "Sal Petrow is not a detective."
   "Overruled! Please answer the question." said the judge.
   Sal thought again before he answered. Then he stopped twirling his mustache and folded his arms. "Not in ziss case."
   "Really?" Miles spoke quietly. "Could you please explain that?"
   "Ve examined ze gun und found it vas almost impossible to pull ze trigger."
   Miles was perplexed. "So --- ?"
   "It vould need a stronger hand den dat of a voman to have done so."
   "Sal." asked Miles smugly. "Are you saying that Jodi Bartless would not have been strong enough to pull the trigger?"
   "Yah!" He nodded confidently.
   "Really! And you can make a general statement like that without even knowing the victim?"
   "Yah! Dot's my finding." He folded his arms tighter.
   "Sal. I'm amazed that you can blatantly say a woman --- or per-haps women in general, are that much weaker than men!" As Miles made his arousing statement, he went eye to eye with a young smartly dressed female seated in the front row of the jury box. He spoke to the witness, but he looked at the juror. "Do you honestly believe that, Sal?"
   "Vell --- uh --- no. Vot I mean is --- "
   "Yes, Sal." Miles could see Walt Ivers out of the corner of his eye. Walt was sitting on the edge of his chair. Miles knew he was ready to jump up and scream, "Just what do you mean?"
   "I mean --- in dis case --- "
   "You mean in this case but not in any other case." Miles stayed eye to eye with the young woman.
   "Vell --- no. Not --- "
   "Sal! Do you think that men --- in general --- are stronger? But maybe women are smarter?"
   "Objection!" yelled Walt.
   "Sustained!" said Stoner. "The jury will disregard that last com-ment!"
   "Now, Sal," Miles continued undaunted. "What time did you say Jodi Bartless was shot?"
   Sal unfolded his arms and began to twirl his mustache again. "Betveen ten und ten tirty."
   Miles put his hands behind his back and smiled at the forensic ex-pert. "Could it have been --- oh --- nine or nine thirty or --- say --- eleven thirty?"
   Sal stared at Miles and rubbed his chin. The attorney walked closer to the witness. "Would you like me to repeat the question?"
   "Vell da vatch said --- "
   Miles' hand shot up. His smile remained intact. " We'll get to the watch in a second, Sal. Let's stay on tract here, okay?" Miles leaned in closer. "Now, I ask you again. Would you like me to repeat the question?"
   Sal waited a long time before he answered. "No. I tink ten --- ten tirty is fairly accurate."
   "Fairly accurate." Miles nodded slowly. "Could you be off --- oh --- maybe one or two hours?"
   Sal cleared his throat. "I --- I don't tink so."
   "You don't think so." The two were nose to nose. The defense at-torney's smile was gone. "Yes or no, Sal. Yes or no!"
   "Maybe." Sal began to shift uncomfortably in his seat.
   "Maybe?" Miles put his hand behind his back again and walked toward the jury box. He stopped half way. "A person's life is at stake here. And you say --- maybe!"
   "Objection!" roared Ivers. "He is badgering the witness!"
   "Sustained!" Stoner was furious.
   Miles turned back toward the forensic expert. "It's a simple ques-tion, Sal. Could your timing be off one or two hours?"
   "I --- could be --- uh --- sometimes --- "
   "Could be! Sometimes! You think so!" Miles had raised his voice for the first time. "You're not sure of anything, are you? Except how weak women are!"
   "Objection!" screamed Walt Ivers who was on his feet.
   "Sustained! Mr. Garrison, I am warning you!" boomed the judge as his gavel came crashing down.
   Miles, avoiding Stoner's eyes, waited a long minute before he continued. "Now, Sal. I'm a little confused here." Again Miles got closer to the forensic witness. "Can you help me out?"
   Petrow nodded. "Sure."
   "Good." Miles smiled at the jury then turned back to Petrow. "See, Sal, I thought only fresh fingerprints --- a few hours old --- could serve to determine a specific time frame." Miles rubbed his baby smooth chin. "But the prints in the deceased's apartment were almost twenty-four hours old."
   "Vell, da prints und da vatch vere --- " Sal looked past Miles.
   Again Miles' hand shot up. "I'm not asking you about the watch. For now, I'm only interested in the fingerprints. So just bear with me, okay?"
   After a long pause, Sal nodded. Miles finally went on. "Now. I know you're the expert here, Sal." The smile returned. "So tell me how it's possible, with prints that old, to tell not only what day they were left but also what time?" Miles paused again, his eyes locking Sal's. "Can you tell me that?" There was no response. Miles looked at Walt, whose head was down. The defense attorney put his ear next to Sal's mouth and said mockingly, "I didn't hear you, Sal." Sal only cleared his throat and continued to look past Miles.
   "The truth is, Sal, that you cannot pinpoint fingerprints that old anymore than I can --- can you?" It was a statement not a question. "It looks like the State tried to slip one over on the defense." Miles said it to himself quietly, but loud enough for the jury to hear. "Sal, do you know the penalty for perjury?"
   Walt Ivers started to object then changed his mind.
   "Your Honor." Miles said facing Stoner. "May we approach the bench?"
   The judge hesitated a moment, then motioned for both attorneys to come forward. The two men quickly positioned themselves in front of Stoner.
   "Shame on you, Walt." Miles shook his finger at the prosecutor and whispered, "A witless sophomoric stunt like that is beneath even a putz like you! Did you really expect to get away with it?"
   "Go fuck yourself, Garrison!" Ivers spoke softly out of the cor-ner of his mouth.
   "Your Honor." said Miles. "Considering that the fingerprints found in the deceased's apartment were not recent, I would ask the court to reconsider using them as evidence to establish a specific time frame."

   Stoner looked at Walt, who had no response. Judge Stoner then motioned for the two attorneys to return to their respective places. Walt, without looking at the defense attorney, stormed back to his seat and sat down heavily. Miles walked back leisurely to the wit-ness box.
   After a short pause, Stoner turned to the jury and spoke deliber-ately. "I must advise you that the defendant's fingerprints can be used in evidence only in that they did belong to Dr. Jessop. They should not be used to discern neither what day they were left nor what time they were left."
   "Thank you, Your Honor." Miles spoke to the jury. Then he turned back to Sal Petrow and said patronizingly, "You knew that --- didn't you, Sal?" Before Petrow could respond, Miles said "Okay, Sal. Let's look at one other issue here. That's right. The watch." The defense attorney looked at George, who seemed to-tally absorbed by the trial and quickly at Barrett, who seemed to be in a great deal of pain. Then he glanced at the jury and finally back at the witness. The smile returned. "Sal, refresh my memory. Tell us again what time was registered on the wristwatch that you found in the deceased's apartment."
   "Da face on da vatch vas smashed." He twirled the ends of his mustache.
   "We know that, Sal." Miles remained calm and spoke politely. "The question was, what time was registered on it?"
   Barrett felt a trickle of sweat drip down his spine. When he arched his back and moved his buttocks, he realized his rear end was numb. He felt like he had been sitting there for days. Shifting in his seat didn't help.
   "Da vatch read ten tventy." Sal took his hands away from his mustache and folded his arms.
   "And what do you deduce from this?"
   Sal thought a moment, then shrugged. "Dot da defendant vas der at dat time."
   Miles nodded. "Okay, Sal. Now, if the shooting were to have taken place say --- at nine or at eleven thirty, what do you deduce from that?"
   "Objection!" Ivers was on his feet. "Mr. Petrow has stated the time of the shooting quite accurately."
   Miles turned quickly to Stoner. "Your Honor, I have challenged that accuracy --- " Now he turned to Ivers. The smile vanished. " --- as not being so accurate!"
   There was a brief silence as Miles and Walt stared sharply at each other. Stoner sat back in his large chair. "I will let the question stand."
   Walt sat down slowly. Miles quickly turned back to Sal Petrow. "I'll repeat the question, Sal." He lowered his voice and got close to the witness. "What would you deduce if the shooting were to have taken place at nine or at eleven thirty?" Sal didn't answer right away so Miles added, "Take your time, Sal."
   "Val --- da vatch said --- "
   "I know what the watch said. We all know what the watch said!" Miles raised his voice and waved his finger in the air. "That wasn't the question!"
   Both George and Barrett were now seated at the edge of their re-spective chairs.
   "Sal. I'll be more than happy to repeat the question."
   Sal loosened his collar. "No. I tink I know vot you're getting at." He looked up at the ceiling for a moment then looked back at the attorney. The courtroom was suddenly very still. "If da shooting take place at ten tventy, defendant dot stepped on da vatch vas der at da time of da shooting."
He took a deep breath and scratched the back of his neck. "If da shooting take place at nine or at eleven tirty, and if defendant step on vatch at ten tventy --- " Sal took another breath. " --- den defen-dant may not have been der at da time of da shooting."
   "Bingo!"
   "But it is possible --- "
   "Sal, I have one final question." Miles interrupted quickly. "How do you know for certain that Dr. Jessop stepped on the watch? Do you have some sort of --- footprint?"
   Sal blinked his eyes a couple of times then shook his head slowly. "No. No footprint. But vatch vas smashed and it belong to defen-dant."
   "Sal, that's not what I asked you. Let's assume it is the defendant's watch." He leaned closer to Sal again. "How do you know Dr. Jes-sop stepped on it?" He glanced at Barrett who was still seated on the edge of his seat. Then he turned back to the witness. "Couldn't Jodi Bartless have stepped on it?"
   Before Sal could respond, Miles added coyly, "Or --- maybe the real murderer stepped on it."
   "Mr. Garrison!" roared Stoner.
   Walt started to stand, but didn't as Stoner turned toward the jury. "Members of the jury will disregard that last comment by the de-fense!" Then he whirled toward Miles and added caustically, "We have made no decision in this case yet --- have we, Mr. Garrison? I believe that is why we are all here!" He sat back and took a deep breath. "Proceed."
    Sal stared at Miles, blinking his eyes again and went on as if there had been no interruption. "It vas defendant's vatch."
   Miles ignored the reply. "Maybe a lamp fell on it. Maybe a table fell on it. Maybe a picture fell on it. Maybe --- "
   "Objection!" Walt Ivers was on his feet again. "Are we going to inventory the entire apartment?"
   "Sustained!" Stoner leaned toward Miles. Again he showed a controlled fury. "Mr. Garrison, I believe that you have made your point. Kindly move on!"
   Miles nodded politely. "Thank you, Your Honor. I have no fur-ther questions."
   "But it is possible --- " Sal started to talk.
   The defense attorney turned rapidly to the witness, shutting him up. "I said I have no further questions!"
   As Miles walked away, he winked at the young female juror in the front row. But he knew it wasn't necessary. Walt had chosen a poorly briefed witness who was easily discredited. He sat down confident that he had won the first round.
   "Mr. Ivers?" asked the judge.
   "No further questions." Walt Ivers looked at the floor as he spoke.
   Mrs. Magenta Purdy was then called to the witness stand, looking much older than her seventy-two years.
   "Mrs. Purdy." said Walt "Would you please tell the court where you were on the night of May tenth between ten and ten thirty pm."
   Mrs. Purdy just sat there staring at the prosecutor apparently lost in thought.
   "Mrs. Purdy --- "
   "Oh --- why yes. I remember." She smiled back at Walt. "That's the time I clean the Patton Apartments."
   Walt Ivers nodded patiently.
   "They are really very nice for the money." she went on. "And late at night is the only time I have to clean them. You see --- "
   "Mrs. Purdy --- "
   " --- during the day I baby-sit for my eight year old granddaugh-ter. I have four you know. They are --- "
   "Yes, Mrs. Purdy! I am sure they are lovely." Walt quickly cleared his throat. "But we only want to know where you were on Wednesday May tenth between ten and ten thirty pm." Ivers then took out a handkerchief and wiped his face.
   "When I clean the apartments, I always start at the top and work my way down. That way --- "
   "Your Honor!" said a frustrated Walt Ivers. "Will the court ac-quiesce to the fact that Magenta Purdy was near the apartment that the deceased lived in on May ten between ten and ten thirty?" "Agreed." said the judge as he rubbed his forehead with his eyes closed. "Please continue."
   Miles and George both sat with their arms folded --- grinning. Barrett sat expressionless.
   "Mrs. Purdy." said Walt. "Is there anyone in this courtroom that you saw leaving Jodi Bartless' apartment that night?"
   Magenta stared at Walt for a second then pursed her lips. "What night was that?"
   The prosecutor took a deep breath and spoke louder than he meant to. "Wednesday night. May tenth!" Then he walked up to Barrett Jessop. "Mrs. Purdy. Is this the man?"
   "Objection!" yelled Miles.
   "Overruled!" Stoner's black eyes narrowed.
   "He is leading the witness." added the defense.
   "I said overruled!" Stoner's intense gaze remained on Miles. "Please continue."
   Mrs. Purdy squinted in the direction of Barrett. "Oh yes. Dr. Jes-sop." Then she waved at him. "I did see him that night. I remem-ber. I was going to clean --- "
   "Let the record show," interrupted Ivers, who was now at the witness stand, "that Mrs. Purdy has identified the defendant as be-ing the one she saw leave the deceased's apartment on the night in question." Walt breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Now, Mrs. Purdy, what time did you see him?"
   "See who?" she asked innocently.
   Ivers glared at his witness for several seconds. "Dr. Jessop." Then he unavoidably raised his voice again. "Dr. Jessop! On May tenth!"
   "I don't remember." Magenta smiled at Walt.
   The prosecutor took another deep breath and bit his upper lip. "Was it near --- say ten thirty pm?"
   "Objection!" Miles was on the edge of his seat. "Prosecution is leading the witness!"
   "Sustained." said Stoner.
   "I think near ten thirty." said Mrs. Purdy as an afterthought.
   "Are you certain?" Walt's voice cracked.
   Magenta nodded and smiled broadly. "Yes."
   "No further questions." Ivers gestured to Miles. "Your witness." Then he took out his handkerchief and once again wiped his face as he sat down.
   Miles walked slowly up to Magenta Purdy with his best phony smile. "Magenta --- may I call you Magenta? I hate formalities."
   Mason Stoner banged his gavel. "Mr. Garrison! You will dispense with your infuriating little intimacies and get on with your cross ex-amination!"
   "Yes. Of course, your Honor." Miles turned back to the witness and continued, his smile still in place. "Magenta. You stated that you saw Dr. Jessop leave Jodi Bartless' apartment at around ten thirty pm --- give or take a couple of minutes."
   "Why --- yes. I believe that's correct."
   "Did you know Ms. Bartless?"
   "No. Not very well. She seemed to be a very nice and quiet young lady. Lived alone."
   "Mrs. Purdy." Miles put his hands behind his back and faced the jury. Then he nodded his head and spoke slowly.
   "Could it be possible that Dr. Jessop was going to her apartment instead of leaving it?"
   Mrs. Purdy stared at the defense lawyer for a moment. "Why --- yes. I suppose so." She put her fingers to her lips. Her brow was furrowed as if to re-orient her thoughts. "Oh! I just remembered him asking me where she lived."
   Miles glanced at his client, who up until now was quiet. But Miles knew he wanted to join in the conversation. He didn't.
   "I forget why." continued Magenta. "But --- yes. He wanted to know where she lived. He seemed a bit confused. So I pointed it out to him."
   "I see." Now Miles glanced at Walt Ivers. Then he turned back to the witness and said encouragingly, "Go on, Mrs. Purdy."
   "They look so much alike, you know." said the elderly cleaning lady.
   "Pardon me?"
   "The apartments. They all look alike."
   Miles knew he had better get back to his original line of question-ing. "And you think it was near ten thirty."
   Magenta paused again before answering. "Yes. About then."
   "And you are certain the man in question was Dr. Jessop?"
   "Well --- " She paused and again squinted in Barrett's direction. " --- I thought it was him."
   "Magenta. Now you take your time." Miles got closer and smiled broadly. "You don't want to lie on the witness stand."
   "Objection!" screamed Walt. "Defense is threatening the wit-ness."
   "Sustained!" Mason Stoner's booming voice softened as he looked at the cleaning lady. "Mrs. Purdy, you have already an-swered the question. You don't have to answer it again."
   "Well --- I certainly don't want to lie. I really did think it was him." She again put her fingers to her lips. Her brow once more became furrowed. "Now I don't know. I'm all confused."
   "That's okay, Magenta." said Miles condescendingly. "We just want to get some idea of what was going on the night Jodi Bartless killed herself."
   "Objection!" Walt Ivers was on his feet shaking his fist in the air. "This is inexcusable!"
   "Sustained! Mr. Garrison --- "
   "I withdraw the last statement." Miles did not have to look at Mason Stoner to feel the impact of his wrath. But he knew, as did everyone in the courtroom, that an uncertainty was now firmly planted into the heads of each and every juror. He had discredited the State's second witness. It was another blunder by Ivers, and the defense had won the second round. "No further questions." Miles went quickly to his seat.
   "Does the prosecution wish to cross examine?" Stoner asked Ivers.
   Walt thought for a moment then sat down slowly and answered meekly. "No, your Honor."
   "Mrs. Purdy." said the judge gently. "That will be all. You may step down."
   "Did I do okay?" asked the bewildered cleaning lady.
   "Yes, Mrs. Purdy. You did fine." Stoner continued to be gentle. "Now you are excused. You may step down."
   "I --- I just got so confused."
   "Yes --- well, thank you, Mrs. Purdy. That will be all. Please --- step down." Then he turned to the young clerk. "Will you please help Mrs. Purdy?"
   Magenta, with the help of the clerk, got up and slowly edged her way out of the courtroom. With the exception of a disgruntled Walt Ivers, everyone seemed mildly amused at her utter confusion and disjointed mumblings.
   Mason Stoner suddenly banged his gavel and spoke in his power-ful and commanding voice. "It's getting late. I am going to call a halt. Now, are there any problems with that --- Mr. Garrison?"
   "No, Your Honor."
   "Good! Mr. Ivers?"
   "No, Your Honor."
   "Splendid! Court is adjourned until tomorrow at nine am."

*
 
   XXX

   At eleven thirty-five pm the telephone rang at Mason Stoner's home in Gallery Ohio, a quaint little village of eight hundred peo-ple. The residents of the small community were either white collar or professional. The house itself was a modest three-bedroom ranch style made of stone and stucco and surrounded by trees and bushes which Stoner pruned or trimmed on a regular basis.
   The Stoner residence was located at the very outskirts of the vil-lage.
   "Now who could that be at this hour?" asked Sylvia Stoner, Ma-son's wife of thirty-five years. She was already in bed and half asleep.
   "I'll get it." said the judge. He put down his toothbrush and picked up the receiver. The Stoners had an unlisted number that only a few people had access to. Governor Bruce Holstadt was one of those few.
   "Hello, Mason. Bruce Holstadt here. How are you this evening?"
   "Fine." It's eleven thirty-five. Cut the crap! The judge took off his bathrobe and threw it over a chair across from the bed.
   "Mason, I will get right to the point!" The Governor acted friendly.
   "I knew you would." The judge said it quietly to himself as he buttoned the top button of his bright flowery pajamas.
   "You know, Mason that I intend to run for the Senate next term." He spoke matter-of-factly.
   "Oh?" Stoner was somewhat taken aback by the Governor's am-bitious statement. But he wasn't surprised.
   "Yes! And a good reputation is very important. Don't you think so?"
   "Well --- yes." Mason Stoner could visualize Holstadt with his fat ass in an overstuffed chair, his fat feet and short legs on a coffee table, and a half-smoked cigar in a dirty ashtray next to him.
   "You see, Mason," The Governor spoke as if it were a one-way conversation. "as Governor of this fine state, I have this large and dubious responsibility --- you know." Then he paused briefly to blow his nose. "I mean --- showing these ignoramuses that voted for me how much you --- care. How concerned you are in making their cities as crime free as possible." He paused briefly again. "And of course you do this by getting the criminal element off the streets."
   Mason thought to himself, what happened to 'getting to the point'? But he wasn't going to ask.
   "I think all that is very important." Holstadt continued. "Don't you think so?"
   Stoner wondered why he asked so many questions when he seemed to have all the answers. But again he kept his opinions to himself.
   "And since my track record as far as crime control is concerned is somewhat --- shall we say --- questionable --- "
  Your track record as far as crime control is concerned is a piece of shit! Mason would still not verbalize his thoughts. He looked at his wife. She was snoring softly.
   " --- I would say that the Barrett Jessop case could be very im-portant to my political career. I could use it to help me --- climb the political ladder." Holstadt blew his nose again. "And I really do want this position in Congress. I'd make a great Senator. Don't you think so?" Stoner did not respond. Bruce went on. "Now it is quite apparent that Walt Ivers is doing and will continue to do a piss poor job as prosecutor. I know he's got Miles Garrison on the other side. And I'll be the first one to admit that Garrison is one shrewd cocksucker!
   But Ivers is allowing him to bullshit his way through this damn trial! And Garrison puts his pants on the same way Ivers does. One leg at a time!" Holstadt sniffed once then cleared his throat. "Now, I really hate to butt in and make a major issue out of all of this, but this particular case is getting statewide attention. And I wouldn't be in the least surprised to read about it in the New York Times! This means I need a conviction!"
   Stoner heard some rustling on the other end and assumed Hol-stadt was moving his fat ass and his fat feet. He looked at Sylvia, grateful she was still asleep.
     "So, Mason, how do you think we can get this conviction?" Holstadt didn't give Stoner a chance to respond as he answered his own question. "Well, I have the solution!"
   "You what?" Mason sat down on the edge of the bed. The springs creaked under his weight.
   "I said I have the solution."
   Stoner began to rub his chin nervously. And now he could feel his pulse speed up. He wanted to yank the phone out of the wall.
   "This is how I see it, Mason." The Governor's voice became more hostile. "You and Walt follow this plan I've got set up. And if it works, which I'm sure it will, then everybody wins! Walt's career doesn't suffer, you can retire in three years --- with my blessing, and next year I become Senator of the great state of Ohio." There was another brief pause. "And I will remember those that helped me --- as well as those that refused. You do get the picture --- don't you, Mason?"
   Stoner was seething from Holstadt's menacing threat. "Yes, Bruce. I get the picture."
   You prick!

   "Good! Now you listen to me!" Stoner could feel the heat of Holstadt's intimidation. "I know this man --- " Bruce Holstadt then carefully outlined his elaborate deceptive plan to Mason Stoner. Af-ter he was finished, the judge could only stare at the telephone.
   "Jesus Christ, Bruce! Are you serious?" He looked quickly at his wife. She was sound asleep.
   "Yes I am, Mason. Yes I am! I should have stepped in long be-fore Walt Ivers had a chance to screw everything up." The gover-nor then raised his voice. "And I will tell you right now I do not want that clown getting in the way. Hopefully, we can still salvage things." Holstadt took a deep breath. "I mean --- let's face it. Walt Ivers is a damn joke! And this is the only way he is ever going to beat that fucking Miles Garrison! Don't you think so?"
   Mason had to pause, shaking his head in astonishment. He sud-denly saw his high moral standards, his righteous beliefs, and his long inbred ethical values disappear --- completely destroyed. Years of honesty and dedication would mean less than nothing! His over-all thinking processes needed to be totally re-organized in order to assume any role in Holstadt's outrageous plan. The governor's next statement took all decisions out of Mason's hands.
   "Now, Mason. I know you'd like to retire in three years. And I sure as hell wouldn't want to see anything --- go wrong!" Stoner's entire body stiffened. "So I do hope that you will co-operate. You do see what I mean --- don't you?"
   There was a long silence before Mason answered resignedly. "Okay, Bruce. You win!" Stoner knew when he was beaten.
   "Wonderful! I knew you would understand. Now you call up Walt Ivers and you tell him exactly what I told you. I would do it, but that would be improper conduct."
   Holstadt laughed. Stoner was livid. "And anyway, I do prefer to deeply involve you as well as Ivers." Holstadt laughed again. The laughter was brief. "Any questions?"
   There was another long silence. "No, Bruce. No questions!" He was squeezing the receiver so tightly his knuckles began to throb.
   "Well then, good night. And I am so glad we understand each other." Then as an afterthought he added, "And do give my best to Sylvia."
   After Mason hung up, he glared at the silent telephone. "You son-of-a-bitch! You Goddamn son-of-a-bitch!"

   It was exactly midnight when Mason Stoner called Walt Ivers. Sylvia Stoner continued to sleep quietly unaware of the nefarious events that were about to unfold.
   "Hello." Walt's voice was understandably groggy.
   Hello, Walt. Mason Stoner here." Stoner took another quick look at his wife then got up and sat in the chair across from the bed.
   There was a long pause. "Mason --- ? What the hell --- "
   "Don't talk. Just listen." The judge tried not to raise his strong voice.
   "Mason, do you know what time it is?"
   "Forget the damn time. We have a problem."
   There was another long pause. "What sort of --- problem?"
   "I just got off the phone with Bruce Holstadt. What a loathsome and unscrupulous bastard!" Stoner stood up and began to pace. He held the receiver in one hand and the phone in the other.
   "I know. I've dealt with him before."
   "I wanted to rip the phone out of the wall and shove it down his gubernatorial throat!"
   "Well, I can relate to that. So tell me about this --- problem."
   "First of all, he's concerned about the way you're handling the Jessop case."
   "Tough shit!" Walt's grogginess gave way to fury.
   "And I do have to agree in part." Stoner changed hands with the receiver and the phone. "I mean --- just what kind of half-assed case are you trying, for Christ's sake?"
   "Now look damn it! If you don't --- "
   "You are wasting the court's time." Mason interrupted. "I have-n't practiced law in over twenty years and I could do a better job!"
   "Not that I owe you an explanation, " Walt's voice was shaky. "but I had hoped the forensic expert would have carried more weight."
   "Come on Walt! You knew I would disallow the reliability of old fingerprints. Hell, any second year law student knows that!" Stoner took a breath. "But the busted watch could have worked for you --- if you hadn't screwed it up!"
   "Listen, Mason --- "
   "And I suppose Magenta Purdy was to have been your key wit-ness!" Walt did not answer. Mason could hear the erratic breath-ing. The judge continued. "Miles Garrison is making a mockery of this case and a fool out of you!"
   "Look Goddamn it! I am doing the best I can." Stoner could al-most see the attorney's face turn red.
   "Well then, your best just isn't good enough --- is it?"
   "Then let the friggen State get someone else!" Again Mason could hear the erratic breathing. "For what I'm getting paid, I don't need to be hassled!"
   "No, Walt. Getting someone else is a bad idea." Stoner continued to pace. "It wouldn't look real good for the State to change lawyers now. And Bruce wouldn't like it. He wouldn't like it at all!"
   "Is that a fact? Well --- "
   "Our esteemed Governor wants a conviction." Stoner inter-rupted. "His tone was intimidating and his insinuations were threat-ening!" Walt did not respond. He was totally aware of how intimi-dating the governor could be. The judge continued. "He is going to run for the Senate. Stoner sat down on the bed and put the phone in his lap. Again the bed creaked.
   "I know that, Mason." Fury and fatigue were mixed in Walt's voice.
   "He wants --- "
   "He wants. HE WANTS! My whole fucking existence is predi-cated upon what Bruce Holstadt wants!" Walt was yelling.
   "And that mother fucker made it perfectly clear to me that if we didn't co-operate, you would be sucking up to someone trying to find a spot to hang your shingle someplace back in Toledo! And my retirement plans would be --- disrupted."
   There was a long pause. "That's what he said?" Walt spoke softly and fearfully.
   "Not in exactly those words. Let's just say he strongly alluded to it."
   Walt didn't respond. He didn't have to. He knew Stoner was right. Mason continued. "And I just may want to retire in three years. With what I got saved added to my social security and pension, I will get close to fifty thousand a year." He looked devotedly at his sleeping wife. "Sylvia and I could live out the rest of our lives very nicely on that." His mellow tone suddenly became hostile. "And I don't need any damn Bruce Holstadt to mess it up for me!'
   "You think Holstadt has influence on my job and on your retire-ment?"
   "He has influence --- everywhere. Holstadt is one powerful man."
   Walt Ivers took several deep breaths. "Okay. So what do we do?"
   "We co-operate." Stoner suddenly realized he was soaked with sweat.
   "Meaning --- what?"
   The judge got up slowly. "I am going to tell you exactly what he told me over the phone only a few minutes ago." Mason Stoner began to pace as he relayed in detail the Governor's plan.
   When he was finished there was an unusually long silence. Walt response was shakier than before. "Mason, do you realize what you're saying?"
   "Look, Walt, I don't like it any better than you do. All of this un-derhanded --- devious shit goes against everything I was taught. It totally refutes all the ethical behavior that I so strongly believe in." Mason tried not to raise his voice for fear of waking his wife "But this is a tough world. And I aim to take care of me. I suggest you do the same."
   "Well --- " said Walt after another lengthy pause, " --- I guess I'm not surprised. I know his tactics. I should have known that prick would make it rough. Mason, this really stinks!
   Jesus Christ! What unmitigated gall!"
   "We have no choice!" The judge said it matter-of-factly.
   "You're right. We have no choice."
   "One day we'll get even. One day we won't have to take his shit. But right now Holstadt has the upper hand and the deck is stacked." Stoner took a deep breath and wet his lips. "Now I don't have to tell you that if Miles Garrison ever found out about our lit-tle tête-à-tête we would both be in deep shit. So as far as we are concerned, this conversation never took place."
   There were no goodbyes. And as Stoner hung up he wondered what the defense would say if they found out that the prosecuting attorney had a private talk with a man who was supposed to be un-biased and impartial, mediating both side of a trial.

*

   At 12:20 am Walt Ivers dialed the number he was told to dial. A harsh and uneven sleepy voice answered. "Hello."
   "Hello. This is Walt Ivers."
   "Walt --- "
   "Ivers. Walt Ivers. County prosecutor."
   "Ivers --- yeah. Sure." The voice displayed uncertainty. "What's wrong?"
   "Just answer one question. What is your yearly salary?"
   After a short pause, the sleepy voice responded cautiously. "What --- ?"
   "Your salary. How much do you get paid a year?"
   "I know what a salary is! But I don't get it. Is this a --- ?"
   "Just tell me what you make a year." Walt tried to mask his frus-tration.
   "You call me this late just to ask me what I make a year?"
   "Yes. It's very important." Walt wanted desperately for the con-versation to conclude.
   "Well --- it's public knowledge." He gave the amount. Confusion was mixed with anger. " Now why is that so damn important?"
   Walt paused briefly for effect as he was told to do. "I am willing to and in a position to give you four times that amount --- in cash!"
   There was a long pause. "F --- four times?"
   "Yes. Four times."
   "I --- I don't understand."
   "I have a proposal for you. Now don't interrupt. Just listen." Walt then said exactly what he was told to say.
   The person at the other end of the line whistled. "Jesus --- I don't know. I --- "
   "Think of the money." Walt looked at the clock. It was ten min-utes to one. Long past his bedtime.
   "Yeah, I know --- but still --- "
   "Think of what you can do with the money." Walt wondered if Stoner and Holstadt were still awake.
   "I know --- but --- I don't want to get in any trouble."
   "I guarantee you, no one will ever know."
   "Geez --- I don't know --- "
   "It's a lot of money." Again he paused as he was told to do. "And it's all yours --- tax free!"
   There was another long pause. "And no one will ever know?"
   "I guarantee it!" Walt wanted to rip the phone out of the wall but he knew he couldn't. He had to finish the job.
   Once again there was silence. "Well --- as long as no one will ever know. Yeah, I guess so."
   "Then we have an agreement?"
   The other person took a deep breath. "Okay. We have an agree-ment."
   "Good!" Walt took a tissue from the bedside table and wiped his sweaty face.
   "When do I get the money?" The other person asked.
   "After you testify." The click ended the conversation.

*
 

   XXXI

   "Please call the next witness." The powerful voice of Mason Stoner once again reverberated through the courtroom.
   Barrett's neck and back felt like one single piece of wood. How much longer could he sit in this room before his entire body was numb.
  "Will Dr. Lucille Napier please take the stand." said the eager young clerk.
   Lucille got up slowly and walked languidly to the stand. Then she looked about her disdainfully, was finally sworn in and reluctantly sat down. She looked totally unadorned. Her hair was combed back neatly and she wore no makeup. The only jewelry she had on was a thin gold necklace and a small sapphire ring on the third finger of her left hand. She wore a simple hi-cut black dress that was long enough to cover both knees. Lucille appeared to be drained --- both physically and emotionally.
   "Dr. Napier." said Miles Garrison. "Please tell the court what you do for a living --- your profession, where you do it and how long you have been at it." Barrett noticed that Miles emphasized the word ‘Dr.’ There was no cuteness. There was no clever repartee. He remembered Miles telling him how important her testimony was.
   Lucille Napier answered slowly and deliberately. She seemed to be trying her best to be as precise and accurate as possible. As she spoke, she looked everywhere except at Miles Garrison. Today Miles was too arrogant; too much in control; too cocksure of him-self. Today he was, in short, everything she was not!
   "Dr. Napier." The defense attorney, his hands behind him, turned to face the jury. "Do you remember a young lady that you treated a few years ago by the name of Jodi Bartless?"
   Before she could answer, Mason Stoner interrupted. "Dr. Napier. I realize the information you are about to give is somewhat confi-dential. If you refuse to testify it will not be held against you."
   At any other time Miles Garrison would have erupted, violently protesting an unorthodox interference from the presiding judge. But today he was not concerned. He knew very well that Lucille Napier would answer any and all questions put to her or otherwise risk having an incident of the past become a nightmare of the present. He knew it and he knew Lucille knew it.
   "It's alright, your Honor." Lucille spoke wearily. "I realize all of that and I'm prepared to answer."
   Barrett Jessop leaned forward in his chair with his hands folded in front of him. His face showed concern. His body was rigid.
   "Just so you understand." added the judge. Then he cast a quick and disturbing glance at Walt Ivers.
   Lucille gave a concise and compact account, as she remembered it, of Jodi's deep and penetrating guilt that stemmed from finding out that her mother died giving birth to her.
   After she had finished, she folded her hands on her lap, sat back in the witness chair, and looked at the floor. Total silence now consumed the courtroom.
   "Dr. Napier." Miles continued. "You have just described a person that had a traumatic incident encompass a large portion of her life. An incident that could have had a serious and lasting psychological effect. You have described someone, perhaps, very distraught."
   Lucille did not respond. Her gaze remained focused onto a spot on the floor somewhere in front of her.
   Miles adjusted the knot on his silk tie and again faced the jury. "In your professional opinion would you describe Jodi as despondent?" He turned back to the witness. " Or even suicidal?"
   Lucille paused for a long moment. "She was disturbed --- dis-traught, of course, as any young girl would be under those circum-stances. You see --- "
   "Dr. Napier!" Miles spoke impatiently. "That's not an answer. Was she suicidal?"
   "Objection!" yelled Walt Ivers. "She just answered that question. Defense is badgering its own witness!"
   Before Mason Stoner could respond to Walt, Lucille answered meekly, "Yes."
   There was a sudden outburst from the room in response to Lucille's belated reply.
   Barrett Jessop wet his lips and took a deep breath. He continued to sit forward in his chair, bemoaning his predicament, wondering how much longer he could last both physically and emotionally.
   The judge brought his gavel mercilessly down on the desk. "An-other reaction like that and I will clear the court!"
   After the din subsided, Lucille Napier continued. "In 1980 I was called in to treat Jodi after she did --- attempt suicide."
   "Well, Dr. Napier." Miles turned briefly to the jury then back to the witness. "Were you called in to treat Jodi Bartless after she shot herself?"
   "Objection!" Walt Ivers was on his feet and screaming. His head and neck were both red.
   "Sustained!" roared Mason Stoner. "The jury will disregard the last question."
   "But," Miles went on avoiding the judge's glare and ignoring the interruption. "you did state that, in your professional opinion, in 1980 Jodi was, in fact, suicidal."
   "Yes. She was then. I don't know if she was before or after."
   Miles waited then spoke with a restrained fury. "I did not ask you about before or after --- did I?"
   "No." Lucille responded quickly. "But I am trying to be as truth-ful as I can." Now she looked Miles in the eye for the first time since she sat in the witness chair. "You do want me to be truthful --- don't you?" She responded with a hint of sarcasm.
   "Dr. Napier." Miles went on imperviously. "Is it not possible that the deceased could still have been suicidal. Even up to her death?"
   Barrett continued to sit stiffly in his chair. The concerned look remained intact.
   "Now mind you." Miles was persistent. "I am not asking you if she was suicidal twelve months a year. I am asking you for your professional opinion. Could she have been suicidal at the time of her death?"
   The last question was aimed directly at Walt Ivers, who as he was squirming in his seat, looked to Mason Stoner for help. But once again, before Stoner could intervene, Lucille answered the question.
   "Yes. I suppose she could have been suicidal --- at the time of her death, that is."
   "No further questions." Then he walked back to his seat confi-dently, shaking hands with both George and Barrett.
   Walt Ivers got up rapidly and walked to the witness stand. He too looked confident. "Dr. Napier. Mr. Garrison seems to have clouded a major issue here." He glared at the psychologist. "You testified that Jodi Bartless could have been suicidal at the time of her death. I stress the word --- 'could'." Walt turned briefly to Miles then back to Lucille. "You also testified that Jodi Bartless tried once to kill herself. I believe you said with an overdose of --- " He looked at the witness for help.
   "Nyquil to be exact. It's a liquid anti-histamine."

   "Yes. Thank you. Nyquil --- I see." Walt paused and then unchar-acteristically turned to the jury. "Dr. Napier. How many suicides have you counseled over the years?"
   Lucille Napier stared silently at the prosecutor for several sec-onds. Miles began to nervously rub his forehead.
   "Would you like me to repeat the question?" asked Walt smugly.
   Barrett and George looked astoundedly at the defense attorney.
   Miles looked up to see Lucille Napier looking back at him --- their eyes riveted to each other. Her expression resembled that of a small child asking permission to say or do something. Waiting for the right sound or the right look. But he knew it wasn't necessary. Mason Stoner would make her answer the poignant question re-gardless of any extemporaneous circumstance.
   "I would like you to please repeat the question." said Stoner.
   The elderly stenographer pushed her wire rimmed glasses up on her nose and cleared her throat. "How many suicides have you counseled over the years?"
   "Not --- not too many." She spoke very softly. Her focus of at-tention was once again aimed at an imaginary spot on the floor di-rectly in front of her.
   "Please speak up." said the judge.
   "Not too many." She repeated louder.
   "Well then." Walt turned back to Lucille Napier. "How many? Two? Ten? Fifty? One hundred?"
Walt waited. Lucille did not respond. "Your Honor. I would re-quest that you instruct the witness to answer the question."
   "Dr. Napier." boomed Mason Stoner. "You have elected to dis-cuss a topic you knew was confidential."
   "I know, but --- " Lucille started to speak but the judge put his hand up, palm out, and interrupted.
   "Now I must ask you to respond to Mr. Ivers' question."
   Lucille Napier looked at the judge for a long time. Then she slowly turned back to Walt Ivers. "None." The word was barely audible.
   "Dr. Napier." said Stoner. "Please speak up."
   "None!" Lucille turned to Miles. She looked embarrassed but she spoke defiantly. "Jodi was my only experience with attempted sui-cide."
   The courtroom exploded again with low murmurs and loud voices. Mason Stoner banged his gavel. There was immediate si-lence. The judge glared at the occupants of his court and when he was convinced that a semblance of normality had returned, he mo-tioned to Ivers.
   "Dr. Napier." He picked up from where he had left off. His hands were behind his back and his eyes were riveted to Lucille's. "Let me reiterate. You say Jodi Bartless was your only experience with attempted suicide."
   The psychologist looked down and nodded.
   Miles was sitting up straight, his arms folded. His eyes never left the witness box.
   Walt Ivers took a step closer to her. "Is that correct?"
   Lucille nodded again. "Yes."
   "What then would you say is your --- specialty?" Ivers asked.
   "Specialty?" Napier's face showed fear and confusion.
   "Yes." Once again Walt's tone conveyed smugness. "What type of clientele do you normally assist?"
   She looked briefly at an angry Miles Garrison then she looked back at a confident Walt Ivers. She cleared her throat several times. "Retention disorders, learning disabilities, vocational guidance --- "
   "But." continued Walt. "You said you were called in when Jodi Bartless attempted suicide. How do you explain that?"
   Lucille cleared her throat again. "I --- I happened to be in the hospital when they brought her in. I --- I used to go there once a month to give academic advice and aptitude tests to prospective nursing students."
   "So then, it was not because of your expertise in suicide preven-tion." Walt and Miles exchanged angry glances. The prosecutor then turned back to the witness. "And maybe you're not as knowl-edgeable on the subject as the defense would lead us to believe."
   "Objection!" Miles stood up.
   "On what grounds?" asked Judge Stoner.
   Miles did not respond. He put his hands in his pockets and stared at Lucille Napier. Then he slowly sat down.
   "Overruled!" said Stoner. Then he turned to the prosecutor. "Please continue."
   "So that in fact," Walt spoke zealously "taking into account your limited knowledge on the subject, maybe Jodi Bartless was not sui-cidal!"
   "But in 1980 she was!" Lucille spoke pleadingly.
   "No further questions." Walt said, then calmly walked back to his seat.
   "I --- I did help her!" She was gripping the arms of the witness chair and sitting on its edge.
   Walt turned to her again, his head now more erect. "I'm sure you did. No further --- "
   "I'm a good therapist!" she yelled.
   "I'm sure you are. No further questions." Walt Ivers sat down.
   "Mr. Garrison. Do you wish to cross examine?" asked Stoner.
   Miles did not respond. He continued to stare at Lucille Napier.
   "Mr. Garrison!" Stoner spoke louder. "Do you have any more questions for this witness?"
   "No questions." said Miles evenly.
   "The witness is excused." said the judge.
   Just as she did when she first sat down, Lucille Napier paused and looked about her. Then she glanced at Miles Garrison for only a moment. She gave the appearance that she had won a minor battle. In essence, thought Miles, she was right.
   Mason Stoner looked at his watch. "My my! It is getting late." Then he banged his gavel. "Court is adjourned. We will re-convene next Thursday. The jury is instructed to stay close and not leave town. And you will not discuss this case with anyone. Otherwise you will have to be sequestered. Is that clear?" After several nods from the members of the jury, Stoner banged his gavel again. "Have a nice weekend."

*

   The ride to Barrett's home was silent for the first fifteen minutes. Miles had his arms folded and was absently looking out the window at the houses and trees that were flashing by. George also had his arms folded but his eyes were closed. Barrett was seated between them. His hands were on his knees and his focus of attention was the back of the driver's head. His collar was open and his tie hung loosely.
   Miles finally broke the spell. "I lost her testimony. I should never have put her on the stand. Shit!"
   The limousine stopped for a red light. Barrett watched discon-certedly as a young bearded man wearing a black leather jacket with a large red rose on the back sped blindly through the intersec-tion on a Harley Davidson.
   "She did what I told her to and now it's going to backfire. The fucking jury will now have doubts as to the authenticity of Jodi's death being the result of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Shit! Shit!" Miles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's one of the few times I have --- miscalculated! An exceedingly gross miscalcula-tion!"
   "You're human." said George. His eyes remained closed.
   The trees and houses continued to fly past them. "Not an an-swer!" Miles yelled at no one in particular. "How could I have been so Godddamn stupid?"
   After another extended silence, Barrett looked at Miles and asked innocently, "Is this what you meant by the human element?"
   "Outmaneuvered!" said Miles, ignoring his client. "Outmaneu-vered by Walt Ivers, of all people. Shit!" He pounded his hand against the partition between him and the driver.
   The driver slowed up and glanced back. "Yes?" he asked.
   "Nothing." Miles spoke in a calmer tone. "I'm sorry. Drive on."
   The driver nodded. The limousine picked up speed.
   "So now what?" asked Barrett.
   "I still think we're ahead." said George putting his hand gently on Barrett's shoulder.
   Miles paused and took another deep breath. "I suppose we still do have an edge. At least I hope we do!"
   XXXII

   Friday and Saturday went by uneventfully for Barrett Jessop. He read, watched TV, rode his stationary bike and listened to endless hours of Charlie Parker and Maynard Ferguson.
   He spent several hours on the phone with Marie, who called no less than eight times in two days. She said she was doing all she could, but she could only do so much. His patients wished him well but couldn't wait forever for an appointment. The ones that could wait wouldn't, and the ones that would wait didn't. Barrett wasn't in the least surprised. It was futile to try to save what was left of his once lucrative practice.
   All those years! And for what?
   Besides Marie, the only other person to call Barrett regularly was Lysle Richardson. Faithful Lysle had called every day since his friend first told him of his plight. No one else called. Not the Min-tons, not the Sharkeys --- no one!
   Most of Sunday was spent with George and Miles discussing what would transpire on Monday. The three sat around the family room. Miles and George sat on the sofa and Barrett sat across from them in his easy chair.
   "Walt and I are going to meet with Mason Stoner on Monday." Miles said as he got up and began to pace between the window and Barrett's stationary bike. "If Walt has no other witnesses, I'm going to ask the State to withdraw all charges."
   "Do you think the State will go along with that?" asked George, his hands folded and his body leaning forward.
   "I don't know." Miles turned to George and stopped pacing. "But hopefully they won't want to look any more ridiculous than they already have."
   "But they did score some points with Lucille Napier." said George.
   "Not enough. I think you're right though. We are ahead. They still have a weak case." Miles picked up a Teddy Wilson LP, looked at it casually, then put it back on the rack.
   "Why did the judge tell us to be back on Thursday?" asked Bar-rett.
   "That's the day set for closing arguments --- assuming there are no more witnesses."
   "I sure as hell hope not." added George.
   "So then," asked Barrett, "you think it's possible for me to get an acquittal and not have to take the stand in my own behalf?" Barrett stacked the empty coffee cups on a TV table.
   "What's with all these fucking questions?"
   Miles' brisk response to his client's curiosity brought a stifled laugh from George Archer.
   "I don't mind taking the stand." Barrett said casually.
   Miles studied the liner notes to a boxed LP set of Billie Holiday. "I would rather not have you as a witness, Barrett --- not even in your own behalf." He put down the record set and turned toward Barrett. "Whenever I put a defendant on the stand unusual things happen. No! Let's hope we can get out of all of this without your testimony." Then he walked up to his client and gently poked him in the shoulder. "Don't forget. This is all under the assumption that the state has no more witnesses and nothing up their pitiful sleeves."
   "Like --- what?" George looked at Miles curiously.
   Miles shrugged and threw his hands up. "Anything is possible."
   "So what do I do?" Barrett asked as he walked past Miles and sat down in his favorite chair.
   "Nothing, Barrett. Absolutely nothing." Miles went up to the eye doctor and put his hand on the back of his chair. "Just hang tight until tomorrow. I guarantee you that as soon as I know, we'll all know."
   Miles motioned to George. The detective got up and they both walked to the front door. Miles then turned to Barrett. "Go to bed and get a good night's sleep. Monday will either be a short and pleasant day or a long and unpleasant one." Miles forced a smile. "Let's hope for the former."
   Miles and George shook hands with Barrett and then quickly left.
   As Barrett watched the limo pull away, he got a sudden sick feel-ing in the pit of his stomach that the worst was yet to come.
 
XXXIII

   "Mr. Garrison." Mason Stoner spoke evenly from behind his desk. Several pieces of paper adorned the top of it. Miles thought the room looked clean but smelled musty. He and Walt Ivers sat in the same two chairs they had occupied on their previous encounter. All three men had on white short sleeve shirts. Only Miles wore a suit and tie. They were all quietly sipping coffee. The grandfather clock said 9:am.
   Miles had wondered what the essential ingredient of the assembly would be. Was this going to be one big fancy chess game? If so, who makes the first move? Where does he move --- and why? He didn't have long to wait to get an answer.
   "I am told by Mr. Ivers here that the State is going to bring forth two witnesses not previously scheduled to appear."
   The defense attorney heard what Stoner said as a statement of fact, not as a request. There was no mistaking the look on Miles' face as anything other than shock.
   "I told the judge last night." added Walt. "I would have called you, but considering the severity of this new turn of events, I thought it best to discuss it with Judge Stoner first." He put his empty cup on the edge of Stoner's desk. "I assumed it would be okay."
   "Well, you assumed wrong. It's not okay!" Shock gave way to anger. "Who are these --- these witnesses? And what the fuck do you mean by 'severity'?" Miles stood up. "Did you forget about the disclosure rule?"
   "No." said the prosecutor as he crossed his legs. "I did not forget about the disclosure rule." Then he lowered his voice. "If you will calm down I'll tell you about it."

   "Okay, counselor." Miles took a sip of coffee. "I am calm and I am listening."
   "Yesterday I got a call from --- " Walt uncrossed his legs and took a small notebook out of his shirt pocket. " --- a Sam Ingles."
   Miles took a final sip. "And just who is this --- Sam Ingles?"
   "Sam is a deputy sheriff in Patton Ohio. He said he had gotten a call from --- " Again Walt consulted his notebook. " --- Morris Hartman."
   Mason Stoner remained silent.
   "And Morris --- are you ready for this one?" Walt spoke to Miles but looked at his notebook. "Morris Hartman claims to have seen Barrett Jessop shoot Jodi Bartless!"
   There were several minutes of silence. Only the ticking of the grandfather clock was audible. Miles turned to Stoner. "This is a Goddamn joke --- right?" There was no humor in his tone.
   "Mr. Garrison." Stoner spoke for the first time. "This is not a joke!"
   Miles stared into his empty cup. Then he absently scanned the bookshelves. Then he stared into his cup again. Then he began to pace. He gently tapped his cup against the saucer as he did so. He finally stopped and glared at Walt. "Then this is a fucking set-up!"
   The prosecutor calmly put his notebook down and crossed his legs again. "This is not a set-up. This is an eyewitness."
   Miles turned back to the judge. Stoner was once again silent. Miles knew his neck was red. He wanted so badly to strangle Walt Ivers. But he knew he had to execute the impossible task of staying composed. "And just who the hell is Marvin Hartman?" Miles banged his cup and saucer
on Stoner's desk almost knocking Walt's and Mason's cups onto the floor. "And why the fuck did he wait until now to come forward with this obscure tale of his?"
   Miles was livid. The task was becoming more and more impossi-ble.
   "He is a new resident of Patton. And his name is Morris, not Marvin!"
   "I don't give a shit if his name is Humphrey Bogart! I want to know why --- all of a sudden --- we have a fucking eye witness!"
   "If you calm down," Walt spoke quietly. "I'll tell you."
   Mason Stoner again chose to remain silent.
   "I don't want to calm down !" screamed the defense attorney. "Ah --- fuck it!" Miles sat down heavily and folded his arms. Then he stared past Mason at the blank wall. "Go ahead. I'm listening!"
   Walt paused before answering as he once again consulted his notes. Then he cleared his throat. "Morris Hartman is a small time hood and a three time loser. He claims he is going straight now. And he wants to keep a low profile --- not get involved."
   "So?" asked the impatient and furious defense attorney.
   "So --- since this guy is a hood with a criminal record, he just as-sumes no one is going to believe him. He figures --- why say any-thing?" Walt said it matter-of-factly.
   "So?" Miles was having a difficult time keeping his composure. "Why did he?"
   Walt cleared his throat again. "He says after reading about it in the paper and seeing it on the TV news his conscience got the bet-ter of him and he wanted to come forward. 'Cleanse his soul' were his exact words."
   Miles did not respond at first. He stared at the mute judge then he stared at Walt. His eyes darted back and forth between the two men.
   Then they stopped and narrowed as they landed on Walt Ivers. "What a distorted unrealistic crock of shit!" Walt started to speak but Miles was unyielding. "Since when does a three time loser have a conscience? Since when does a three time loser have a soul?" The defense attorney stood up and spewed the words directly at the prosecutor. "And since when does someone witness a murder and then have to think about --- getting involved?" When he got no re-sponse he sat back down. This time he faced an expressionless Ma-son Stoner. "Cleansing his soul --- my ass!" Then he turned back to Walt Ivers. "This whole fucking thing has the odor of a fish mar-ket!"
   "Miles." Walt spoke condescendingly. "I am only repeating what Sam Ingles said to me over the phone." Ivers paused to once again look at his notes. "Morris Hartman lives two doors from where Jodi Bartless lives --- lived. In the Patton Apartments." Walt turned the page slowly appearing to study each word. "All of the apartments, according to Hartman, look alike. So Morris, who just moved in, got confused. He meant to go to his apartment and went towards Jodi's by mistake." He cleared his throat twice. "As he walked by her window, he saw --- " The prosecutor and Miles locked eyes fiercely. " --- Barrett Jessop shoot Jodi Bartless." Walt quickly turned away and glanced at his notebook.
   There was another long silence. Then Miles asked vehemently, "And then what happened?" He got up and began to pace slowly between the desk and the door.
   "Well," Ivers continued to clear his throat repeatedly as he spoke. "Then Hartman realized he was at the wrong door and subsequently went back to his own apartment." Ivers folded up the notebook and put it back in his pocket.
   "I imagine Hartman was pretty much shaken up."
   "Yeah." Miles scoffed. "I feel sorry for the poor son-of-a-bitch!"
   "Anyway," continued Walt, "He --- he said he pondered the situa-tion for several days before he decided to call the local police."
   "Really!" Miles continued to pace.
   "And," the prosecutor went on. "he spoke to this Sam Ingles --- and then Sam Ingles called me."
   "And a fucking good time was had by all!" yelled Miles. His face was ashen. He stopped pacing and began speaking in a more sub-dued tone. "I would like to read over their depositions. Then I have to confer with my client. That should be fun." Miles then put on his jacket.
   "Of course." Walt handed over the papers. Miles looked over them briefly. "Uh --- Miles." The prosecutor ran his hand across his face and licked his lips. "In lieu of these --- unexpected turn of events, maybe you might wish to reconsider my original offer."
   Before Miles could respond, Mason Stoner made his booming voice heard. "Mr. Garrison. I realize this is a bit irregular. But I do feel Mr. Ivers has a valid point. And I feel you should consider it." The judge paused and sat back comfortably in his chair. "This way your client is spared a murder one charge and the State still gets a conviction."
   "And," Miles exploded, "we end this bullshit facsimile of a trial so our illustrious judge can go home and soak his feet!"
   "Goddamn it! Don't you wise off to me Garrison!" The judge sat up straight. "I have had enough of your fucking capers and your smart ass remarks!
   Now Stoner leaned forward and pointed his finger at the defense lawyer. "Don't take me on, Garrison. I'm warning you. Don't take me on!"

   "Well, your Honor." said Miles. "I'll tell you what I think!"
   "I don't care what you think!" Stoner was on his feet. "I'm telling you. Don't run up a bill with me that you can't pay!"
   While Miles and Mason were glaring at each other, Walt said qui-etly, "Miles, read over the deposition and confer with your client."
   Miles took a deep breath and turned to Walt. "I'll need a few days."
   "You have until Wednesday noon." said Stoner. "At that time we either dismiss the jury and accept the State's offer or we go back to court and you take your chances." Mason Stoner sat down in his large chair. "The decision is yours."

*

   Miles left the room rapidly but Ivers and Stoner remained. Both were seated and both were silent. Finally the prosecutor asked, "Well, Mason. Do you think he bought it?"
   Stoner stared blankly at the closed door. "I hope so, Walt. I sure as hell hope so!"
   
*
 

   XXXIV

   George and Barrett were seated in front of Barrett's TV, match-ing wits with the celebrities on Hollywood Squares. Mickey Rooney was about to give his opinions on marriage when Miles sped through the door past the two policemen, and almost flew into the family room.
   "Gentlemen. Good afternoon." He took off his jacket and care-fully laid it over the back of Barrett's easy chair.
   "Hello, Miles." George and Barrett spoke in unison then both stood to greet the agitated attorney.
   "Would one of you please turn off the TV? We have to talk." Miles said, then sat down heavily.
   "Sounds pretty ominous, Miles." said George.
   Barrett turned off the TV and then he and George sat down on the sofa staring at Miles, waiting for an explanation.
   Miles stood up quickly and began to pace between the entryway and the stereo cabinet. Then he stopped abruptly and faced George. "We have a very serious problem." Miles as usual chose his words carefully. "The prosecutor has come up with someone who --- " Now he turned to Barrett, who was confused. "Barrett, there is no easy way for me to say this. Someone claims to have seen you shoot Jodi Bartless."
   There was an unusually long silence. George and Barrett looked at each other. Then they both looked at Miles.
   Barrett stood slowly. "That isn't true, Miles." He spoke softly. His voice got progressively louder. "I didn't kill her, Goddamn it! It's a fucking lie! It's --- " Barrett could not finish his sentence. He began to sob uncontrollably.
   George put his hand on Barrett's shoulder, holding it there until the eye doctor's composure returned. Barrett's gaze remained fo-cused on Miles.
   "I --- I'm sorry," stammered Barrett. Then he and George both sat down on the sofa.
    A dog began to bark outside, temporarily distracting Miles' train of thought. When the barking stopped, he loosened his tie and re-counted the entire story concerning Morris Hartman and Sam In-gles.
   Upon hearing Sam's name Barrett's mouth dropped open and his body stiffened. "Sam Ingles is a fucking class A jerk!"
   "They both sound like fucking class A jerks." said Miles. "But they do corroborate each other's story. And in essence, they are saying that you are guilty of murder."
   "Miles!" George and Barrett both yelled at the same time.
   Miles put his hands up palms out. "I said the prosecution had an eyewitness." He looked Barrett in the eye. "I never said I believed him."
   "I guess I shouldn't bring up Aaron Claypool --- right?" said Bar-rett timidly.
   "Right!" George responded quickly. "I know all about him. And it's a dead issue --- no pun intended."
   Barrett only nodded. He could find no humor in the comment.
   "Miles." George rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Why would this Marvin --- "
   "Morris." corrected the lawyer.
   "Whatever!" George waved the word away. "Why would --- Morris lie?"
   "Good question, George." Miles gave his manicure a brief in-spection. "But don't forget. Hartman is a low life crook. Probably a low life liar as well. Why would he lie about this? I don't know --- unless --- "
   "Unless --- " interrupted George, " --- this is some sort of a --- set up!"
   Miles smiled and nodded. "I thought of that."
   Barrett's glance jumped back and forth between the two.
   George walked over to Miles. "I know it's far fetched, but isn't it possible that Ivers, aware of how badly things are going for the State, could --- well --- could hire this Hartman to lie?" George sat down on the arm of the chair. "It's been done before."
   "Lie --- perjury --- hmmm --- " Miles nodded.
   "As I said," continued the detective, "it is a bit far fetched."
   "Maybe not so far fetched at that." Miles stood up, put his hands behind his back and started to pace again.
   Barrett rubbed his eyes until they burned, then ran his fingers through his thin black hair. "Do you guys really think a county prosecutor would stoop so low as to resort to this.?"
   "Why not? Victory at all costs!" He turned back to Barrett. "I told you that anything is possible."
   "What about Ingles?" asked George, as he sat down in the easy chair.
   Miles rubbed his hands together and bit down on his lower lip. "Supposedly this deputy only repeated what Hartman told him."
   "I told you." Barrett was raging inside. "Sam Ingles is a jerk!"
   "Being a jerk and being responsive to committing perjury are not exactly in the same ball park." Miles stopped pacing and sat down next to Barrett.
   "Where was the sheriff --- what's his name?" asked George.
   "Saltz." answered Barrett. "Darrell Saltz."
   "Saltz claims he was out of town." said Miles. "At least that's what he told me when Barrett was arrested." He stood up again and faced George. "Well, gentlemen, it boils down to this. If Morris is telling the truth we are in deep shit!"
   "Miles!" Barrett jumped to his feet.
   "However --- " Miles gently pushed his client back onto the sofa. " --- if Barrett is telling the truth --- and we have to believe he is, then Hartman and Ingles are both lying."
   After several minutes of silence, Barrett jumped up. His eyes were open wide and he grinned broadly. He could feel his pulse race as he spoke. "Maybe you two could confront Walt Ivers and act like you know he is guilty of this --- set up. Then out of fear, he confesses, and I get an acquittal."
   George and Miles both stared at Barrett in amazement.
   "Barrett." said George. "You have been watching too many Perry Mason reruns." Now George smiled. "Good in theory --- bad in reality."
   "Right!" added Miles. "We have absolutely no evidence to back that up. We must be very careful with that sort of accusation." He sat down. "Good thinking though."
   "Miles, you do think I'm innocent --- I mean that's what you said."
   "Yeah. I suppose I have to --- don't I?" Miles' sarcasm turned to anger. "But Christ Almighty, Barrett! You leave your Goddamn fingerprints all over her apartment. You leave your Goddamn watch for everyone to see. It was like you wanted the whole fucking world to know you were at Jodi Bartless' that night!"
   Miles and George exchanged concerned looks. Barrett closed his eyes tightly and clenched his fists. His reaction was obvious pain.
   "So." asked George, shifting gears. "Where do we stand with all this new shit staring us in the face?"
   "Well --- " Miles thought a moment before he answered. " --- considering that the prosecution has done a lot to help our cause, I still think we have a slight edge."
   "What about Dr. Napier's testimony?" Barrett decided to enter the discussion.
   "A mild setback." said Miles reflectively. "But even with that, I still think we're ahead."
   "I think so too." George nodded in agreement.
   "But we still have a fight ahead of us!" Miles waved his forefin-ger in the air. "I think we can pull it out, but it won't be easy!"
   "So." asked George. "What's the game plan?"
   Miles rubbed his palms together and inspected his manicure again. He then waited a moment before he spoke, looking at George.
   "First of all, I want you to verify that Hartman lives where he says he does." He licked his lips deep in thought. "Then see if the apartments do look enough alike to get them confused."
   George took out a pencil and a notebook and began to write.
   "The apartments are very similar." interjected the defendant.
   "Also," said the attorney ignoring Jessop's comment. "make sure Saltz was out of town. We only have his word on that." Miles wrinkled his brow and rubbed his chin. Then he added, "And see just how much dirt you can dig up on Morris Harman."
   "What about Sam Ingles?" George looked up from his notes.
   "Sam Ingles is a nothing deputy." said Miles.
   "Sam Ingles is a fucking class A jerk!" said Barrett.
   "Maybe Morris called him. Maybe not!" Again Miles ignored his client's remark. "Maybe Sam is telling the truth. Maybe not! But if we can discredit Hartman, I don't think we'll have to worry about Ingles."
   "You think Ingles will get scared?" George put away his note-book and pencil.
   "Like a goldfish in a bowl of piranha!" The attorney smiled.
   "Miles," said Barrett, "I still think you should --- "
   "You want me to put you on the stand." Miles and George again exchanged a quick glance.
   "I'm not really sure I want to, but --- how did you know I was go-ing to say that?"
   "Elementary my dear --- never mind!" Miles shook his head then looked hard at Barrett. "I told you. Whenever I put a client on the witness stand, weird unpredictable things happen."
   "Well," Barrett continued to press. "I think it's an action we should at least consider."
   "Really?" asked Miles. "And just how many cases have you tried?"
   "Miles." said George. "I've been doing some quick thinking."
   "And?" Miles looked curiously at the detective.
   "I know you're the legal genius here, but maybe Barrett has a point."
   Barrett was taken aback. He started to speak then changed his mind.
   A puzzled look spread over Miles' face. He nodded slowly. "Go ahead, George. I'm listening. And I do, as you know, value your opinion."
   George stood up and put his hands in his pockets. Now it was his turn to pace. "I think trying to base the outcome of this trial on merely discrediting these two guys might be risky. We need some-thing more tangible. Something we can be in better control of."
   "Go on." Miles continued to look intensely at the detective. "Play with my mind awhile."
   "If this Hartman is as shady as I think he is, discrediting him is fine. But it would be even more compelling, and far more effective, to put Barrett on the stand and let the jury compare the testimony of a bum to the testimony of a professional." He turned to Barrett and smiled. "Who is the jury more apt to believe? A sleazy scum-bag who is undoubtedly lying --- for whatever reason, or an up-standing member of the professional community? A small time hood with nothing better to do, or an honest law-abiding citizen, wrongly accused and fighting for his life?"
   Miles and Barrett stared at George for several seconds. Then Miles got up and he and George faced each other. Miles nodded again.
   "George, you may have a point. I will reconsider." Now both men smiled.
   "Miles." added Barrett excitedly. "I know this is going to work. You won't be sorry."
   "I'm sorry already!" Miles snapped.
   "So," asked Barrett innocently, "do we have to prepare --- or --- ?"
   "You bet your ass we prepare!" Miles put on his jacket. "Tomor-row morning George and I will be over and we can discuss your testimony. If I do decide to put you on the stand I want no sur-prises while you're up there." Miles shook his finger at his "Do you understand? Questions and answers must be rehearsed."
   Barrett nodded. His excitement suddenly turned to fear. "Jesus, Miles! This could be really tough!"
   "No shit! What do you think I've been saying for the past hour?"
   "Miles, you about ready to leave?" George had his hand on the doorknob. "I've got all this work and --- "
   "Yes, George. You have about --- " Miles looked at his Rolex. " --- thirty-five hours." As they were opening the front door, Miles turned back to Barrett and added, "Write down everything you can remember about this case --- every detail. I don't care how minute it is. Leave nothing to memory. We will do the best we can with what we have." Then as an afterthought, he turned to George and said, "The bad part of all this is, there are only three of us. God knows how many there are of them!"

*

   The hotel was unusually quiet except for an occasional opening or closing of a door and the steady humming of the icemaker in the hallway right outside room 810. It was eleven thirty pm. Miles Gar-rison had just taken his shower and was in his silk pajamas ready for bed. He turned off the TV, grateful that the only mention of the Jessop case was referred to as sketchy. Miles found himself becom-ing more and more disenchanted with TV in general and the late news in particular. He saw it as lacking in content and primarily tab-loid. "Sensationalism sells." He said it aloud to himself.
   He had his hand on the lightswitch when there was a soft knock at the door. Using the peephole, he saw George Archer standing in the hallway. He opened the door at once. "George. It's late." Miles gestured to his room. "But do come in."
   "I know it's late. But I wanted to give you this information before tomorrow." The detective handed his mentor a folder, came into the room, and sat down in the chair next to the window. "It's not much --- but for what it's worth, Morris Hartman has a record a mile long: B and E, robbery, assault --- you name it."
   Miles sat on the edge of the bed and thumbed through the papers. "I think this could come in handy. Yes, I will definitely use it."
   "I'm sorry I don't have more, but --- "
   "This is fine. I had almost given up on you. I must be getting old or tired --- or both."
   "Well, Miles, it's been an unusually long day. I'm going to bed."
   "Goodnight, George. And nice work."
         XXXV

   "Will Morris Hartman please take the stand."
   Morris looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties. He was short --- maybe five feet six or seven and obese --- probably close to three hundred pounds. His suit was wrinkled and his brown loafers were badly scuffed. He was bald except for a small amount of gray hair on the sides that he kept slicked back.
Barrett Jessop thought his double chin and loose jowls made his re-semblance to a bulldog uncanny. He had no eyebrows and with his small and narrow eyes, Morris Hartman could never pass for any-thing other than what he was: A seedy, slovenly, invidious small time hood.
   After he was sworn in he told the court his name and his occupa-tion, which for now was collecting unemployment. As he sat in the witness chair, he continually wiped his sweaty head and face with a faded soiled red handkerchief.
   He cleared his throat several times, then gave his prepared testi-mony. "It was kinda late. About ten thirty. I was on my way home and being new in the area --- see, I accidentally goes to the wrong apartment. I swear to God they all looks alike." Morris folded his handkerchief and wiped his mouth. "So as I walks up to the door, I realizes my mistake. You see the numbers was different, but --- geez! Them apartments is identical so --- "
   "Mr. Hartman." Walt Ivers interrupted. "Did you see anything you would like the court to know about?"
   "Objection!" yelled Miles. "He is leading the witness!"
   "Overruled!" The judge spoke to Miles but looked at Walt Ivers.
   "Your Honor --- " Miles was in a rage but he persisted politely.
   "I said overruled!" Stoner continued to look at the prosecutor. "Mr. Ivers, you may proceed."
   "I will rephrase the question." Walt turned to the jury. "In the in-terest of justice."
   Bullshit! Barrett would keep his thoughts quiet.
   Walt Ivers continued. "Did you see anything --- unusual?"
   "Well --- like I says, I was at the wrong apartment. But I just happens to look into this window and --- geez! I seen that man over there." He gestured to the optometrist. "He was with this young lady --- and he was holding a gun to her mouth. I seen them strug-gle and --- "
   "That is a lie!" Barrett was on his feet and screaming. "That's a lie and you know it!"
   "Mr. Garrison!" boomed Mason Stoner as he brought down his gavel. "Please restrain your client. If he wants to talk put him on the witness stand. Otherwise, shut him up!"
   "Barrett." whispered Miles. "Let me handle it. Please! You'll get your chance to say your piece."
   Barrett Jessop sat down slowly and reluctantly. Then he turned to Miles. "Then you are going to let me testify?"
   "Yes!" Miles spoke unconvincingly. "I'm afraid so."
   Barrett smiled, folded his arms and sat back in his seat.
   As soon as the courtroom quieted down, Morris Hartman contin-ued. "Uh --- where was I?"
   Now there were soft ripples of laughter running through the courtroom. And once again the judge banged his gavel. "One more outburst and I will clear the court!"
   The stenographer read back Walt Iver's last question.
   "Oh yeah! So I seen them struggle and then he --- " Again Morris pointed to Barrett. " --- pulls the trigger and shoots this lady in the mouth."

   Barrett could feel his neck heat up and his breathing intensify. He started to get up again. Miles and George grabbed him.
   "They'll slap you with a contempt charge." whispered Miles.
   Barrett waited a moment, then shook off their grip as he sat back down. He knew he had to keep his cool. He was in enough trouble. His moment of glory would come when he took the stand.
   Morris blew his nose into his red handkerchief, studied it, then put it back into his pocket. He went on. "So I runs home as fast as I can, cause now I knows where I lives."
   "Then what?" asked the prosecutor.
   "Uh --- " The witness sniffed. " --- after I gets home I starts to call the cops --- "
   "And?" Walt asked calmly.
   "Well --- " Hartman began to squirm in his seat.
   "And?" repeated the prosecutor. Walt Ivers and Morris Hartman were almost nose to nose.
   "Well --- " Hartman cleared his throat and looked at the judge. " --- I --- I got a --- small prison record." Morris took out his hand-kerchief again, folded it and wiped his face.
   "Your Honor." Miles was not about to let Morris off the hook. "Would you please instruct the witness to speak louder?"
   "I said that I have a --- a small prison record." Hartman started slobbering as he spoke, looking more like a bulldog now than he did when he first sat down.
   "So?" The prosecutor prodded.
   "So I figures --- who would listen to someone like me?" He wiped his mouth. "And maybe the cops would even think that I done it."
   "I see." Walt tried to be patient with his witness. "So what did you do?"
   "I waited a week or so. But I couldn't stand it no more. My con-science got the better of me and I realized the error of my ways. So that's when I decided to call the cops."
   "Isn't that sweet?" George muttered under his breath. "I think I'm going to fucking throw up!" "Who did you talk to?" Walt Ivers continued to lead his witness with no objection from the defense.
   "I talked to a Deputy Sam Ingles."
   "What did Deputy Ingles say?" Ivers asked it almost confiden-tially.
   Morris cleared his throat again. "He took the information and said he would call your office."
   "Which he did." added Ivers smugly.
   "Objection!" Miles stood up. His face was red. "If the prosecu-tion wishes to offer information, let him take the stand!"
   "Your Honor, the court will see that won't be necessary."
   What does that mean?
   "I have no further questions. Your witness."
   Miles walked slowly up to the stand, face to face with Hartman. "Morris --- may I call you Morris? I hate formality."
   Morris shrugged. "Sure."
   Miles went on, knowing that Mason Stoner was viciously glaring at him. "Morris, did you actually see the defendant pull the trigger?"
   "Well --- " Morris started to pull on his shirt collar.
   "Yes or no! Take your time, Morris."
   "Come on, Morris. Fuck up so Miles can nail you!" George con-tinued to keep his voice low.
   Morris Hartman was now wiping his face feverishly.
   Miles continued. "Or maybe the deceased held the weapon and the defendant was trying to take it away."
   Morris was silent. He blinked his narrow eyes repeatedly and be-gan to squirm in his seat again.
   Miles turned briefly to the jury then he turned back to the witness. "Or maybe you just made this whole thing up!"
   "Objection!" roared Walt Ivers.
   "Sustained! Mr. Garrison --- "
   "I withdraw the last comment." Miles turned to the jury again, facing the young woman in the front row. This time she was ex-pressionless. "Now, Morris. I ask you again. Did you actually see the defendant pull the trigger?"
   "Well --- " Morris' eyes were darting all over the courtroom.
   "Yes or no!" Miles yelled it contemptuously. Then he paused, smiled and softened his tone. "Morris, you're not nervous --- are you?"
   "No. Why should I be nervous?" Morris wiped his face again. "I just sweat a lot."
   "Morris." Miles spoke softly. "This is a real easy question. You do like easy questions --- don't you?"
   "Oh sure. You bet." Morris smiled displaying two gold teeth.--- one on top and one on bottom.
   "Good! Now let me ask you again." Miles was determined. "I'll talk slowly. Did - you - see - the - defendant - pull - the - trigger?" Morris, sweating profusely, was wiping his face with the handker-chief in one hand and tugging at his soiled shirt collar with the other. He was sweating profusely.
   "I --- I think so."
   "You think so." Miles paused and again looked at the well dressed woman in the front row. "But you're not certain." Morris started to answer, but Miles quickly cut him off and shifted gears. "Now you did say that you had a --- small prison record --- did you not?"
   "Uh --- well --- yes."
   Miles took out a piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket. He spoke directly to the young female juror. "Is this what you call a small prison record? December fourth, 1976: aggravated assault. February eighth, 1977: petty theft. June ninth, 1978 --- "
   "I object!" Walt Ivers was on his feet again and screaming. "We have ascertained that Morris Hartman has a record. But Morris Hartman is not on trial here!" Ivers took a short step forward. "And where did you get that --- that slander sheet?"
   "Sustained! Mr. Garrison. You will please confine yourself and your questions to only those details that are pertinent to this case."
   "Your Honor, I am trying to show the court --- "
   "I will not repeat what I said." Mason Stoner reached out his hand in Miles' direction. "Now please hand me that paper."
   Miles hesitated a second, then laid the paper in Stoner's large hand. As he turned back to Morris, he gave George a wink.
   "Morris, let me ask you another question. Do you normally go around looking into stranger's windows?"
   "Objection!" Walt's voice cracked. He was seated on the edge of his chair, his finger pointed at the defense attorney.
   "Sustained!"
   "Your Honor. The witness has testified to having a criminal re-cord. In addition to perjury, I would like to add 'voyeur' to the list!"
   "This is outrageous!" Walt was standing and shaking his fist in the air.
   "I withdraw the last comment." Miles responded quickly.
   "The jury will disregard that last statement made by the defense." Stoner turned to Miles and spoke with restrained anger. "Mr. Garri-son! You will use more discretion when you question a witness. I am getting tired of constantly reminding you!"
   Miles nodded. "Your point is well taken, Your Honor."
   Stoner took a deep breath and shook his head in disgust. "Pro-ceed."
   Miles leaned in close to the witness. "Morris, a man's life is at stake here."
   Barrett could feel his body stiffen and his insides shake.
   "And you do know the penalty for perjury --- don't you?"
   Morris did not answer, but instead looked at Walt Ivers for assis-tance. He got none.
   Miles continued on the attack. "So maybe the defendant pulled the trigger --- and maybe he didn't." Now he raised his voice. "Be-cause maybe he wasn't there!"
   Morris remained silent, still looking in vain to Walt Ivers for help. Instead, he was left alone to drown in his own sweat and suffocate under his pack of lies.
   Barrett could not have been happier.
   "You are not certain of what you saw, are you? Well? Are you? That is assuming you saw anything at all!"
   Morris' eyes continued to dart in all directions. He wiped his bald head vigorously.
   "Morris. Creeps like you make me sick to my stomach. No fur-ther questions!" Miles turned and went quickly back to his seat.
   "Mr. Ivers," asked Stoner, "do you wish to cross examine?"
   "I have no questions, Your Honor."
   Stoner and Ivers exchanged a brief aggravated glance.
   "Witness is excused."
   Morris looked at Walt Ivers. Then he looked at Mason Stoner. Then he stood up, paused for a moment and ran out of the court-room.

*

   After a ten minute recess for the court stenographer to repair her keyboard, Sam Ingles was called up as the State's final hope.
   As Sam was being sworn in, he and Barrett Jessop locked eyes for an instant. Barrett once again saw the deputy's eyes as evasive, deceitful, and dishonest. He saw them as the eyes of a liar!
   Sam sat loftily in the witness box, back straight and chin slightly raised. His badge appeared to have been recently polished. His uni-form was spotless and wrinkle free.
   "Mr. Ingles." said Walt Ivers. "Please state your full name and your occupation."
   "My name is Samuel Ingles and I am the deputy sheriff of Patton, Ohio."
   Walt then leaned in just far enough for Sam to see the white enve-lope in his inside jacket pocket. The envelope that contained the promised money.
   The deputy then decisively and in lengthy detail described the non-existent phone call from Morris Hartman. Sam told the court why Morris called, what he said and saw, and why he had waited so long to tell his story. As he spoke, he never took his eyes from Walt's jacket.
   Sam was indeed well prepared and no one was more aware of it than Miles Garrison.
   "No further questions." Then Walt smiled assuredly as he turned to the defense attorney. "Your witness."
   "George." whispered Barrett. "I hope Miles knows that little beady eyed bastard is lying!"
   George nodded.
   "And now," continued Barrett, "he'll reinforce a perjured testi-mony."
   "He knows." George whispered back. "Miles knows everything."
   "Deputy Ingles." Miles put his hands behind his back and strolled up to the witness. "Didn't you find it a bit unusual for an eyewitness to wait so long to call you and report what he saw?"
   "Not really." Sam threw a quick glance at Walt Ivers. " I believe I said all that ---
   "If you had seen a crime committed," Miles interrupted. "would you wait a week before you contacted the authorities?"
   Sam narrowed his eyes and smirked. "I am the authorities!"
   Miles face turned bright red. "Your honor. I would appreciate it if you instruct this witness to refrain from inappropriate remarks and merely answer the question!"
   Stoner looked at Miles, hesitated, then looked at Sam. "Mr. In-gles." The judge spoke softly and condescendingly. "You will please answer the question."
   "Furthermore, Your Honor," Miles quickly added. "defense will consider this witness as hostile."
   "So noted."
   "What I meant was --- "
   "I am not interested in what you meant!" roared Miles. "This is not a pivotal moment in history! It is a simple question." Miles took a deep breath. "Now. Would you wait a week before reporting a crime you had witnessed? And not just any crime. But murder!"
   Sam waited a moment. "Well, I --- "
   "Yes or no, Deputy Ingles!"
   "No. But there was --- "
   "Thank you!" Miles again interrupted. Then he paused before continuing in a more subdued tone. "There had been some previous concern regarding the trigger mechanism of the weapon in ques-tion." Miles turned to the jury. "In your professional opinion would it have been near impossible for a woman to pull the trigger on the gun that shot Jodi Bartless?"
   "I object!" said Walt. "That has already been determined."
   "Your Honor, I am getting a second opinion." Miles then glared at the prosecutor. "I assume that's permissible."
   Mason Stoner hesitated a moment, then looked at Walt Ivers. "Overruled. "His tone was uncharacteristically subdued. "Please answer the question."
    "It would have been difficult but not impossible." Sam now seemed visibly uncomfortable as he began to squirm in his seat.
   "Then a woman could have pulled the trigger." Miles was not going to back down.
   Sam did not respond. He looked at Walt, then at Mason, then back at Miles.
   "May I remind you," said the defense attorney, "that you are un-der oath."
   "Scum like Sam Ingles eventually show their true colors." Barrett said it quietly to himself.
   "What?" asked George.
   "Hmmm --- ? Oh nothing, George. Nothing."
   "Well --- " continued Sam, " --- I suppose a woman could have pulled the trigger, but --- "
   "Thank you, Sam, for clearing that little problem up for us." Miles said it to Walt Ivers.
   "Sam, tell me something." Miles licked his lips and got closer to the witness. "If the accused shot Ms. Bartless, where were his fin-gerprints?"
   "Either he wore gloves, wiped the weapon clean, or --- " Sam stopped and glanced around the courtroom.
   "Or --- what?" Miles and Sam were almost nose to nose.
   After a long moment, Sam responded. "He didn't hold the gun."
   "Oh?" Miles backed away. "Then who did --- hold the gun, that is?"
   "The deceased held the weapon. The defendant squeezed her fin-ger as he shot her. So only her prints were found."
   George grabbed Barrett's arm. He was taking no chances on Bar-rett's jumping up and screaming something stupid or charging the witness stand.
   "My my! Did you figure this out all by yourself?"
   Sam cleared his throat and began to squirm in his seat again. "Not really. Morris Hartman told me how he saw it happen."
   What a first class asshole! Barrett kept his thoughts to himself.
   "That is hearsay evidence, Deputy Ingles. And it is not admissi-ble!" Miles quickly turned to Stoner. "Your Honor --- "
   "I will take it under advisement." said Stoner regretfully.
   "Tell me, Sam. How could you possibly take the word of a piece of slime like Morris Hartman?"
   "Objection!" yelled Walt Ivers. "Defense's conduct is beyond re-proach!"
   "Sustained."
   "Your Honor --- "
   Stoner banged his gavel. "I said sustained!"
   Miles paused as if collecting his thoughts. Then he nodded and looked at the witness. "Sam. Where was the sheriff all this time?"
   "He was out of town."
   "How convenient." Miles looked at Barrett. Then he looked back at Sam. "Tell me, Sam, what is your title?"
   "I believe I stated that previously."
   "Well then --- state it again!"
   "I am the deputy sheriff of Patton, Ohio."
   "I see. And just how long have you been deputy?"

   "Ten years."
   Miles turned to the jury. "Isn't that rather a long time to be a dep-uty?"
   "Objection!" Walt Ivers was on his feet.
   "Sustained! Mr. Garrison --- "
   "I have no further questions. Only a comment." Miles turned rap-idly to Sam and put both hands on the witness chair. Once again the two men were nose to nose. "Sam, I can't prove it yet. But I'll bet you a week's wages that you're lying!"
   Before either Stoner or Ivers could say anything, Miles Garrison walked angrily and hastily to his seat.
   As he did so, Barrett noticed for the first time that none of the ju-rors, including the well dressed young woman in the front row, was making any eye contact with Miles. He wondered if this meant that his case had weakened.
   Miles, Barrett and George had all expected Sam Ingles to clam up and run, especially after he had seen how badly Morris Hartman struggled through his testimony. However, Sam didn't run. In fact, and much to the dismay of the defense, he solidified Hartman's weak testimony. And in doing so, strengthened the State's case im-mensely.
   This meant that Barrett Jessop's testimony would be critical!
   "Will both attorneys approach the bench?" asked the judge.
   They did as instructed.
   "Mr. Ivers." said Stoner. "I am going to have to strike the hear-say testimony of Sam Ingles."
   "What?" Ivers tried not to raise his voice.
   "I have no choice. I will instruct the jury right after we recess."
   Walt did not object. He didn't have to. The defense knew, as did everyone in the courtroom, that there would now be some doubts as to Barrett's innocence. And the hearsay evidence embedded into the minds of each juror would be a powerful weapon in a weak ar-senal. And to remove that testimony was immaterial to the defense. It would only be a mechanical legal maneuver so that the case would not be thrown out on a technicality.
   "Garrison!" Stoner leaned toward Miles and spoke sternly. "Don't ever make accusations against a witness unless you can back it up! Do I make myself clear?"
   "Yes, Your Honor." Miles was in no position to argue.
   "Mr. Ivers. Do you have any more witnesses?"
   "No, Your Honor."
   "Mr. Garrison?"
   "I am putting the defendant on the stand."
   Stoner sat up quickly. He faced Walt Ivers. "Mr. Ivers, were you aware of this?"
   Walt nodded slowly. "Yes sir. I just found out about it."
   Ivers and Stoner once again exchanged concerned looks
   "Okay, gentlemen. Court is recessed until tomorrow at ten am." Judge Stoner brought the gavel down heavily on his desk. "The witness is excused."
   Miles walked back to George and Barrett.
   "What's next?" asked Barrett anxiously.
   "I want to rub that fucking smirk off of Walt Ivers' fucking face!"

*

 

XXXVI

   Sylvia Stoner was at her usual Wednesday night bridge club and Mason was going to take advantage of the solitude. He decided to listen to one of his favorite LPs and one he had not heard in a long time. It was an old monaural recording of Szell and the Cleveland Orchestra playing Tschaikovsky's fourth symphony. At nine pm he walked down to the finished rec- room in his pajamas, robe and slippers. He turned the rheostat so the lighting would be just --- so. Then he positioned his favorite chair between the JBL speakers. Just as he was about to place the LP on the Sony turntable, the telephone rang.
   "Hello, Mason. Bruce Holstadt here."
   "Hello, Bruce."
   "Wasn't today a beauty? Sunlight, brisk clean air, fresh green smell."
   Get to the point you fat fuck! He absently put the LP on the spindle without turning on the machine. Then he sat down on the arm of the chair and waited. It was a short wait.
   "So." said the governor spiritedly. "The trial seems to have taken a turn for the better. Don't you think so?"
   Again with the rhetoric! "It would appear that way." Mason looked at the LP. He wanted the conversation to be over.
   "I just spoke to Walt." Holstadt continued. "And he is very con-fident that Jessop's testimony won't mean shit! Don't you think so?"
   Mason Stoner did not respond. He merely shook his head dis-gustedly.
   Bruce went on. "Walt says --- and this is one of the very few times I agree with him --- Walt says that it will be Jessop's lies against the testimony of an eye witness.
   And this is the good part. It will all be backed up by an officer of the law. I sort of like the odds. Don't you like the odds?"
   "Morris Hartman was a bad choice, Bruce."
   "So he wasn't a law abiding citizen. So what!" Holstadt's tone became hostile. "He got the job done, didn't he? He made a fucking liar out of Barrett Jessop, didn't he? I sure as hell didn't see you or anyone else coming up with a better choice. Hartman was the only choice!" Bruce paused and his tone softened. "Mason, I didn't call you up to fight. I have come to praise Caeser, not to bury him." Bruce Holstadt laughed. "Get it?"
   No! I do not get it! Mason got up and sat in the chair. He would at least be physically comfortable.
   "But seriously, Mason, and in all honesty, I do think you have handled things admirably. And when I become Senator, you can be assured that I will have a spot for you --- somewhere. Unless you decide to take an early retirement --- with a nice pension, of course. So, Mason, like I said before, either way you win." Then Holstadt's tone once again became hostile and threatening. "Now you under-stand that this is all predicated on getting a conviction. And I do definitely expect a conviction!"
   "Bruce, this is highly irregular. It's --- "
   "Oh fuck irregularity, Mason! We're sure as hell not backing off now. No sir!"
   Both men were breathing hard. Bruce continued. "As for Walt Ivers, he is a loser. He was born a loser and he will die a loser. I practically took him by the hand and led him to Hartman and Ingles. And then he damn near blew it!"
   Holstadt went on as if no one else was on the line. "But I did promise the son-of-a-bitch a position. And I suppose a promise is a promise. I'll just have to find him something somewhere where he can't do any harm. I don't want him fucking up next to me!" Again his tone became threatening. "Now remember, Mason. This is all with the understanding that a conviction will be forthcoming. And I know you won't let me down." Bruce paused to catch his breath. "The only person that is going to lose --- besides Jessop that is --- is Miles Garrison. I hate that pompous little prick! Don't you?" Stoner didn't respond. But it made no difference. The Governor continued anyway. "I got a good feeling about all this, Mason. I think everything will turn out real nice --- for all concerned. Don't you think so?"
   " Yes, Bruce." And I voted for this piece of shit! "Everything will turn out --- real nice!"
   The telephone was expensive and was a gift from his wife. Oth-erwise, Stoner knew he would have smashed it against the wall!
   "Well, Mason. As usual, it's been a pleasure. And do say hello to Sylvia for me." Holstadt hung up with no goodbye.
   The judge knew that he would never accept any position offered him by Bruce Holstadt. He would instead take an early retirement and hope he could live with himself, knowing he had been an inte-gral part of a conspiratorial plot to convict a man of a crime he did not commit.
   Mason finally turned on the turntable. And as he sat back in his chair, he closed his eyes trying to become totally absorbed and con-sumed by the music. As the soulful sounds of Tschaikovsky filled the room, the inner turmoil and self doubts of the Russian com-poser, as reflected in the fourth symphony, seemed to parallel the exact same emotions felt by Mason Stoner.
   Kondor's Seafood Restaurant was located on South Broad Street three miles east of the County Courthouse. The seven-year-old es-tablishment had only twelve tables and a small bar at the far end
of the room. It was brightly lit and usually noisy. But on Wednes-day it was uncharacteristically quiet.
   Besides Miles, Barrett, George, and two policemen, there were two waitresses, one bartender, and a young Asian couple at the op-posite end of the restaurant holding hands over what Barrett thought were two glasses of white wine. They never looked any-where except at each other.
   After a few minutes of meaningless small talk, the two policemen migrated to the bar, leaving Miles, Barrett and George to plot their strategy for tomorrow's court session.
   While the detective and attorney were busy sorting out pieces of paper, Barrett studied the young couple across the room. He sud-denly became very curious about their lives. Were they married? Were they happy? How often did they have sex? Did they really en-joy it? How much
money did they have? He was so deeply engrossed in thought, Miles had to talk into his ear to get his attention.
   "Jesus Christ, Barrett! You were in another time period. Stay with me, okay? There are a lot of things we have to go over before you testify tomorrow."
   The short busty waitress came over with three glasses of water. George and Barrett ordered salmon. Miles ordered steak.
   "Miles." Barrett was exhausted. "We have been over this --- two --- three times." He took off his tie and put it in his pocket.
   "I told you I have a problem putting a client on the stand. So I don't care how many times we've been over it." Miles smiled. "Humor me, okay?"
   "Goddamn it, Miles, it isn't fair. Hartman lied! And Ingles --- that asshole --- backed him up!"
   "Shhh --- " Miles put his finger to his lips.
   "We know." George said joining the discussion. "But it doesn't matter what we think. It's the members of the jury we have to con-vince. And we aren't ignoring it. Believe me." George took a
long sip of water. "But there is a thing called proof. And we don't have a shred of evidence. At least not yet!"
   Barrett pushed his glass of water to the side almost spilling it. "So I could end up in prison for a crime I didn't commit because two shits lied on the witness stand. And we just sit here!"
   "All in good time, Barrett. All in good time." said George. "But first things first."
   Miles then added calmingly, "Look. We still have a much better than average chance of beating this thing." He gently poked Barrett on the arm. "Don't forget. You're a professional. Hartman is a bum."
   "But Ingles is a fucking cop!" Barrett hit the top of the table with the palm of his hand. Everyone in the restaurant looked at him. Even the Asian couple looked up for an instant. But then they went back to looking at each other.
   "Everything okay?" It was one of the policemen, who seemed to have materialized.
   "Yes." Miles was convincing. "Everything is under control."
   The two cops nodded and looked at each other, then returned to the bar.
   "By discrediting Hartman maybe we put some doubt in the minds of the jurors about Sam Ingle's testimony." George said reassur-ingly. "After all, Ingles only confirmed the flimsy testimony of an ex-con."
   "And besides that," added Miles. "the crux of Ingle's testimony was hearsay evidence. An intelligent jury should disregard it."
   Barrett nodded and took a deep breath. "I guess when you put it like that --- "
   "That's the only way to look at it, Barrett." Miles picked up his glass, studied it, and pushed it to the side. "Your testimony has got to carry more weight than Hartman's."
   "But doesn't the jury have to wonder why Hartman lied?" Barrett persisted.
   "He lied because he's a shady low class character. There can be many reasons." Miles began stacking the papers. "Anyway, that doesn't make any difference."
   "He lied because there's something going on we don't know about." Barrett said.
   "You're probably right." added George. "But listen to your law-yer. First we win the case, then we go after the State."
   "Tomorrow," said Miles enthusiastically. "We are going to take your testimony and beat the shit out of the prosecution with it." The three men touched water glasses. "You leave everything to me!"
   The waitress came over with the meals. The three men talked and ate quietly.
   As soon as they were done, the waitress cleared the table. "Des-sert?" she asked.
   "What? Oh --- no." Miles spoke for all three. "Just coffee."
   The next hour was spent probing and dissecting every possible question that would be put to Barrett. All acceptable answers were thoroughly discussed. Some questions were likely. Some were unlikely. Miles wanted nothing left to chance. They had been over it all before. But Barrett didn't argue. He realized where he stood.
   The waitress came over with more coffee. And several cups later, Miles paid the checks.
   On the way to the car, Miles pulled George Archer aside. "George." Miles whispered. "What do you really think about all of this?"
   "Well --- my gut feeling is that Barrett is telling the truth." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Let's hope it comes out that way tomorrow."
   "Good. We agree. Okay, let's go!"

*

   On the way home, Barrett Jessop tried to think as positively as he could that by tomorrow he would be a free man. But all he could think about was Janet, Jodi and the bizarre events of May tenth. He knew he would go home, pass the master bedroom and sleep in the spare room as he had been doing for the last two months. He still wasn't used to the bed and would never get used to it, no matter how many months he would sleep there.
   He was convinced that tomorrow was destined to be one of the most important and traumatic days of his existence!

*
 
      XXXVII

   "Mr. Ivers?" The judge's powerful voice echoed resoundingly throughout the courtroom.
   "The prosecution rests." Walt Ivers said as he walked back to his seat.
   "Mr. Garrison?" Mason Stoner spoke to Miles but he looked at Barrett.
   "If it please the court,” said Miles nervously, "I wish to call Dr. Barrett Jessop to the witness stand."
   "Will Dr. Barrett Jessop please come forward and be sworn in?" asked the young clerk.
   Barrett started to get up but suddenly found himself unable to move, as if he were frozen to the chair.
   "Will Dr.Barrett Jessop please come forward and be sworn in?" repeated the clerk.
   Miles finally walked up to his client who was still sitting mo-tionless and staring into space. "Barrett, this is it!" The attorney's mouth was up against Barrett's ear. "The time has come. Let's go!"
   "Miles --- I don't feel too good. I --- I'm nauseous!"
   "Look, Barrett." Miles whispered. "I don't like doing this any-more than you do. But we got no choice. Now move your fucking ass!"
   A low hum of subdued voices began to ripple through the court-room as those in attendance became aware of what looked like Bar-rett's refusal to take the stand.
   "Mr. Garrison!" roared Stoner impatiently. "Either have your cli-ent take the stand or these proceedings will come to a halt. Which, as you are well aware of, is fine with me!"
   George and Miles then slowly and carefully helped Barrett out of his seat and half carried him to the witness stand, where he was immediately sworn in.
   "Are you --- okay, Dr. Jessop?" asked Judge Stoner.
   "Yes, Your Honor. I --- I think so." Barrett took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then he looked sheepishly at the judge. "I'm sorry to have disrupted the proceedings."
   "Fine. Fine!" said Stoner heavily, staring at Miles Garrison. "You may proceed."
   Barrett Jessop was dressed for the part. He wore a conservative blue suit, a plain white broadcloth shirt and a nondescript light blue tie. His sandy hair was combed neatly back, his pants had a sharp crease, and his shiny black shoes looked brand new. He looked every bit the professional, the upstanding stalwart of the commu-nity, the model law-abiding citizen. He was intentionally the exact opposite of Morris Hartman --- both in status and in physical ap-pearance.
   "Dr. Jessop." Miles bypassed his usual flashy routine, just as he had done with Lucille Napier. He would make dead certain that everyone knew Barrett Jessop was a 'doctor'. "I know this is painful for you, Dr. Jessop, but please tell the court exactly where you were and what you were doing on the night of May tenth." His voice was soft and his tone was compassionate. "Go slowly. Take all the time you need." He glanced quickly at a concerned looking Walt Ivers, then put his hands behind his back, and once again faced the jury.
   Barrett sat for a moment before he responded. When he did, his response was sincere and straight forward --- just as they rehearsed it, over and over! He began with his going to PAL. Then his brief dinner at Juanita's. Then he paused and cleared his throat as he told of his visit to
Jodi Bartless' apartment, explaining that that was why his watch and fingerprints were there. Miles did not pursue any reasons. But he knew his adversary would.
   Barrett told the court that he remembered seeing Mrs. Purdy --- such a sweet old lady. But she was so confused at times. He finally added that when he left Jodi Bartless at around ten thirty, she was very much alive. Barrett was precise in emphasizing that fact.
   After a lengthy pause, Miles pushed gently. "Please go on."
   At this point Barrett stopped. He looked at the judge. Then he looked around the courtroom. As he looked at Miles, he loosened his tie. His entire body stiffened, and he began to sweat. He knew he was coming to the part of his testimony that constituted his big lie. He had planned to tell the court that he came home late and went to bed thinking Janet was asleep. But in the morning he saw his world pulled out from under him. His wife had died in her sleep. He had told the story to himself so often that he had almost begun to believe it.
   To lie in the comfort of one's home and to one's self was one thing. But to lie in a court of law was quite another. But Barrett knew he had no choice. He had come this far with his fable and now he had to follow it through to the bitter end.
   He was soaked with sweat.
   While Barrett paused, Miles took a moment to analyze the jury. This time he had their full and undivided attention. This time there was eye to eye contact with the well dressed woman in the
front row. He could feel the adrenaline flow. He knew the jury was his. With subdued gestures and a low-keyed performance, he would beat Walt Ivers at his own game. Hartman and Ingles would eat their lying words!
   Barrett suddenly became dizzy. His pulse began to race and his body began to shake. He felt himself floating. He was no longer in court but in his own bedroom. The master bedroom!
   Janet lay on her bed. The pillow was next to her head. He could see her ghostly face. He could hear her muffled cries. He could feel her cold and lifeless limbs.
   Then once again he heard the awful sounds.
   Thump thump. Thump thump! It got progressively louder. Thump thump. Thump thump! He put his hands to his ears but the sound wouldn't stop. THUMP THUMP. THUMP THUMP! He stood up and started to yell. "STOP IT! STOP IT! I HAD TO DO IT! I DIDN'T MEAN TO! I'M SORRY! I --- "
   Barrett quickly realized someone was shaking him. It was Miles. Miles' lips were moving but there were no words.
   Then his hallucinatory moment passed. He was back in court. Miles was shaking him harder. He was talking loudly. Much too loudly! Barrett heard his name.
   "Barrett! Barrett!" Miles put his face close to that of his client. "What are you saying, Barrett? What are you saying?"
   Barrett did not respond. He stared at his attorney.
   The room was ominously silent.

   "Barrett! Do you realize what you just said?" Miles shook him again. "Well? Do you?"
   "I --- I don't know. I --- " Barrett continued to stare blankly. George was immediately at Miles' side.
   "You don't know?" Miles was frantic. "Don't you realize what you just did?"
   Miles and George stopped and looked about them. At first they were oblivious. Then they were absorbed.
   All eyes were riveted onto Barrett Jessop, the professional, the stalwart, the law-abiding citizen! He had his head in his hands and he was crying.
   Now he knew what had happened.
   The jurors continued to be silent as they sat and stared in disbe-lief.
   Mason Stoner and Walt Ivers both sat with their mouths open trying to comprehend the spectacle they had just witnessed.
   "Your Honor." Miles was breathing very hard. "In lieu of this un-fortunate bizarre incident, I must confer with my client." He paused, still unable to catch his breath. "Therefore, I would appre-ciate a temporary --- "
   "Granted!" Mason Stoner banged his gavel. "There will be a short recess. Members of the jury are asked not to leave the build-ing."
   Miles and George, with the aid of two policemen, hurriedly es-corted Barrett Jessop toward an empty room at the end of the hall-way. They stopped outside the door when someone called out Miles' name.
   "Miles!" Walt Ivers was in hot pursuit and waving frantically. "Miles!"
   Barrett closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. His pulse was racing wildly.
   "What is it, Walt?" Miles tried to keep from screaming. "I'm sort of busy right now!"
   "Listen, Miles --- " Walt paused to catch his breath. Then he looked up and down the deserted hallway. " --- I know this is a tough moment for you, but --- " He cleared his throat and rubbed his palms together. " --- it appears your client may be changing his plea." Walt then took a brief glance at the defendant. "Unless I misinterpreted what just transpired in the courtroom."
   "You misinterpreted --- as usual."
   Miles and George looked at each other with rage and confusion. The two policemen stood on either side of the open door. Barrett felt like someone was squeezing his lungs together.
   "Goddamn it, Walt! I have no comment or explanation on what happened back there. Temporary insanity! Too much pressure! Lack of sex!" Miles threw his hands in the air. "Hell, I don't know. But --- "
   "But." interjected Ivers. "This does change things." He again looked at Barrett. "It places your client in a most precarious posi-tion."
    Miles paused. Fatigue was beginning to take its toll. "Yes I know." He answered quietly and dejectedly. "Just let me have a lit-tle time with him to see what the fuck went wrong!" Miles looked at his client. "Maybe I can make some sense out of this --- this staggering calamity!"
   Walt didn't answer. His gaze kept jumping between the defendant and the deserted hallway.
   "Jesus Christ, Walt!" Miles was infuriated. "There will be two guards outside that doorway guarding the fucking room! There is only one window and that has bars on it!" Once again Miles stifled an overpowering urge to scream. "We cannot possibly go any-where!"
   Ivers looked at the two policemen. Then he looked up and down the hall again. Finally he turned back to the frustrated defense at-torney and nodded. "Okay, Miles."
   Miles looked at Barrett Jessop for a long moment before he re-sumed his conversation with Walt Ivers. "I'll get back to you as soon as I know what my next move is."
   Ivers nodded again. "Let's meet in Stoner's chamber at --- " He studied his Timex. " --- say four pm."
   "Four pm." Miles agreed. Walt left.
   The three men went quickly into the large empty office. The two policemen waited outside. It was the same office that saw the initial meeting between Barrett and Miles. Nothing in the room had changed.
   When they got inside, Miles slammed the door shut and began pacing immediately. "Goddamn it! Goddamn it!" The madder he got the faster he paced and the faster he paced the madder he got. "I can see the fucking headlines now." He stopped pacing and drew an imaginary line. "Barrett Jessop confesses on the witness stand." He put his hands behind his back and started to pace again. "Right out of fucking Perry Mason! Call it the case of the lying optome-trist!" Then he walked up to his client until they were nose to nose.
   Barrett's squeezed his eyes shut more tightly. His vital signs were slowly returning to normal.
   Miles continued his assault. "Jesus H fucking Christ!" He paused a moment to take a breath. "What in the hell were you thinking? Are you aware of what you said? Are you aware of what you did?" Miles threw his hands into the air and walked to the window. "You told us you were innocent."
   Barrett opened his eyes wide. "I am innocent!"
   Miles turned to George, ignoring Barrett's protestations. "George and I have worked our asses off trying to help you out of this. We were --- " Miles put his thumb and forefinger together. " --- this close." He began to pace again. "Oh yes. We had a few setbacks. But I could sense some positive changes. I could feel the tide turn-ing in our direction." He stopped and shook his head. "Godddamn it! Goddamn it!" He paused to take another breath, then turned to Barrett. "All we
needed was a solid testimony from you. After that we --- but what the hell's the difference?" Miles threw his hands in the air again. "It doesn't mean shit now!" It looked like steam was ready to come out of Miles' ears. "You sit on the stand glassy eyed, somewhere in space and say 'I'm sorry!' I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to --- but I did it!' "
   "Miles, look --- " Barrett tried to talk.
   Miles walked back to Barrett and put his finger against his nose. "I told you that if you ever fucking lied to me --- "
   "I didn't lie to you!" Barrett pushed his lawyer's finger away. "I did not kill Jodi Bartless!"
   "Barrett." George made his voice heard for the first time. He spoke calmly. "If you are innocent, you sure as hell have an odd way of showing it." He came up and stood next to Miles. Both men faced Barrett. "I've got to admit it, Barrett. You really fooled us."
   "Miles --- George --- listen!"
   Miles Garrison turned toward George Archer. "Now I don't know what the fuck to believe!" He took off his tie and jacket, and uncharacteristically tossed them both on the chair.
   "Look, fellas --- " Barrett continued to try to make his point.
   "Now do you see why I don't like to put a client on the stand? I told you strange things happen." He looked sternly at Barrett. "But this one was a real beaut! Yes sir! This one could easily win first fucking prize!" Miles smoothed out his tie and jacket and began to pace again. "I was so close. The strategy was perfect. A criminal that claimed to be an eyewitness up against an honest
law-abiding defendant. A professional! A pillar of the community! A real stalwart! Boy, is that a laugh!"
   "Miles --- " Barrett kept at it.
   "Goddamn it!" Miles continued to ignore him. "I was so close. And then --- bang!"
   "Miles --- listen!"
   "The stage was set." Miles spoke to George as if only the two of them were in the room. "After Barrett's emotional gut wrenching testimony, we would totally disprove everything that Hartman and Ingles said. We would make liars out of Walt Ivers and each and every one of his fucking witnesses!"
   Miles turned abruptly to Barrett. "Ah --- but no! In reality, the reverse happens!"
   Barrett did not respond this time. He sat down heavily and de-jectedly.
   "Then after we got the --- ha ha --- acquittal --- ha ha, I was go-ing to go after the State with a conspiracy charge to frame an inno-cent man. Some fucking joke, huh? Shit!"
   "Miles, please!" Barrett was pleading. "You have to listen."
   "Then." Miles stopped pacing and walked up to George. "Are you ready for this?" He pasted a phony smile on his face. "The clincher was going to be not only to get an acquittal, but also to get a nice settlement as part of the lawsuit. Jesus! I thought I had it all figured out. But now I don't know what to think." He turned quickly and looked contemptuously at Barrett. "And if I don't know what to think --- or if I'm not sure of my own client, what the fuck do you think the jury is thinking?"
   "Barrett." said George removing his tie and sticking it in his pocket. "If the jury would meet right now, it would be virtually im-possible to get an acquittal." He took a step towards Barrett "I mean, if I heard the accused say he did it --- he was sorry --- but he did it, I would be very hard pressed to render anything short of a murder one verdict." George paused. "I'm afraid you have put us in a bit of a --- pickle!"
   "Look. I'm sorry. I --- "
   "Goddamn it! Quit saying you're sorry!" roared Miles. "Just shut up for a second and let me think!" He turned away and faced the window. "Just let me think!"
   "Miles! George!" Barrett screamed in desperation. "You have to listen to me. Please!" He bit his lower lip. "I have something very important to tell you."
   "What? What is so damned important?" The attorney faced his client and spoke with sarcasm. "You want to confess to another fucking murder?"
   Barrett paused, took a deep breath, then answered matter-of-factly. "Yes!"
   Miles paused for what Barrett thought was hours. He and George exchanged a quick perplexed glance. Miles then faced Barrett. His eyes were wide. "What the hell are you talking about?"
   All three stood, their faces close to each other. Miles grabbed Barrett's arm. "What? What?"
   George waited. His breathing was barely audible.
   "Talk Goddamn it!" yelled Miles. "Talk!"
   "Those comments on the stand --- " Barrett cleared his throat re-peatedly. " --- that confession --- the --- "
   "Yes! Yes!" Miles squeezed Barrett's arm harder. "What about it?"
   "It didn't pertain to --- to Jodi Bartless."
   Miles and George looked at each other for several seconds --- confused, baffled. George finally broke the silence. "The ramblings on the stand. The strange comments. They didn't pertain to --- the deceased?"
   "No. Not --- not that one." Barrett stammered.
   There was another prolonged silence. Both men stared intensely at their client. This time Miles broke the spell. "Not --- that one?" He put his hands against the sides of his head. "You --- you mean there's --- another one?" Miles eyes remained open wide. "Barrett! What the hell are you talking about for Christ's sake?"
   "It --- it --- oh, Jesus! Give me a second here." Barrett licked his lips and cleared his throat, trying desperately not to fall apart.
   "That episode on the stand." Barrett shook himself free of Miles' strong grip. "Those comments --- "
   "Those comments! Okay!" Miles continued to try and make sense out of his client’s sudden ramblings. "What about those comments?"
   "They --- they pertained to --- Janet!" Barrett sat down. His eyes became watery. "My wife --- Janet!"
   George and Miles looked at each other again. George then knelt next to Barrett. "Your --- wife? Barrett. Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
   "I --- I killed Janet!" Barrett looked at George, then at Miles. George got up and stood next to Miles. Both men looked stunned. For several minutes no one spoke. "There! I said it! I never said it to anyone before!" Barrett stood. His gaze alternated between George and Miles. "I killed my wife!" Tears ran down his cheeks. "There! I said it again!" Barrett took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. "Well. Is that un-fucking believable, or what?"
   George sat down heavily and put his head in his hands.
   Miles took a step toward his client. His mouth remained open but silent as he continued to stare. Then he turned away, shaking his troubled head slowly and sat down across from George.
"You're right, Barrett. Un-fucking believable!"
   "Why don't you tell us the whole story --- from the beginning." said a calm George Archer.
    Barrett spelled out the entire story as it actually happened on May tenth. He did not leave out nor did he alter one incredible moment. He spoke rigidly and evenly. After he had finished re-counting the horrid events, they all stared at each other. Once again Miles and George were speechless. Barrett finally broke the long si-lence. "Can you see now why I couldn't tell you?"
   After another extended silence, George asked, "Does anyone else know?"
   Barrett sat down slowly. "No one!"
   Miles got up and began to pace again. "I positively cannot think. For the first time in my life I am unable to put two words together to make a logical sentence!"
   "That's what happened on the witness stand, you know." said Barrett.
   "What?" George and Miles spoke almost in unison.
   "The heartbeat." Barrett went on.
   Both men stared incredulously at Barrett.
   "I heard her heartbeat. Janet's heartbeat!"
   "You heard --- " Miles couldn't finish the sentence.
   "And it wasn't the first time. I heard it --- "
   "Barrett." Miles pointed his finger at his client. "Have you totally flipped out? Maybe we should have you committed." Miles shook his head rapidly. "Jesus Christ! Next you'll be telling us you're a fucking serial killer!" He started to walk away. Then he turned back to Barrett. His face showed deep concern. "You're not --- are you?"
   "Not what?" answered Barrett innocently.
   "A serial killer!"
   "Miles!"
   Miles turned away and began to pace again.
   "This is absolutely --- incredible!" said George who was also pacing, but at a slower speed.
   "Yes. That's a good word." Miles stopped pacing and glared at his client. "Incredible!"
   Barrett stood up and put his hands in his pockets. He spoke with panic in his voice. "Are --- are you going to have to turn me in?"
   Miles paused, still glaring. "Good question." He quickly turned to George. "I don't know. I've never been in such a sublime situa-tion before."
   "Well, speaking as an ex-cop, murder is murder." George spoke first. "Whether or not it was provoked is immaterial. It's still mur-der!" George shook his finger at Barrett. "Premeditated murder of the worst variety!"
   "Barrett." said Miles, more in control. "You are still my client. And as repugnant as this situation has become, I still feel I have to do what's in your best interest." He took a deep breath. "I have that dubious obligation." He turned to the detective. "George, do you agree?"
   George hesitated for a moment. Then he faced Miles and shrugged. "I've said my piece. From now on you call the shots. I'll go along with it."
   "Well --- " Miles nodded his head and continued. " --- for right now, let's focus our attention and use our energy on Jodi Bartless' death. I have no idea what might transpire down the road. I cannot promise you anything --- now!'
   "As it turns out," George looked at Barrett. "You could end up paying a heavy price and wind up in prison for the wrong crime."
   Barrett answered quietly. His head was down. "I have been think-ing of nothing else for the past six weeks!"
   "Well." Miles pulled the chair next to George and sat down. Once again both men faced Barrett. "For the time being, let's put that --- " He pointed to the door. " --- other episode aside. It could rear its ugly head at some future time --- maybe. Maybe not. Let's just do what we have to for now."
   "I know this sounds crazy," chirped Barrett, "but I really feel bet-ter about things, having told you. I feel as if a large weight has been lifted off my shoulders."
   "Well. That is very noble. Very noble indeed!" Miles' face looked like it was on fire. "But that is of no importance to me." He took a step towards Barrett. "You have created an unpardonable situa-tion. And personally, I don't give a shit how you feel!" He lowered his voice. "I said I will try and do all I can for you. But that's as far as I go. I refuse to be your father confessor. I'm an attorney, not a fucking clergyman!" Miles took a quick look at his watch. It was getting late.
   A car with a siren blazing screeched by the courthouse. Miles walked to the window, lifted the shade and peeked through the bars. "Gentlemen! I've got my back to the wall. It's a predicament I'm unfamiliar with." He turned to face Barrett. "And frankly I don't like it!"
   "Barrett," said George frowning. "I must admit that you are not overly popular with us right now." He stood and walked up to the eye doctor. "And truthfully, an acquittal appears to be totally out of the question."
   "So," Miles continued with the same train of thought. "we can only try for as light a sentence as we can." He stood next to George. "I hope you understand that."
   Barrett nodded and answered meekly. "I --- I understand."
   "Yeah --- well, I'm not so sure you do." Miles said. "We've been working with half truths all this time. And now you drop this --- this bomb on us!"
   "Look. I'm so --- "
   "If you say you're sorry one more time," Miles pointed his finger at Barrett's face. "So help me God, George and I walk out that door and you can fucking rot in jail forever!"
   Barrett looked away despondently as Miles and George deliber-ated on their plans.
   "George, we have two options. Well, actually we have several. But let's focus in on these two for now." Miles put his hand on George's arm. "One! We say that Barrett is guilty by reasons of in-sanity and throw ourselves on the mercy of the court."
   Barrett started to protest but thought better of it. Miles went on. "I will say right now that I'm not too crazy about that one. But it is an option." He removed his hand from George's arm and rubbed his palms together. "Or two! We continue to maintain Barrett's in-nocence. And what he said in court was some sort of half-assed hal-lucination or a warped deja vu or a recurrence of an old head injury or ---
   "I don't know." said George shaking his head. "This is really des-peration. Grasping like that ---"
   Barrett, now drenched with sweat, sat with his arms folded, shak-ing his head grimly. He listened to Miles and George discuss his fu-ture as if he weren't in the room.
   "I know they're weak options." said Miles throwing his hands in the air. "But we don't have a helluva lot of things we can try."
   "You're right. After Barrett's testimony --- " George looked at the defendant. "It's gonna be tough!"
   Barrett looked away. His heart began to beat so hard his chest hurt.
   "Well", said Miles, exasperated. "since there is absolutely no way we will ever convince this jury that Barrett is innocent, can we do something --- anything, to discredit Hartman and Ingles?"
   "I don't know. Unless --- " George spoke after a long pause. "--- we find out that the prosecution actually did perpetrate a conspir-acy."
   "That could be very difficult."
   "I agree." George nodded slowly.
   Barrett continued to look away. He knew his chest would soon explode.
   "We would need proof --- something."
   "Maybe I could do a little investigating." suggested George.
   "Hmmm --- maybe. Except we're supposed to meet with Ivers and Stoner in --- " Again Miles consulted his watch. " --- exactly one hour." He rubbed his chin. "Wait here. I'll be right back."
   Miles walked quickly to the phone and made his call. He returned in six minutes. "We have forty-eight hours."
 
XXXVIII

   "I hate to admit it." George Archer said, seated comfortably in Barrett Jessop's chair. "But I couldn't find out one damn thing! All the apartments in the complex that Jodi Bartless lived in really do look exactly alike." He crossed his legs then quickly uncrossed them. "And Morris Hartman does live there. But I couldn't get an exact date on when he moved in. The owners keep lousy books."
   "Yes." said Miles absently thumbing through a copy of an Ellery Queen paperback. "I was afraid of that." Then he put it back on the shelf.
   "The owner lives out of town." Barrett volunteered as he brought in a tray of rolls and coffee and put them on a TV table in front of the sofa. "They've never been properly managed."
   Miles took a bite of a roll, thought about it , then washed it down with a long sip of coffee. "I used to know a rental agent like that in New York." He took another sip. "One day the IRS came and took him away."
   "So." continued the detective. "Maybe Hartman lived there when he said he did." He put a napkin on his lap. "Although more than likely --- he didn't!"
   "There's no way to find out?" asked Barrett with a mouth full.
   "Nope." George shook his head as he took a sweet roll. "I'm tell-ing you the books from those apartments are one big mess." After swallowing, he added. "You could conceivably live there for months and not have to pay any rent."
   "So," Barrett asked meekly. "what does all this mean?"
   Miles shrugged. "I don't know. But it would certainly be nice to turn things around here."
   "Ditto." echoed George.

   "I would love to pretend your testimony didn't take place." Miles said as he blotted his mouth with a napkin. "But it did!"
   The three men ate in silence for several minutes. Then Barrett asked, "Did Morris Hartman call Sam Ingles?"
   "Darrell Saltz was out of town during this period." continued George Archer. "So Ingles was the man in charge."
   "That's exactly what Saltz told me when I was arrested!"
   "Hmmm --- too bad." Miles finished his roll and washed it down with the rest of his coffee.
   "Sam Ingles did in fact receive a locally placed phone call when he said he did." said George. "But there is no record of who made the call or the exact time the call was placed."
   "So then," said the eye doctor as he pushed his food away, "there is really nothing to prove or disprove what Morris Hartman said."
   George shook his head. "Sorry, Barrett."
   "But the son-of-a-bitch is lying!" said the frustrated optometrist.
   "I'm sure he is." said Miles. "But I told you. We need proof." He looked at George. "And that is what we are supposedly trying to do now."
   "If that fucking Aaron --- "
   "Barrett!" Miles waved his finger in his client's face. "I don't want to hear that name again --- ever! Understand? Claypool is dead. The issue is dead." He put his face closer to Barrett's and raised his voice. "And now thanks to you, we may be dead!" The attorney glanced at George then looked out of the window. This time his tone was softer. "I need a moment to think."
   After a long pause, George added apologetically, "I pulled out all the stops. I checked with policemen, attorneys, state officials, con-gressmen. And even some small time hoods I know." He shrugged. "I could find no evidence of any type of conspiracy or set up. Noth-ing!" He turned to Barrett. "And I do believe something is going on that isn't quite --- kosher!"
   "Well." said Miles. "Conspirators are experts in knowing how to cover their dirty tracks. And if you couldn't find anything --- well then, shit!"
   "So are we back to square one?" asked Barrett.
   Neither man answered. Then after an unusually long silence, Miles stood. He opened his eyes widely and began to rub his hands together zealously. Barrett knew that an idea had suddenly struck the attorney. He could almost see the lighted bulb over Miles' head. "Maybe --- not!"
   "You have some sort of a --- plan?" asked the detective.
   "I'm not sure." Miles put his hands behind him and walked up to the bookcase. He picked up a deck of cards, studied it briefly then carefully laid it down. Then he nonchalantly turned around. "Tell me, George. Did you ever play --- poker?"
   "Poker?" George glanced at Barrett, then he turned back to Miles, giving him a quizzical look. "Sure. Why?"
   "Well --- what if --- ?" Miles paused and rubbed his chin.
   "Go on." encouraged George.
   "What if --- " Miles stopped rubbing his chin and pointed his forefinger toward the ceiling.
--- we initiate a bluff?"
   "A bluff?" George looked totally lost.
   "I suggested that once." Barrett interjected.
   "What if --- we go to Walt?" Miles ignored him. "And what if --- we act as if we have proof and we know there was a conspiracy?" He sat down on the sofa next to Barrett.
   "Hmmm --- " George nodded. " --- has possibilities."
   "Okay." Miles sat forward in his seat. "Let's pursue this."
   "I'm all ears." George also sat forward.
   "Walt Ivers is weak. He could never mastermind any sort of a collusion by himself."
   "He obviously had help." George was into it now.
   Barrett continued to remain simply an onlooker.
   "Obviously!" Miles spoke with profundity. "Now the big ques-tion. Who would help him?"
   Miles and George stared at each other, both lost in thought. Bar-rett remained silent.
   George spoke first. "What about the Attorney General?"
   Miles shook his head. "No. I've known Milton a long time and he is too much of a wimp. No. Not the Attorney General."
   "What about Stoner?" asked Archer.
   "Stoner." Miles narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. "Hmmm --- very possible. In fact, highly probable." Miles rubbed his chin again. "But even with Stoner's help, it's still a weak combination. There has to be someone behind this stronger and more ruthless than either Ivers or Stoner."
   "Who then?" asked a bewildered George Archer. "Maybe another attorney, or another judge, or a congressman, or --- "
   "Or --- " Miles jumped up and again pointed his finger at the ceil-ing. " --- a governor!"
   "A governor?" asked George.
   "Yes. A governor. The governor of Ohio. Bruce Hollstadt to be exact!" Miles began to pace slowly. "Why didn't I think of this be-fore?"
   "The governor of Ohio?" Barrett's voice cracked.
   "George, this is ingenious!" Miles continued to ignore Barrett. "I seem to recall reading in the New York Times --- this is a while back --- that several politicians were involved in some very shady dealings: Bribes; slush funds; money laundering --- . I am certain that Bruce Hollstadt was one of the names."
   "You want me to check it out?" George was elated.
   Miles thought about it for a second before responding. "I'll call Walt Ivers. We'll need another forty eight hours!"

   Two days later, they met once again in Barrett Jessop's family room. TV tables were set up and coffee had been poured.
   "Okay, George. The stage is yours." Miles spoke with cautious optimism.
   George took a large white neatly folded piece of paper from his pants pocket. He opened it slowly and read. "Regarding Bruce Hollstadt. 1978. Accused of misappropriation of funds when his bank account in Atlanta suddenly became six-hundred-thousand dollars richer and a defunct bank in Seattle suddenly became six-hundred-thousand dollars poorer. Case was dropped for lack of evidence. 1979. A savings and loan in St Louis went belly up. It took four years for investors to recoup their losses. Bruce Holl-stadt, who just happened to be the president at the time, walked away with two million dollars. He said he was lucky! Charges of fraud were dropped for lack of evidence." The detective took a deep breath. "1981. One and one half million in funds from an oil stock appeared mysteriously one day in Hollstadt's checking ac-count in Butte, Montana. All other investors lost fortunes. No charges were filed." George looked up as he folded the paper
and put it away. "The list goes on and on. Each time either there were no charges or all charges were dropped for lack of evidence."
   "After hearing all that," Miles said, "I'm not sure whether Holl-stadt or Hartman is a greater threat to society."
   "Hartman is petty compared to Hollstadt." said George deject-edly.
   After a long silence, Barrett asked, "So how did this SOB get to be governor?"
   Miles spoke up quickly. "As much as I hate to admit it, he has a powerful gift of gab, an incredible phony charm, a smile that never fades and a fake sincerity that you could vomit from!"
   He took a deep breath and wet his lips. "Insufficient proof --- on all counts. Great! So what else is new?"
   There was another long extended silence. Once again George spoke first. "I feel terrible about not being able to come up with anything concrete on Hollstadt." Neither man responded. The de-tective went on. "But even so Miles, I still think your idea has merit."
   Miles nodded. Barrett listened.
   George continued. "If we could tie Hollstadt in with Ivers and Stoner, I bet we could make one helluva case!"
   Miles began to pace. He stopped abruptly. "Wait a minute!" Bar-rett looked for the light bulb again. "Next year Bruce Hollstadt is running for the Senate." The attorney sat down and faced George. "It's been on TV and in most of the newspapers."
   George folded his arms and nodded.
   "Making the gullible public think you care about their welfare is a great way to garner votes." Miles spoke with renewed enthusiasm. "And what better way than to bullshit the voters into thinking you are the one man that is doing all he can in a concentrated effort, to reduce crime in the cities of Ohio!"
   "So then by a chain of convictions --- " added George.
   "Exactly! And Barrett Jessop was going to be a very important link in that chain"
   George and Barrett both nodded excitedly.
   "So in essence," continued Miles, "Hollstadt wasn't helping Ivers. It was the other way around."
   "Makes sense to me." said the detective.
   "Now, George, hear me out. This gets a bit tricky --- and it is only speculation. But, suppose --- just suppose, that Bruce Holl-stadt told or warned Ivers or Stoner --- or both, that unless Barrett were convicted, their political futures and futures in general would be --- uncertain."
   "And you think Hollstadt is that powerful?"
   "It certainly fits. Because with Ivers and Stoner being weak, we have a perfect match and perfect conditions to execute a conniv-ance!" Miles stood and rubbed his chin again. Barrett and George both knew the attorney's brain was in high gear.
   There was a long silent pause. Miles broke the spell. "George. Let's suppose again." He waved his finger in the air. "Suppose --- we go to Walt Ivers and Mason Stoner and act like we know some-thing we're not supposed to know."
   "We allude to the fact that we have proof of this collusion." George's eyes were wide and bright. "We don't say we do --- and we don't say we don't."
   "Exactly!" Miles' arms were straight up and his head was back.
   With the sudden realization that the defense might have some bargaining power, the desolate mood brightened with anticipation.
   "I believe I suggested this once." Barrett tried to get his say in. "If you would have listened
to --- "
   "Barrett!" snapped Miles. "You have said enough --- for a life-time! Now just shut up and listen! The rest of your life is going to be decided in the next twenty-four hours!"
   "And you're right, Miles. There's no proof." added George. "I can sure as hell attest to that!"
   Both men continued to speak as if only the two of them were in the room.
   "But maybe Walt Ivers and Mason Stoner don't know it, George. And that's the key."
   "So." George stood up and faced the door. "We have nothing to lose."
   "Nothing at all. All we have to do is force a compromise." said Miles. "Strike a deal of some sort. Only this time we call the shots!"
   "And," added George, " try to eliminate a murder one indict-ment."
   "Otherwise," said Miles softly, "Barrett Jessop is literally a 'dead duck!' " Miles steered the detective away from the defendant and walked toward the window. "Okay, George. Here's the plan.
   While the two men were quietly plotting their strategy, Barrett sat silently staring into space.
   Miles was right. I should never have taken the stand!

*
 
XXXIX

   Miles and George walked slowly down the familiar long dingy and deserted hallway to meet with Walt Ivers and Mason Stoner. Their meeting would take place in the judge's chambers --- another familiar setting. They were both silent and pensive, somberly aware that they were about to play their final card.
   "George, this case has had the most bizarre combinations of out-landish features I have ever been associated with. And I am having trouble accepting my position as Barrett's attorney and being a part of it."
   "I know exactly what you mean, Miles." Both men had come to a stop and were facing each other only twenty feet from their destina-tion. "Speaking as an ex-cop, I would opt to have him arrested and turned in on a murder one charge." He shrugged. "But I'm not serving as a cop here. I am serving as assistant to Miles Garrison, Attorney at Law."
   "I am so --- uneasy about all of this."
   "So am I. But it's just as you said back there." George gestured with his thumb. "You said that he is still our client. And besides the matter of confidentiality, we do have this dubious obligation to do what is in the best interests of Barrett Jessop."
   Both men knew from past experience that Miles was not asking George's opinion. He was only interested in having the detective help him sort out the muddled facts and reinforce his own personal observations. It was something George was used to.
   They continued their steady and deliberate walk and were now five feet from Stoner's door. Miles grabbed George's arm. "I know this may be stretching a point. But when we go in there to bargain with Walt, we will not be bargaining for the Bartless case."
   He threw a quick glance at the closed door. "We will actually be bargaining for the --- other crime. The one we know he did."
   George paused a second and nodded. Then he smiled.
   "George, may I ask you what is so amusing?"
   The detective put his strong arm around Miles' small shoulder. Then he looked at the door ahead of them and said very softly in the attorney's ear, "Wouldn't Ivers and Stoner both shit if they knew the entire story?"
   Now it was the defense lawyer's turn to nod and smile. "They cer-tainly would, George. They most certainly would!"

*

   Mason Stoner opened the door after George's first knock. The two men came in tensely and sat down quietly in two chairs across from the judge's desk. Stoner also sat down in his large chair behind the desk. Walt Ivers was already seated. Everyone now occupied the same chair in the same spot that they had occupied on their pre-vious meeting. An extra chair was set next to Miles for the detec-tive.
   The atmosphere was both hostile and portentous. There were no smiles, no hellos, and no handshakes.
   Miles thought Ivers' smug expression denoted certain victory for the State. He thought the prosecutor displayed premature confi-dence --- maybe overconfidence.
   For several minutes no one spoke. Each man looked away, seem-ingly waiting for the other to make the first move. Miles again saw it as a massive chess game.
   George looked at Miles trying to send him a telepathic message. Go for it, Miles!
   The defense attorney stood, smoothed out his jacket, put his hands in his pockets and began to pace between the desk and the door. Message received!
   Several more minutes elapsed. Still there were no sounds except the ticking of the Grandfather clock which seemed to get louder with each tick as it loomed over all.
   Miles made the initial move. He spoke directly to Mason Stoner. "It would appear that each of us has a problem."
   "We have no problem, Garrison." sneered Ivers. "So speak for yourself!"
   "Our problem is obvious." Miles turned to Ivers ignoring his comment. "We need to bargain and reach a compromise."
   Mason Stoner sat back with his chin in his hand, a silent observer.
   Walt stood up quickly and pointed his finger at the defense attor-ney. "You had your chance, Garrison, and you blew it. No com-promises!" The two lawyers faced each other. Ivers continued to sneer. "This time the jury will decide the outcome." His smug smile widened. "And let the cards fall --- et cetera, et cetera!"
   "It isn't all that cut and dried --- Mr. Prosecutor!"
   "And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean --- Mr. De-fender?"
   Miles turned to the judge. "Gentlemen. I would like to discuss the testimony of Hartman and Ingles."
   Mason Stoner sat forward, still silent but more observant.
   George listened quietly.
   "Regarding what?" asked Ivers, his head slightly tilted.
   Miles glanced at George then turned back to Stoner. "We feel that, maybe, certain things were said under oath that were --- " Miles loosened his tie. " --- shall we say --- somewhat distorted?"
   "Damn you, Garrison!" Ivers walked closer to Miles. They were a foot apart. "Are you daring to insinuate that my witnesses lied on the witness stand? Because if you are --- "
   Miles walked away to the desk. He spoke to Ivers but he looked Mason Stoner in the eye. "You said lied. I didn't!"
   "Bullshit!" yelled Ivers. "You're blowing smoke out of your ass! You got --- "
   "Do you want to discuss it or not?" Miles yelled back at Walt.
   "There is nothing to discuss." Walt came up to the desk and faced Miles. "Hartman and Ingles were very accurate and your cli-ent is very guilty!"
   Miles paused and took a deep breath. Then he turned to Stoner. He talked calmly. "Your Honor. I hope you were not a party to --- all of this."
   "All of what, Garrison? All of what?" Again Walt was close to Miles. His face was beet red.
   Mason Stoner remained silent, but his breathing was getting no-ticeably more intense.
   George Archer continued to look on.
   "Tell me, Garrison." Walt Ivers squinted his eyes and tilted his head again. "You got proof of these --- mighty allegations?"
   Miles could see that Walt Ivers' anger was getting the best of him. And he knew that if you were angry enough you couldn't think logically. "You know, Walt, I shouldn't be talking to you anyway."
   "Is that a fact?" Miles walked past the desk and Walt followed.
   "No!" The defense attorney answered quickly. Then he turned to George and smiled. "I should probably be talking to the Attorney General."
   "No one is buying your crap, Garrison!" Walt was right behind Miles and yelling at the back of his head. "Now either prove it or shove it!"
   "On second thought --- " Miles continued to be calm. " --- maybe I'll go to the --- Governor."
   Miles turned just in time to see Ivers and Stoner exchange a quick look of panic. He knew George saw it too. It gave him all the as-surance he needed to know his hunches were on target. He kept the pressure going. "Unless of course, the Governor was also in on it." Miles began to pace again. Walt followed on his heels.
   "In on what, Garrison? In on what?" Saliva was forming at the corners of Ivers' mouth. "You keep talking in circles, for Christ's sake!"
   "Forget it, Walt." Miles stopped and turned to the prosecutor. "I don't know what possessed me to come here in the first place." He then looked at a concerned Mason Stoner. "The more I think about it, the better I like the idea of going to the Governor."

   "Goddamn it, Garrison!" Walt had his hands on his hips and his face was still beet red as he continued to yell. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. You still got smoke coming out of your ass!"
   He took a step closer to the defense attorney. "I told you. No one lied. Your client is fucking guilty and you know it!"
   "Of course --- " Miles looked up at the ceiling and calmly rubbed his chin. " --- there is always the bar association! I'm sure --- "
   "You're full of it, Garrison!" Walt's voice cracked. "You're bluff-ing. You got shit and you know it!"
   "Really?" The two lawyer's noses were an inch apart.
   "Really!" Walt continued to yell.
   Miles stepped back and adjusted the knot on his tie. "Okay, Ivers. Don't say you weren't given the opportunity." He turned away from Walt and walked up to the detective. "Okay, George. Let's go."
   Miles Garrison and George Archer both walked toward the door with all indications of leaving and not looking back. They had had their moment. They had made their final move. The chess game, for all apparent intentions, was over.
   As George opened the door, Mason Stoner's booming but shaky voice was heard for the first time. "Wait!"
   The detective and defense attorney stopped and looked at each other. A majestic feeling of relief had instantly swept through both their bodies.
   "Come back inside and let us discuss all of this --- amicably --- in-telligently!"
   "Your Honor!" Walt Ivers' hands were fists. "This is bullshit! They're bluffing!"
   "Your Honor!" Miles was quickly at the desk. George closed the door behind them. "And what if I'm not bluffing? What if I can prove these affirmations?" He leaned in closer to Stoner. "You could be in serious trouble."
   "Your Honor --- " Walt Ivers was pleading.
   "Shut up Walt!" Stoner roared.
   "Look, Your Honor --- " Walt's pleas were getting weaker.
   "I said shut up!"
   All three men now stared at Mason Stoner. No one spoke for several minutes. Once again the ticking of the clock loomed very loud in the silence of the small room.
   Stoner broke the spell as he spoke slowly and carefully. He di-rected his words and a forced smile at Miles Garrison. "Now we are --- all of us, reasonable men --- are we not?"
   Miles looked quickly at George who was seated with his arms folded. Then he turned to Stoner and nodded.
   "And --- " continued the judge, " --- we do want to settle this as reasonable men --- do we not?"
   Again Miles looked at George. Then he turned back to Stoner and again he nodded.
   "Mr. Garrison, your words disturb me. They disturb me a great deal." The judge's smile vanished. "It means that a threat of black-mail is in the air."
   "Blackmail is a very harsh word, Your Honor." As Miles spoke he watched Ivers out of the corner of his eye. The prosecutor had shifted to the edge of his seat.
   Stoner's narrow black eyes were suddenly riveted onto Miles'. "It is also a very serious crime, Garrison!"
   "How serious? As serious as perjury or --- malfeasance?" Miles had both hands on Mason's desk. "We are talking some heavy shit here!"
   Stoner sat back and folded his hands under his chin. His eyes never left Miles' face. "What do you want, Garrison?"
   Miles glanced at George. They exchanged smiles. Then he turned back to the judge. "I want a suspended sentence!"
   "Bullshit!" Walt Ivers was on his feet.
   "Ivers!" Stoner leaned in and pointed a trembling finger at the prosecutor. "I told you to shut up and I meant it! You have fucked up enough. Now just let me handle it!"
   Stoner and Ivers locked eyes for an instant. Walt sat down slowly and Stoner turned once again to Miles Garrison. "I can't do that and you know it!"
   Miles paused, nodded his head, then walked calmly toward the detective. "Okay, George. Let's go!"
   Once again the defense attorney and the detective headed for the door.
   "Fifteen years. Parole in ten. No fine!" Mason Stoner knew he had overstepped his bounds. But he also knew he had to protect his future. And now he was in it for keeps.
   Miles slowly and confidently walked up to the judge who was still seated behind his huge desk. There were no theatrics or flowery speeches. It was Garrison and Stoner. Ivers was out of it and George just listened.
   "Your Honor, in our case Barrett Jessop is the only loser. In your case --- " Miles glanced quickly at a furious Walt Ivers. Then he turned back to the judge. " --- several heads could roll." He took a deep breath. "Five years!"
   Mason Stoner sat forward both arms resting on the desk. Once again his eyes were riveted onto those of the small and suddenly powerful attorney from New York. After several minutes of si-lence, the judge spoke. His voice revealed a great deal of fatigue. "Ten years is the best I can do. If that's not good enough, then I guess some heads will just have to roll."
   "Deal!" said Miles ecstatically.
   "Goddamn it!" Walt Ivers was on his feet again. "This is a big fucking mistake! I would bet my house he's got nothing. He bluffed and you didn't call. And you tell me I fucked up. Some joke! You let this shyster --- "
   Miles walked up to the prosecutor. "Look, you moronic half-assed --- "
   "Okay. Okay!" said George getting out of the chair. He put both hands in the air. "Let's not resort to name calling." Then he looked at Stoner. "Now I believe the number was --- ten."
   Mason Stoner stood up. Then he took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. "Mr. Ivers." said the judge, "You'll need to get an agreement written up between the State and the defense.
Then --- "
   "My word is good, Your Honor." said Ivers. "If I --- "
   "Your word is shit!" snapped Miles. "I want it in writing." He took a pen and an official looking paper from George and handed them both to Walt Ivers. "Sign it!"
    Walt reluctantly took the pen and then read over the brief docu-ment. Then he looked at the judge contemptuously. His eyes darted back and forth between the three men. "Big fucking mistake." He mumbled under his breath as he signed the agreement. Then he slammed both pen and paper down on Stoner's desk.
   "Thank you!" said Miles as he grabbed up the paper and handed it to the detective.
   "Well." said Stoner. "I'll have to get some other papers together so that I can legally and officially dismiss the jury."
   "No need to, Your Honor." said Miles as he took another paper from George and laid it on the desk. "I do like to come prepared."
   Stoner looked angrily at Miles then he shook his head. "You son-of-a-bitch! You cocky self-centered mother fucking son-of-a-bitch!" As the judge put the papers into the top drawer he suddenly began to laugh. "Garrison! You are a scoundrel! A number one class A scoundrel!"
   Stoner's jovial reaction brought smiles to the lips of both Miles and George. Walt Ivers remained stone faced.
   "Well, gentlemen." said Miles as he rubbed his hands together. "It was a pleasure doing business with you. And I am honestly glad this ordeal is finally over with." Miles then slapped the prosecutor on the back. "Don't look so glum, Walt. The way I see it is --- you get your conviction, the Governor gets to the Senate, and every-one's jobs and futures are secure." As George opened the door, he added, "So smile. I just saved your fucking ass!"

*
 

XL

   Miles Garrison and George Archer stopped at Barrett Jessop's front door, nodded to the two policemen that still served as guardi-ans and were quickly and quietly let inside. The two men crinkled their faces when they saw dirty dishes laying on the coffee table. LPs were out of their jackets, books were scattered everywhere and the carpet needed to be swept. Miles thought about writing his name on the dusty TV screen. "Christ!" said the attorney. "What a mess!"
   "I'll be down in a second." Barrett yelled from upstairs. "There's some coffee in the kitchen."
   Both men looked at each other and shook their heads. Miles went to the window and pulled the shade. Then he looked out at the blue skies and the oak trees that surrounded the house. Cars drove by and dogs barked in the distance. The attorney was oblivious.
   "Well, Miles." George opened the top two buttons of his Polo shirt and sat down on the sofa. "We called their bluff and we won. You are a genius."
   Miles did not answer at first, still lost in thought. "Far from a gen-ius, George. Far from a genius." He loosened his tie and sat on Bar-rett's chair. "And I'm not so sure we won."
   "Why not?"
   "It doesn't take too many smarts to know, even without proof, that some sort of underhanded dealings did in fact take place."
   "Right." George shrugged. "So?"
   "So, those assholes get away with their two-bit schemes and go as free as the bisons in the San Diego Zoo." He looked away dis-gustedly. "Then to add insult to it all, Bruce Hollstadt --- that slimy bastard, will end up in the fucking Senate --- smelling like a fucking rose!"
   "Well, I agree with you --- in part." George folded his hands and sat on the edge of the sofa.
   "But let's look at it from Barrett's point of view. If we hadn't done what we did --- what you did, he gets slapped with first degree murder." The detective thought for a moment. "I think ten years is a bargain!"
   Miles scratched his forehead and nodded slowly. "Hmm --- maybe."
   "No maybe about it. I think Jessop is damn lucky!" George paused to watch Miles stare at a blank wall. "You're still not satis-fied, are you?" George waited for his friend to respond. When he didn't, the detective went on. "You talk about saving Stoner's ass. You talk about saving Ivers' ass. If anyone's ass got saved it was Jessop's!"
   Miles looked sadly at the detective. "That's exactly what I mean, George. I can't stand to see those politician pricks get away with the shit they got away with. It's very wrong!"
   "Forget it, Miles. If anyone is getting away with something it's Barrett Jesop!"
   Miles sat up straight and spoke emphatically. "That's different!"
   "What's different? Barrett is beating a murder one rap. No! There is no difference. If anything, Barrett is worse!"
   "Barrett Jessop is our client." said Miles. "We owe him --- "
   "Barrett Jessop is a murderer!" interrupted George. "We owe him nothing." The detective stood and turned toward the steps. "I think this whole thing stinks from both ends."
   "Well, George, when you put it that way --- "



   Barrett came slowly down the stairs. He had on a white T-shirt and jeans. After several minutes of silence, he asked from the foot of the steps. "Well, what's the verdict?"

*

   "Ten years! Ten years! Ten years!" Barrett would have repeated it indefinitely had not Miles stepped in and hit him on the arm.
   "Barrett." said his lawyer as he handed him his gold Cross pen. "Read the conditions and sign the agreement."
   Barrett read the paper, clearing his throat and licking his lips con-stantly. "This is the best you could do --- right?" He couldn't take his eyes off the eight by ten document.
   "Right!" said Miles. "Sign the paper."
   "I suppose, considering everything, that this is a fair deal."
   "Barrett. Sign the paper."
   "This has nothing to do with Jodi, does it?" Barrett could feel depression setting in. He knew despondency would follow. "It's be-cause of Janet --- right?"
   "Right again. Now sign the paper!"
   "What kind of cell will they put me in?" He looked at Miles.
   "One with a sauna and a Jacuzzi! Now for Christ's sake --- SIGN THE FUCKING PAPER!"
   George walked slowly up to Barrett, who still had the pen in one hand and was staring at the agreement in the other hand.
   "Barrett." said George firmly and without any compassion, "You listen to me, Goddamn it!" He shook his finger at Barrett. "Person-ally, I don't give a shit what you do! Frankly, I've had it up to --- " He put his hand under his chin. " --- here with you!" Barrett started to speak but George continued. "So we have two choices."
   Now He raised his voice. "One! We go back to Stoner's chamber where we once again meet with the judge and the prosecutor. And we tell them to forget everything that transpired there. 'Here he is!' we say. 'He's guilty as hell, and he's all yours!' Then you get twenty years to life --- or maybe the chair!"
   Barrett continued to stare at the document.
   "Two!" George went on. "You sign that paper, take the ten years and consider yourself Goddamn lucky!" He took a step closer to Barrett and spoke softly but stolidly. "Your attorney did one hell of a job for you. And don't you ever forget it!"
   Barrett took a deep breath. "Ten years is a long time."
   "Twenty to life is a lot longer!" said George. Then he added "And death is forever!"
   Barrett nodded resignedly as the tears began to cloud his vision. But he knew they were right. He had screwed up royally and now he would pay the price. At times he tried to turn his back on it, but it was always there behind every corner of his life. He never really got away with anything after all. And now, just as he had feared, in the end he would be a true victim of poetic justice!
   Ten years! Ten years out of his life! And for what? A fantasy that never materialized. A woman he had never gotten to love. A fleet-ing visionary moment.
   Some things were just never meant to be.
   With an unsteady hand, Barrett Jessop signed the paper!

*

 
   
XLI

   The State gave Barrett thirty-six hours to get everything in order that was now and forever pertinent to any facet of his existence. He was going to spend to spend the next ten years of his life as a resi-dent of Lucasville Prison.
   Congratulations, Dr. Jessop. You have earned the right to be called the number one fuck up in the professional community of Patton Ohio!
   As he cleaned and packed and organized what was left of his freedom, he was uncaringly escorted about his house by the two policemen. He knew he would never be totally alone again --- not even now, as he tried to savor the dying moments of being in his own home.
   With the two watchdogs constantly looking over both his shoul-ders, he was still able to make two important phone calls. The first was to Lysle Richardson.
   "How is HMB Realtors doing with the house?" asked Barrett.
   Lysle hesitated. "They'll do the best they can."
   Barrett took a deep breath. "I really did love this house, Lysle." He spoke tearfully. "In spite of all the bad memories --- the wasted hours --- the unhappy moments --- "
   "I know, Barrett. I know." Lysle spoke consolingly.
   Barrett continually looked about the room at the many boxes. They contained his past. Years of memorabilia: His records; his books; his certificates; his clothes; his toiletries. What a waste!
   "Barrett. Are you going to be okay?" The deep concern in Lysle's voice turned to fear.
   "What are my options?" Barrett walked between the two cops and absently drew the shade.
   Lysle hesitated again. "Well --- "
   Barrett didn't wait to hear a response. "And work with Marie on selling the practice --- what's left of it. I know it's a lot to ask, but there's no one else I would turn to." He slowly ran his fingers along the handlebar of the Schwinn stationary bicycle.
   "It's okay, Barrett. Don't worry about this end of things. I'll take care of everything."
   "Well --- " There was a long pause. Barrett knew it was time to end the conversation. " --- I guess that's about it. Give my best to Ronni and --- well, everyone else."
   "Sure thing. And I promise to stay in touch."
   After they said their goodbyes and Barrett replaced the receiver, he suddenly realized for no particular reason, that no one except George Archer and Miles Garrison knew about Janet. Not
Lysle, not the Mintons, not Marie --- no one! They would all think he killed Jodi Bartless. Barrett stood up, shook his head and laughed to himself.
   The greatest kept secret of my life. A gargantuan segment, and no one to share it with.
So fuck it! Let 'em all think whatever the hell they want. It makes no difference now.
   Barrett dialed the other number.
   "Hello, Marie." He sat down heavily in his easy chair. He could see the policemen out of the corner of his eye, as they stood in the kitchen entrance watching him. He didn't care anymore. Barrett then brought his assistant up to date on everything.
   "I don't quite know what to say." She blew her nose, then waited a long time before continuing.
"But I --- I just want to thank you for everything. I know --- "
   "No, Marie. I'm the one to thank you for all your loyal years of assistance. I could have never managed without you." Marie blew her nose again. "And if this conversation goes on any longer, we'll both be drowning in tears."
   "Goodbye, Dr. Jessop. And God bless you."

*

 

   
XLII

   At nine am, one hour before his first trial, Mason Stoner opened the door to his office to admit an agitated Miles Garrison. The judge had on a short sleeve white shirt and no tie. He wore sloppy looking brown house slippers. The attorney was in his usual three-piece suit.
   "Come in, Garrison." The two men shook hands. "Your call last night sounded mighty urgent."
   "Well, it was at the time, but now --- I'm not so sure." Miles sat down in the same old worn out chair in front of Stoner's desk. Then he casually looked around the room. "You know something , Stoner? You need new furniture."
   "Look, Garrison." Mason sat down behind his desk. "I know you didn't come all this way to help me redecorate. So get to the point!"
   "It's about the trial." Miles loosened his tie.
   "I thought we settled all that!"
   Miles leaned in and looked the judge directly in the eye. "This is the first time in a long time that I've been bested in a courtroom. And it pissed me off to a point that I came here with every intention of filing for a mistrial and initiating an all out investigation into what seemed like flagrant doings during the course of the trial." He paused and took a deep breath. "We both know that the whole thing was a set up." The attorney then sat back in his chair. "Un-fortunately --- I have no proof."
   "Proof? Proof of what? I --- "
   "Cut the bullshit, Stoner! You sound like Walt Ivers. You know damn well what I mean!"
   Mason Stoner waited a long time before he responded. "Okay, counselor." He folded his hands and laid them on the desk. "So you really didn't know."
   Then he shook his head. "Well I'll be a son-of-a-bitch! You were bluffing. And Walt Ivers was right for one of the few times in his dull life. Bluffing. Ha!" Stoner shrugged. "But it makes no differ-ence now. I couldn't care less. Just make your damn point and go! I got no time to play any more games!"
   "What I'm trying to say is --- I changed my mind."
   "You changed your mind?" The judge leaned in toward the attor-ney, his wrath evident. "You came over her at nine am disrupting a very busy schedule to tell me about an appeal that is not going to be filed and about an investigation that is not going to take place?"
   "Yep! That's it in a nutshell."
   Mason stared at Miles for several seconds. "You know, Garrison, sometimes you can be a real pain in the ass!"
   "Maybe I'm getting old or lazy --- or both. But a damaged ego is just not enough reason to launch an all out war." Miles glanced at his Rolex. "Especially a war that I would most certainly lose. Nope. It doesn't seem worth the effort."
   The judge got up slowly and moved his large body to the front of the desk. "You know, Garrison, for a long time I wasn't sure if I would take an early retirement or merely bide my time doing mis-cellaneous shit --- or try for a lower court. Just take it easy for three years." He sat down on the edge of his desk and folded his arms. "This little visit has made my decision easier. Much eas
ier! Early retirement is an unchallenged winner." Mason smiled. "And now thanks to you, there are no more decisions to be made. No sir! Not any more!"
   Mason Stoner then walked back to his chair. He leaned forward, both hands flat on the desk. "So you go ahead and file your griev-ance. Or go ahead and launch your all out war." The smile faded. "I don't give a fuck! Because I'll be a million miles away!"
   Miles got up to leave. As he opened the door, Stoner's words stopped him. "You know, Garrison, you were foolish. If you had pushed a little harder, I would have given your client eight years."
   "Maybe you were the foolish one, Your Honor. I would have set-tled for twelve!"

*
   
 

   
BOOK FOUR
BARRETT
 

 

XLIII

   After Barrett had been in prison for six weeks, Miles Garrison fi-nally paid him a visit. The reasons he gave in his letters for not coming sooner was that he hated Lucasville --- it depressed him. And besides, he said, he had nothing significant to report. Barrett did not question the logic.
   But Miles would always be Miles, thought Barrett. His nails were perfectly manicured, his three piece tailored suit was wrinkle free and his face was as smooth as a baby's ass. And as usual, he had not one hair out of place!
   "I thought I would go over a few things with you before I leave for New York."
   Miles and Barrett sat down across from each other on a long gray wooden bench and spoke through a large opening above the table that separated them. Guards were at either end.
   Miles cleared his throat and continued. "I will abide by our agreement that if we lost you would owe me nothing."
   "Look, Miles, you got me ten years instead of life. That has --- "
   "That was not a victory, Barrett. That was a compromise."
   Barrett took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. But I still have some money --- "
   "Forget it! Things didn't really turn out as we had hoped." Bar-rett started to speak but Miles went on. "I realize there were ex-tenuating circumstances and quite a bit of confusion. But it's okay. I don't need your money." Then he picked up the pace. "I'm going to try and get your sentence reduced. I know the chances are slim to none. But it won't hurt to give it a shot."
  "Okay." Barrett answered unenthusiastically.
   I think it's safe to say we can forget an investigation into any wrongdoing. And I would love to nail those bastards --- especially Hollstadt! But they are Lily white --- spotless! Even George Archer struck out!"
   "It's okay, Miles. I know I gave you a hard way to go."
   "Yeah --- well --- " Miles looked at his watch.
   "And I know you did your best." added Barrett. "I don't think anyone could have done more --- considering."
   "Well, Barrett. Sometimes our best just isn't good enough --- is it?"
   Barrett hesitated. He knew he had to change the subject. "How is George?"
   "Oh he's fine. He sends his regards."
   Barrett knew that George Archer was far too provoked with him to send any sort of greeting. But he would let the idle remark pass.
   "George says he wants to retire. All of this is getting to be too much for him. But he can't retire anymore than I can. We both love the tumult and we both still love the good fight." Miles started to get up then abruptly changed his mind. He took a small notebook out of his inside jacket pocket. "I almost forgot." He turned some pages then looked at the prisoner. "I came across something I thought would be of some interest to you. It's a brief interpretation of a short story by Edgar Allen Poe called The Tell Tale Heart." Barrett looked quizzically at his attorney. Miles went on. "This ex-planation was written by a psychoanalyst --- oh --- about nine years ago." The defense lawyer then looked back at his notebook. "I'm sure you know this bizarre tale about a protagonist that did away with someone in a most brutal fashion."
   Barrett felt his mouth drop open. He suddenly remembered the gruesome story. Miles turned the page. "He buried the dismem-bered corpse under the floorboards. Then shortly after the poor man's demise, the protagonist begins to hear --- a heart beat." A shiver went through Barrett's body. "These heart beats seemed to emanate from the body." Miles looked at his client. Barrett hadn't moved. "Sound familiar?"
   Barrett closed his eyes and nodded slowly.
   "According to the psychoanalyst, this phenomenon is known as --- paranoid delusion. It's a form of auditory hallucination. One finds this rare occurrence in cases in which the person responsible for the murder is besieged with either guilt or fear --- or both." Miles closed the notebook and re
turned it to his jacket pocket. "Anyway, I thought you would find it interesting --- to say the least."
   Barrett a deep breath and again nodded.
   Miles stood. As he did so, he smoothed his jacket and adjusted his tie. "I have to go. But let's do try and stay in touch."
   "Sure thing, Miles." But as they shook hands, Barrett knew that he would never see the New York attorney again.

*

   Later that afternoon Lysle Richardson came to the prison.
   "Boy!" said Barrett. "Either no one comes to visit or everyone comes." The two shook hands warmly. "Miles Garrison stopped by this morning to tell me that I'll be here for the full ten years."
   "That's what he said?" The dejection in Lysle's voice matched the dejection in his face.
   "Well --- he didn't use exactly those words --- but he didn't have to. The message came through loud and clear."
   "Barrett --- I --- what can I say?"
   Barrett shrugged and ran his fingers through his thin hair. He had to change the subject and used the envelope in Lysle's hand as the reason. "What are those papers?"
   "This is a contract on your house."
   As he pushed the envelope through the opening a guard came over immediately to inspect it. The guard looked at Lysle then at Barrett, then finally walked away. Barrett shook his head disgust-edly.
   "It's about four thousand less than you wanted, but --- "
   "It's okay. Take it." It wasn't okay.
   "I really tried to get your price." Lysle continued apologetically.
   Barrett took the papers and separated them. As the dentist handed him a pen, the same guard came over again.
   "It's a pen, okay?" Barrett was livid. "It's only a fucking pen!"
   When the guard finally saw what it was, he left.
   "Bastards really trust you here!" added Barrett.
   As Barrett was signing at the X's, Lysle cleared his throat and said. "Some recent graduates may want to come here and talk to you about your practice."
   Barrett looked up. He held the pen in mid-air. "They want to come --- here?"
   "Well --- what else do you suggest?"
   "Lysle. It's embarrassing!" Barrett knew his pupils were the size of dimes.
   "I know it is. But --- "
   "Okay. Okay!" Barrett turned back to the contract. "Do what you have to!"
   Lysle paused then cleared his throat again. "Just don't expect to get a lot of money for it. Getting your price is going to be tough."
   Barrett winced privately. He had worked so hard and so long to build up his practice and now he was going to end up giving it away.
   More tough shit, Dr. Jessop!
   "I figured that would be the case." Barrett finished signing and put the pen down.
   Lysle had no answer. Then he looked over both shoulders and leaned in as close as he could. He asked softly, "How are you really doing here --- truthfully?"
   "Well --- " Barrett handed the pen to Lysle. " --- it's far from pleasant. And I like it a whole lot better on the outside." He whis-pered. "But I've been here --- oh --- about forty-five days. And I haven't cracked yet."
   Both men eyed each other silently. Barrett watched Lysle stare at the many new lines on his face. He knew his cheeks looked hollow and dark circles were bulging under his eyes.
   Barrett continued. "The food is mediocre --- at best. The pressed meat is soggy and the bread is stale." He forced a weak smile. "The cuisine is not even close to what an affluent person such as myself is used to." He handed Lysle the contract. Then he continued. "The clothes are uncomfortable, the shoes are too tight and this fucking shirt itches like hell!" Again Barrett smiled weakly. "They're cer-tainly not clothes befitting an ex-member of the professional com-munity."
   Lysle didn't return the smile. He only nodded.
   "Let's face it, Lysle. I'm just another prisoner." He pointed to the pocket on his shirt. "Number 90234 to be exact! Another incorrigi-ble for the State to deal with." He glanced quickly at the guards, then added very softly. "Although, with the money you bring me --- from my dwindling bank account --- I'm able to bribe the guards." Lysle's mouth dropped open. "They in turn keep the other prisoners from hassling me --- if you know what I mean."
   Lysle nodded again. He knew what his friend meant.
   "In fact, I'm one of the few prisoners that is alone virtually all the time --- except for meals and recreation. And even then I can usu-ally find a secluded spot --- somewhere." Barrett licked his lips and continued. "The exercise programs and volleyball games make the times I spent on my stationary bike seem like the grandest of pleas-ures." Barrett noticed the deep grim concern that showed on his friend's face. "Lysle. I'm handling it --- okay?" Then he leaned closer, trying to keep the conversation light. "Look, Lysle. You're supposed to be reassuring me and lifting my spirits --- cheering me up. Not vice-versa." Barrett tried to force another smile, but couldn't.
   When Barrett stood, he felt the jail garb hanging off his thinning frame. Lysle gaped.
   "Yeah. I know, Barrett." Lysle stood also. He put the pen in his shirt pocket and the folded envelope in his pants pocket. "Well --- I gotta run. I'll call you later this week."
   They shook hands and Lysle headed for the exit. Then he sud-denly turned back and said. "I --- uh --- hate to be the one to tell you. And maybe you'd never have heard." The agitated dentist took a step toward Barrett. "But if you did hear, I wanted you to hear it from me."
   Barrett waited. "I'm listening."
   Lysle hesitated then took a deep breath. "Dale Stemen died."
   Barrett stared for several seconds. "Really? Wow! The last time I saw Dale was at a football stag at Darrell Saltz'." He sat back down. "It seems like a hundred years ago, Lysle."
   Lysle only nodded.
   "Didn't he retire and move to Florida?"
   "Yep." Lysle nodded again.
   Barrett shook his head dejectedly. "That sure was a short retire-ment."
   "It sure was." Lysle agreed. "You plan and plan and then --- "
   "Dale worked his whole life. All those years --- "
   "And for what?" asked Lysle rhetorically. "Look what happens!"
   "Yeah." repeated Barrett. "Look what happens!" I know some-one else like that! "Hey, Lysle!" He changed the subject again. "I forgot to tell you. I've decided to write my memoirs."
   "Boy. Some ambition!"
   "Yeah, what the hell!" Barrett stood. "I got nothing else to do."
   After a brief pause, Lysle cleared his throat. "Listen, Barrett. I really do have to go." Once again they shook hands. "I promise to stay in touch."
   Barrett's eyes followed his friend until he was out of sight. Then he motioned to the guard to take him back to his cell. When the guard came over, Barrett handed him the five twenty dollar bills Lysle had slipped him on the way out.
   Even though Barrett cringed whenever he doled out money, he knew he had no choice if he intended to maintain even a fragment of his sanity. However, it served as a constant reminder of the main fear he had when he wanted to divorce Janet, which was to keep from pissing it all away. So big fucking deal! I'm doing it any-way!
   He sat down on the small cot in his cell, picked up a pen and be-gan to write.

*
 

   XLIV

   It was one month later that Lysle Richardson paid his next visit to Barrett Jessop. Barrett had lost more than nine pounds during that interval and never having been heavy to begin with, the
weight loss combined with a gradual receding hairline made him look considerably older than his fifty-seven years. In addition to that, his cheeks were sunken deeper and the circles under his eyes were darker. He dreaded looking at the aged figure that greeted him in the cracked mirror each morning.
   "Barrett, you look like shit!" Lysle said it jokingly, even though both men knew it wasn't funny
because it was true.
   "Jesus Christ, Lysle! Take it easy, okay? I know you were never one to mix words. So if this is your idea of cheering me up --- " Barrett gave his friend the finger.
   "I see you haven't lost your sense of humor." said Lysle.
   "You need one to survive in this fucking hole!" Barrett's voice was weak.
   "Barrett, let's get down to the business at hand here." Lysle scratched his forehead. "I'm trying my damnedest with this practice of yours. But we have to face the facts." Barrett could see his friend struggle. "No one is willing to pay you what it's worth."

   "Shit! I knew it." The mild outburst caused the guard to quickly turn his head. Barrett ignored the guard and added. "Is anyone even interested?"
   "I found a recent graduate who will pay you top dollar for the equipment." Lysle scratched his head again. "But like all the others, very little for good will and such."
   Barrett looked his friend in the eye. "Tell me what to do, Lysle."
   Lysle waited a moment before he answered. "I would take it." Barrett didn't respond. Lysle continued. "He's the only one inter-ested. And this kid happens to be very nice."
   Barrett nodded his head resignedly. "Sometimes I think this world sucks!"
   "Oh, I think the world is okay." said Lysle philosophically. "But unfortunately there are some people in it who don't belong in it."
   Barrett suddenly began to laugh quietly.
   "What's so funny, may I ask?"
   "Speaking of misfits." Barrett had a sudden sparkle in his eye. "Has Ralph Sharkey trumped any of your aces lately?"
   "You know, Barrett," Lysle grinned broadly. "we haven't played bridge since we played at your house --- oh --- has to be two years ago."
   Barrett's eyes widened. "My God! Has it been that long?"
   "It sure as hell doesn't seem that long, does it?"
   Barrett had a sudden brief flashback of the family room that night. It was after the bridge game.
Janet was on one side of him, glaring. Jodi was on the other side of him, smiling. The vision lasted no more than two or three seconds. "No, Lysle. It doesn't." He tried not to dwell on it. He had to put that part of his life to its eternal rest. "So, Lysle. We seem to have gotten sidetracked. Tell me about this kid. The one that wants to buy what's left of my practice."
   "Well --- he's a graduate of Illinois College Of Optometry. And he is really quite pleasant. I think he's a good choice. I was impressed."
   "I see --- " Barrett began to rub his unshaven face.
   "Now, he'll probably move to a different spot from where you were. He wants a larger office in a more trafficked area."
   Lysle leaned in closer to his friend and smiled. "And frankly, I can't blame him."
   "I guess he'll do --- " Barrett's tone conveyed sadness. " --- what he has to do."
   "Barrett, it's a new world out there." Lysle spoke consolingly. "Today, people have a different way of thinking."
   Barrett nodded. There was a long silence before Lysle asked, "So tell me, how are the memoirs coming?"
   Barrett shrugged. "I gave it up"
   "That was quick."
   "I can't concentrate in here. I couldn't get past page one." Bar-rett's voice seemed to get weaker.
   There was another long silence. "Well --- " Lysle stood. " --- I have to go, Barrett."
   Lysle reached through the opening and grasped Barrett's hands warmly. A guard suddenly appeared.
   "Goodby, Barrett."
   "See you, Lysle. Stay in touch."
   The guard quickly escorted Barrett back to his cell. As soon as he left, Barrett took the worn out pamphlets of Maui and Aruba from under his mattress and spread them out on his cot.
   He hoped that, considering the condition of the papers and the poor lighting, his imagination would take charge. He tried to visual-ize himself surrounded by the vast breathtaking landscapes. He couldn't. He wanted to feel the ocean splash against his legs. He couldn't. He wanted to feel the sand beneath his feet. He couldn't. He wanted to smell the fresh air and see the sunset. He couldn't.
   The images that were once so vivid had become pale and mean-ingless.
   Now he could only see these brochures as a grim reminder of what his life had tragically become. It was another fantasy that would never materialize.
   He took a deep breath and picked up the papers, viciously crum-pling them in both hands. Then he paused for several seconds be-fore he threw them into the trashcan in the corner of his cell.

*
   


 
XLV

   "Well, Lysle, do I look two years older?" Barrett knew he had aged. He didn't have to be told. His hands were wrinkled and cov-ered with liver spots, his sunken eye sockets were surrounded with deep lines, his hair was thinner and grayer and his mouth seemed too large for his face.
   Lysle paused a moment to survey his friend. "Nah! You look --- "
   "Liar! What about the practice?"
   Lysle cleared his throat. "Uh --- well -- "
   "You still haven't sold it!" It was a statement not a question.
   Lysle leaned in slightly. "Barrett. Since that deal fell through with the kid from Illinois, I haven't come close to selling it."
   "Shit!" He slammed his hand down on the counter. The noise caused two guards to turn and glare at him.
   "Barrett, I think I should give it to a broker."
   "Christ, Lysle! Than I'll really get nothing for it!"
   Lysle glanced briefly at the guards. Then he turned back to his friend and spoke firmly. "At least that way you could salvage the equipment. The longer you hold on to it the harder it is to unload. Fuck the good will!"
   Barrett nodded resignedly, then sat back shaking his head. "It's not fair, Lysle. It's just not fair! You work your ass off your whole life. You try and prepare for the future." He briefly thought of Maui and Aruba. Then he raised his voice. "First you end up giving your fucking house away! Now I'll have to give the fucking practice away!" Barrett threw his arms in the air. Again the two guards looked his way.
   Neither man spoke for several minutes. Then Barrett said quietly. "Well, at least I got a few dollars put away so that --- "
   Lysle cleared his throat louder than normal before Barrett could finish the sentence. "Uh --- Barrett --- here's some more bad news."
   The two professionals were eye to eye.
   "Now what?" Barrett was afraid to ask.
   Lysle cleared his throat again. "Well --- you're running out of money."
   Barrett stared in disbelief at Lysle. He licked his lips repeatedly. "I been keeping track --- I thought I was keeping track --- are you sure?"
   Lysle nodded. "Barrett, what little is left is IRA money." He leaned in closer and put one finger in the air. He spoke in a whisper. "First of all. If you touch any of it, you got to pay a penalty." He added another finger. "Second of all, this is taxable income." He added a third finger. "Third of all --- "
   Barrett reached through the opening and put his hand over Lysle's. "Okay. Enough with the counting. I get the message!"
   Lysle again glanced at the two guards. They were turned the other way. He continued to whisper. "When you grease these dick-heads at fifty and one hundred bucks a crack, it doesn't take long to deplete your savings."
   "Lysle, if there were another way, I would take it. But I got no choice here. If I don't pay off
--- " He had to stop in mid-sentence. His head dropped.
   "I know, Barrett." Lysle said compassionately. "But at the rate you've been giving it away, you're gonna be broke long before you're due to be paroled."
   Barrett bit his lower lip as he thought for a few seconds. "Use the IRA money, Lysle."
   Lysle stared at his friend. "You sure?"
   "Yeah. It'll kill me to do it, but --- " His voice trailed off.
   Lysle nodded. "I understand. Then after a long silence, Lysle stood. "Barrett, I have to go." He reached in and gave Barrett a friendly hit on the arm. "Just try and keep your spirits up."
   "Yeah. Right!"
   "Barrett, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that --- "
   "Look, Lysle. I know you're trying to be as honest with me as you can." Exhaustion was at its peak. "It's certainly not what I want to hear, but --- "
   "I still feel awful, Barrett."
   "Don't. It's not your fault I fucked my life up." Barrett forced a smile.
   They shook hands. Lysle gave his friend's an extra squeeze and he left.
   Barrett sat back on the bench and took a deep breath. The thought of spending any more time in prison and not being able to bribe the guards was unthinkable --- beyond concept.
   The two guards approached and Barrett took a long hard look at them. Their faces were granite and their skin was leather. A barrage of shivers shot through his body.
   Barrett stood up abruptly and looked down.
   He had wet his pants!

*













XLVI
   It was ten o'clock and 'lights out'. Barrett Jessop sat on the edge of his cot scratching his head and musing the severity and complex-ity of his once simple and uneventful life. How was it that in a short time span an entire lifetime could change so much?
   How precious life is, he thought. How much he had had and did-n't appreciate it. He missed his home, his work, his freedom. He missed the simple pleasures: his morning coffee, his nature trips, his Ellery Queen. He even missed Ralph Sharkey!
   He had to get out! He would contact Miles Garrison. Miles knew important people. Maybe he could pull some strings. Maybe ---
   His reflective mood was shattered by a tapping on the bars. Bar-rett looked up. It was one of the guards to whom he gave money on a regular basis. The guard didn't say anything. When he caught Barrett's eye he began to hit the palm of his hand with his club --- deliberately and rhythmically. He never took his eyes off the pris-oner.
   Barrett knew exactly what he wanted.
   If the guard had meant to be intimidating, he'd succeeded!
   "I --- I don't have any money now." Barrett's voice shook as he spoke. "But I promise --- "
   "That's what you said yesterday --- and the day before that."
   "Please!" Barrett pleaded. "Just a little more time."
   The guard unlocked the cell door and threw it open. Before Bar-rett could react, he rammed his club into the pit of his stomach.
   Barrett's screams went unanswered.
   "You got two days." The guard spoke venomously.
   Barrett was on his knees. He couldn't breathe. The guard put his club under Barrett's chin and lifted his head back, poking his face into Barrett's. His breath reeked.
   "Two days, Jessop. That's all the time you got. And you fucking better well have it!"

*

   It was forty-eight hours later that Barrett again heard the familiar tapping on his cell door. This time it was much louder and it roused him out of a deep sleep. He got up slowly and walked groggily to-ward the guard. He looked at the soiled name tag over the guard's shirt pocket. It said FLETCHER. Barrett didn't remember if he had known that or not. He'd been bribing this guard since his first day of confinement, and suddenly he wasn't sure if he knew his name. He wondered if he knew anyone's name. Again he wasn't sure. Under any other set of circumstances he would have found it mildly amus-ing. Maybe I'm cracking up!
   "Your forty-eight hours are up!" The guard named Fletcher once again began to pound his club against the palm of his hand.
   "I --- I haven't got it." Barrett wanted to run. "My friend that brings it to me didn't come today. But he will definitely be here to-morrow."
   The guard didn't seem to be paying attention. He looked around him, then he opened the cell door. Fletcher motioned for Barrett to follow him. "We're moving you to a different cell."
   Barrett Jessop came out hesitantly and followed Fletcher suspi-ciously to the end of the short dark hallway. The only sounds he heard were both their footsteps punctuated by loud snores that emanated from virtually every cell.
   "I thought we couldn't leave our cells after dark."
   The guard didn't respond.
   "I thought cell changes took place during the day."
   "Cell changes take place twenty-four hours a day." The guard named Fletcher spoke mechanically.
   They turned the corner and walked quickly down another the long dimly lit hallway. Barrett was two paces behind Fletcher and watched the guard's large buttocks bounce as he walked.
   After about fifty yards, the guard stopped. "This is it." He opened the door to a large strange cell. "Here he is." Fletcher spoke to the darkness inside.
   Barrett suddenly realized his stupidity. He had been duped! But before he could say or do anything, the guard named Fletcher pushed him so hard he landed flat on his face on the cell floor.
He raised his head slowly and looked around him --- dazed. The cell reeked of urine and sweat.
   "Here. I'll help you." The voice belonged to a small man that had emerged out of the darkness. His head was shaved and he had a scar above his right eye. He had both arms on Barrett's arm. "My name is Randy."
   Barrett, still dazed, began to look around the dark cell again. He thought he saw some shadows behind him but he wasn't sure. He couldn't localize the sounds of the muffled movements.
   One thing he knew for certain. He had to get out. And he had to get out now!
   He started to stand up and something hard hit his right cheek. Then something equally hard hit his left cheek. Barrett thought his head would turn completely around. He tried to scream, but he couldn't catch his breath and nothing came out. A strong arm was on either side of him holding him down. He was face to face with Randy again.
   "Hi. Remember me?" His sick smile revealed a toothless mouth. His breath was pungent. "We don't wanna hurt you --- " He looked behind Barrett. " --- do we fellas?"
   There was more muffled movement accompanied by indecipher-able mumbling. And it came from directly behind Barrett. But he was unable to turn his head to see. He thought there were four counting Randy. Two arms had him locked into a kneeling position. He was helpless. He suddenly felt a sharp penetrating jab to his rib-cage. This time he screamed.
   "That's to get your attention." The deep resonant voice came from the side.
   The two powerful arms still held him immobile while someone quickly undid his pants totally exposing him.
   "NO! NO!" He started to scream again and a large smelly hand went over his mouth.
   "Now you keep your damn mouth shut and your asshole open!" The deep voice said.
   "Yeah." said a high-pitched voice behind him. "Next time it'll be the other way around."
   They all laughed. Barrett was sure there were four. Now the mumblings became louder. The smelly hand grabbed his hair. Then Barrett felt what he had dreaded from day one. He tried to scream again, but it was in vain as the penetration went deeper. The pain was unbearable. After the first time, he vomited. After the second time, he passed out.
  
*
 

XLVII

   The room was spinning and a light was going back and forth. Then it stopped. Then darkness. Then nothing. Now there was a faraway sound and the light came on again. First bright, then dull. An object appeared next to the light. An eye? A hand? A face? Then there was a voice. Was it coming from the light? Then darkness. Then nothing. The light came on again. It was held by a --- hand? Now the hand and the light both moved back and forth. The room stopped spinning and a face started to come into focus. A sound was coming from the face. The sound was --- a word --- a name ---

   "Jessop."
   Other words came from the face and the light ---
   "Can you hear me?"
   At first the words were vague and distant. Now they were getting clearer and closer.
   "Hey! Jessop!"
   Barrett Jessop opened his eyes slowly. He was --- someplace. He felt as if he were floating through space --- coming from one world and being transported to another world.
   Now things were coming into focus. He saw the face next to the light. The face was looking down at him. Barrett realized he was flat on his back.
   "Hey, Jessop. You awake yet?" The face had white eyebrows, a white mustache and a short white scraggly beard. The head was bald except for a thick white batch of hair over each ear. A small round metal pair of glasses was on a small round red nose. The per-son looking at him wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a wrinkled green tie.
   Barrett felt like every inch of his body was either missing or in a vise. He ached in places he didn't know existed and he never re-membered being so sick to his stomach. "Where --- am --- I?
What --- who --- ?" His voice was weak and foggy and the words were slurred. One moment he was sure he was going to die. And the next moment he was sure he wasn't going to die!
   "I'm Doctor Richard Kramer." He got his face close to Barrett's. "Just try and breathe easy."
    Barrett stared at him. "You're joking, right?" He could barely get the words out.
   The physician put away his pen light and picked up a small stack of papers. His gaze alternated between Barrett and the papers.
   "Are those papers about --- me?" Barrett asked weakly. His mouth was very dry.
   "Yep!" Kramer now looked over his spectacles at his patient. "They roughed you up pretty good last night." He flipped through the pages. Barrett closed his eyes. "You got a cracked rib, some severe contusions on your face, a bad bruise just above the navel --- " He paused. Barrett thought he suddenly looked uncomfortable --- almost in pain. Kramer put his papers down, cleared his throat and again got his face close to Barrett's. He continued in a soft tone. He spoke slowly and compassionately. "You were sodomized, son. I'm sure you're aware of that."
   Barrett nodded slowly. He turned his head. He felt his eyes fill with tears. Sodomized! His focus of attention turned to a glass table in the corner. The table had white cloths, small vials, cotton swabs, a box of tissues, a thermometer and a syringe. He recog-nized an ophthalmoscope and an otoscope. A sphygmomanometer was on the bottom shelf. There were several things he didn't recog-nize. Some electric devices were on the floor next to it. A long white coat hung on a metal coat rack.
   Barrett turned back to Kramer. "Tell me Doc --- " He tried to be coherent. "Am I going to survive this --- ordeal?" Sodomized!
   Kramer nodded. He hesitated before he responded. "You will --- physically."
   Barrett knew what he meant. He licked his lips. Logic was be-yond reason and nearing the realm of impossibility. Coherency re-mained difficult. Panic was the dominant emotion. "Isn't what --- happened to me --- against the law?"
   Kramer took a large white cloth and covered the table. "Not in here, son."
   Barrett started to raise his head. Kramer pushed him down gently and whispered, "Keep your head down. If someone comes by they need to see you flat on your back." The physician looked around the small clinic. Then he picked up Barrett's file again. "You have nothing life threatening. All your vital signs are back to normal." He slipped the records into a manila folder.
   After a long silence, Barrett asked, "So what the hell am I sup-posed to do now?" Sodomized!
   Barrett raised his head again. And again Richard Kramer gently pushed him back down. "I told you," he whispered, "keep your head down. If they see you flat on your back, I can keep you here a few extra days. If you get up, some damn hotshot guard will grab you and toss you back in your cell."
   Barrett closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You haven't an-swered my question."
   The physician stared at his patient for a moment. "I've been here almost twenty-five years. I've seen people come and go. I guess I've seen about all there is to see." He spoke with more anger. "This shit happens all the time!"
   "So --- what does that mean?" Sodomized!
   There was another long pause. Kramer took his coat off the rack and hung it in the closet. Then he took a large black cover and put it over the machines on the floor. "It means --- there ain't nothing you or anyone else can do. It's a damn way of life here!"
   "Goddamn it! That really stinks!"
   "I know it does. And it's not gonna change!"
   "Look, Doc." Barrett started to raise his head then changed his mind. "I got seven and a half more years here --- barring some sort of miracle, that is. There is no way in hell I could go through this again!" Sodomized!
   The elderly physician nodded sympathetically. "Some guys are here for life. Ain't nothing they can do either."
   Barrett had trouble with the analogy. He spoke with difficulty. "Being fucked in the ass --- "
   "Is painful and humiliating." Kramer finished Jessop's sentence. "I know."
   "What if it does happen again?" Anger was mixed with fear. "What if those sons-a-bitches ---?
   "Relax, okay. Just because it happened once doesn't mean it'll happen again."
   "That's not an answer, Kramer." Kramer shrugged. Barrett con-tinued. "And there are no guarantees --- right?"
   The physician shook his head. "No guarantees."
   "Well --- I think I should tell the warden."
   "Forget it, Jessop! Don't waste your time." Kramer went to an-other closet and took out a tan sport coat. "Gordon Slade hates convicts. He's probably glad it happened!"
   "Terrific!" Barrett muttered to himself.
   "You stay in there, Jessop." Kramer pointed to the room next to the one they were in. "You stay there for --- oh --- eight to ten days. You'll feel better by then." He put on his jacket and once again put his face next to the patient's. "Have some faith, son. In a month or so, you'll be pretty well healed."
   "So I can go through it again?" Sodomized! Someone had sud-denly turned a fan on inside Barrett's head.
   "Barrett. I told you there are no guarantees in this joint." He looked around the room quickly, then continued. "If you don't have money or influence --- " He shrugged. " --- there ain't a hell of a lot anyone can do for you."
   I had money. So what?
   "You just have to take your chances and make the best of it."
   "But the warden --- "
   "Jessop, forget the damn warden! I'm telling you --- "
   Barrett reached up and grabbed the green tie, pulling the elderly physician down until their noses were an inch apart. "I can't make the best of it, Doc. "I --- " He let go of Kramer's tie and began to cry.
   "I know, son." Kramer spoke softly and consolingly as he unlocked the wheels of Barrett's bed. "It's all one big crock of shit! Everyone knows what goes on here, but no one is interested in do-ing anything about it --- including me!"
   "But --- "
   "I'm too old to be wasting my time making waves where nobody gives a damn. I'm not ready to quit and I got nowhere else to go."
   The elderly physician leaned in closer and whispered. "Tough to get old, Jessop. Don't do it"
   "Look, Kramer --- "
   "Just do yourself a favor and direct all your energy to recuperat-ing." He wheeled Barrett to the adjoining bedroom. "There's a phone next to the bed with my home number on it." He adjusted
his glasses. "When I'm not here I'm at home. If you need anything you give me a call." Kramer started to leave then asked "Oh --- do you want me to contact anyone? Family? Friends?"
   "No!" Barrett would have screamed it if he had the strength. "No one outside these walls must ever know. Please! Promise me!"
   "Okay, Jessop. Okay. I promise. Relax!"
   Barrett motioned for the elderly doctor to come closer. Then he whispered. "Let me stay here. I'll --- "
   Kramer shook his head. "I'd like to but they won't let me. And be-sides, I don't have the space or the manpower. I'm literally a staff of one." Barrett started to object. Richard went on. "Every damn day three or four inmates come in here because of a --- headache, or a bellyache, or a backache --- or something. Sorry." Kramer started to say more. But instead he just shrugged and left.
   Barrett lay flat on his back, frightened, angry and exhausted. He looked at the walls, then at the ceiling, and then at the floor. He went back and forth unable to concentrate on anything. His jum-bled thoughts were vague and disoriented. He felt as if his mind and body were slowly unraveling. Nonetheless, he always came back to the same painful and pathetic conclusion.
   He was a victim of poetic justice at its very worst!

   XLVIII

   Gordon Slade was thirty-nine years old and had been warden at Lucasville Prison for four years. He got his law degree at Temple University and his criminology degree at University of Cincinnati. Slade had small steel gray eyes and a little square mustache that re-minded Barrett Jessop of Adolph Hitler. Both his nose and his chin came to a sudden halt when they got to the end of his face. A high forehead and a short neck stood atop his stocky five feet eight inch frame. He had a large purple birthmark on his left cheek that he tried to cover with his hand whenever he was with anyone.
   Slade wore a wrinkle free three-piece suit with a loud expensive looking silk tie. His black patent leather shoes were spit polished. The warden's dressy attire reminded Barrett of Miles Garrison.
   Barrett thought the size of the small office did not reflect the im-portance of the position. Two walls had floor to ceiling books on law and jurisprudence. Slade's degrees and college certificates along with pictures of him in various poses in a football uniform hung conspicuously on the wall behind his desk. The walls and ceiling were beige and the carpet was a thick plush brown.
   "Sit down, Jessop." It was more of an order than a request. He offered Barrett no handshake. He took a white folder from the top drawer and threw it on top of a very neat desk. "Did you file this complaint?" He picked up the folder and shook it at Barrett. Then he quickly put his free
hand against the birthmark. When Barrett did not give an immediate response, Slade leaned in toward him and threw down the folder. "I asked you if you filed this complaint!"
   Barrett nodded. His throat felt like a rough dirt road. "Y --- yes I did."
   Slade grunted as he kept his cold gaze fixed on the prisoner. Then he sat down and looked at the folder again. "And just what do you expect me to do with this report?"
   Barrett sat up as straight as he could. His back and buttocks still hurt a great deal. He spoke directly. "I know there are laws against --- this sort of thing." Sodomized!
   "Is that so?" Slade nodded, absently rubbing his cheek. "And who made you the law expert around here?"
   "Doctor Kramer said --- "
   "I know what Kramer said." Slade interrupted. "It's in the re-port." He opened the folder for a second, glanced at the contents, then closed it. He looked Barrett in the eye. "Do you have any proof?"
   "Proof?" Fear replaced anger and emotion replaced reason. Bar-rett wanted to stand up and scream. Why me, Goddamn it?
   "Proof!" Slade raised his voice. "An eyewitness! A name! Some-thing --- anything!"
   Barrett paused. His head was throbbing and his hands were damp. "Isn't it in the report?"
   "That's not enough, Jessop. I need names!"
   Barrett paused again. He knew he had to be precise. "Uh --- Randy. Someone named Randy."
   "Randy?"
   Barrett then described what little he knew of the men that at-tacked him, finally adding. "There were four men in the cell. Randy was one of them."
   "We don't have any cells with four prisoners, Jessop." Slade's cold and penetrating glare was making Barrett's headache worse.
   "There were four prisoners in that cell, Warden."
   "I just told you that we don't have any cells with four prisoners." He leaned in closer to Barrett and spoke softly but menacingly. "You're not calling me a liar --- are you?"
   "Well --- no --- "
   "Good!" The warden took out a large notebook from the bottom desk drawer and turned several pages. Then he stopped and stared. "There are five 'Randys' in this establishment." He turned another page. "Black or white?"
   "Excuse me?" He rubbed his wet hands on his trousers.
   "Was the man black or white?" The warden said impatiently.
   Barrett thought a second. "He was white --- and bald. And I think he had a scar over his right eye."
   Snide ran his fingers up and down the page, stopping dramatically somewhere in the middle.
"Hmmm --- " He absently ran his other hand along his cheek.
   Barrett was sweating profusely and his head continued to throb. Now he felt nauseous.
   Sodomized!
   "The only 'white' Randy --- " He looked scornfully at the pris-oner. " --- was released nine months ago." Then he slammed the book shut and put it back in the bottom drawer.
   "I'm sorry, Warden." Barrett knew he should go calmly back to his cell and forget the whole thing. But it was too late to back down. "He said his name was Randy. And he was white."
   "You don't listen do you, Jessop. I just told you that a 'white Randy' doesn't exist!"
   Barrett started to protest, but quickly changed his mind. After a few seconds of silence, he asked, "Why don't you question the guard that took me to that cell?"
   Slade continued to stare then shook his head disgustedly. "Guard?"
   Barrett just nodded
   Slade shook his head again. "Okay, Jessop. Tell me this guard's name."
   Barrett thought for a while. The pain in his stomach suddenly re-appeared.
   The warden took his pencil and began to methodically pound it on the desk. Then he spoke contemptuously. "Come on man! I haven't got all day."
   Barrett looked up quickly. The rhythmic pounding of Slade's pen-cil reminded him of the pounding of the guard's club. A sharp pain shot through his body. "Fletcher."
   Slade stopped the pounding and narrowed his eyes again. "Au-gust Fletcher?"
   Barrett nodded. He didn't know the guard's first name.
   "Jessop!" Slade shook the pencil in front of Barrett. "If this turns out to be a dead end, I will personally see to it that you are thrown into solitary and kept there for the remainder of your sentence." He raised his voice again. "And this incident will be automatically closed --- forever!"
   Barrett did not respond. He hoped it was only an idle threat.
   Snide then added, "Do I make myself clear?"
   Barrett nodded. His stomach pain was more intense and the fan inside his head began whirring again. He didn't know how much longer he could sit here.
   Slade pressed a button on the intercom. His cold narrow eyes re-mained focused on the prisoner.
"Please get me August Fletcher." Slade spoke unemotionally into the box. Then he folded his hands and sat back in his chair.
   Barrett looked at the floor as both men were silent for several minutes. The only sounds were distant voices coming from the courtyard. Barrett then closed his eyes and began to do some deep breathing exercises. A knock on the door disrupted him. His heart was beating so hard he felt his entire body shake.
   "Come in." Slade said as he immediately covered his cheek with his hand.
   The door opened slowly and the guard named Fletcher entered the small room. "Did you want to see me, sir?" He stood at atten-tion, seemingly not to notice Barrett.
   "Yes, Fletcher. This man here --- " Slade pointed to Barrett. " --- claims you took him to a cell where four prisoners attacked him. I've already told him that we don't have any cells with four prison-ers --- but he insists!"
   Fletcher cast a brief glance at Barrett. When their eyes met, Bar-rett could feel the powerful impact. It was as if two knives had penetrated his forehead.
  The guard turned his head quickly back to the warden. "I don't know about anything like that, sir." He continued to stand at atten-tion
   Barrett was drenched with sweat and shaking all over.
   "Well, Jessop." Slade smiled menacingly. "Seems we have a dif-ference of opinion here."
   "That isn't true. I ran out of money and he hit me with his club. Then he took me to this cell where --- " Barrett knew he had re-sponded too quickly. He hadn't meant to blurt it out. He wanted to reach out and pull back the words. But it was too late.
   "Whoa!" Slade said as he put both hands into the air, exposing his birthmark. "Jessop! You have insinuated police brutality. Now you insinuate that a guard at my prison took money from you!"
   Slade's small beady eyes had suddenly gotten smaller and beadier.
   "Accepting bribes in my jail is a serious crime, Jessop! A guard that accepts a bribe is as big a criminal as any prisoner!"
   The guard named Fletcher was still at attention but breathing harder. "Excuse me, sir." Now his voice displayed a noticeable tremor. "I never took money from this man. I would never accept a bribe."
   Barrett started to protest and again changed his mind. He had said enough --- probably too much!
   "I never hit him." The guard continued evenly. "And I don't know nothing about him being attacked."
   "Well apparently he was attacked." Slade said stoically. "I have Kramer's release here. But there are no specific details. It doesn't say who's responsible and it doesn't say how many were involved. There are no references as to where an assault took place." He picked up the report and pointed it at Fletcher. "But this is a medi-cal release. It's not a police report!" Slade stood up abruptly and looked directly at Fletcher. Once again his birthmark was on dis-play. Then he threw the folder on the desk. "Well --- I guess now I'm forced to investigate this sad state of affairs." His eyes were like two dots. "You can go, Fletcher."
   The guard turned to leave. As he did so, he cast an even more in-tense fiery glance at Barrett. Barrett felt the knives plunge deeper.
   "Okay, Jessop!" roared Slade. "Get out of my office!"
   Barrett stood slowly. His mouth was dry, and his clothes were so wet they stuck to the seat. His legs felt like twigs.
   Slade walked closer to him, his left hand flat against his cheek. He shook his right forefinger at the optometrist. "The next time you file a complaint or accuse someone of something, you damn well better have a shit pot full of proof. Because without sufficient proof my job becomes exceedingly difficult --- see?"
   Barrett didn't but he nodded anyway.
   The warden walked back to his desk and sat down heavily. "You inmates irk the hell out of me! Always thinking someone is out to get you!" He raised his voice again. "As far as I'm concerned, you're all scum. Society put you here for a very good reason. And whatever you get, you deserve! This is not a vacation resort. This is a Goddamn prison! And I intend to run it like a prison."
   Slade turned his finger away from Barrett and pointed it at the door. "Now get out!"
   The frightened prisoner hesitated a moment. He wanted to tell the warden that he was not scum. He was a professional! He was a pil-lar of the community! He wanted to yell it out --- but he didn't. Sodomized! He left the office cautiously and quietly. Then he remembered the guard's seething wrathful glare and he knew that a dreadful and irreversible situation had just taken a major turn for the worse.
   Barrett Jessop was lying on the cot with his face to the wall when the door to his cell suddenly flew open and banged resoundingly against the bars. A sharp painful jab to his ribs caused him to scream. He got up slowly holding his side.
   "You son-of-a-bitch!" August Fletcher roared. Then he rammed his club into the cracked rib. Barrett screamed again. "You got a big fucking mouth, Jessop! You know that?" His large round face was red and he was salivating. He stood motionless, glaring at the prisoner.
   Barrett was both petrified and infuriated at this point. His pulse was out of control and his breathing was suddenly erratic. He knew he couldn't go on this way any longer. He had had enough. He could take no more. God help me with what I'm about to do!
He seized the moment and shoved his knee into Fletcher's groin. August Fletcher, with a shocked expression on his face, fell back against the cell door. Barrett Jessop, still weak and in agony, reached for the guard's club. But he wasn't agile or quick enough. Fletcher hit him across the face shattering his cheek. The next blow busted open his head.
   It was the last thing he felt.
   Then he was floating numbly through a blurred web of broken asymmetrical lines, fragments of glass of all shapes and sizes, and millions of multicolored spots. It was a moment of surrealism. Eve-rything was moving at all speeds in all directions.
   Then it all stopped and there was nothing!

*
  
   
 

XLIX

   The shade was up on the only window in Gordon Slade's office and Slade was seated behind his desk watching the rain as it poured down steadily on his prison. The temperature had dropped into the mid fifties so it was not a typical first day of summer. However, the thermometer in the office read a comfortable seventy-two degrees.
   Richard Kramer sat in the same chair Barrett Jessop had occupied four days ago.
   The two men were silent for several minutes. Finally Kramer said wearily, "I just came from Trinity Hospital. You know Barrett Jes-sop was admitted there yesterday." He waited for a reaction. When he got none, he went on. "It's really pathetic. He just lays there flat on his back with a jillion tubes coming out of him. He doesn't know who he is or where he is. He doesn't move. He doesn't talk." Again he waited for a reaction. And again he proceeded without one. "As a man of medicine I've seen lots of people that were in a coma. But this one bothers me. I can't help it, I feel sorry for the poor bas-tard!"
   Richard, why are you telling me all this?" Slade yelled at the rain. "Just what the hell do you expect me to do?"
   Kramer was more enraged than shocked. "Showing a little com-passion for a fellow human being would be a start."
   Slade turned to Kramer and spoke with resentment. "Look. I don't give a shit about Barrett Jessop one way or another. I will not get personally involved with anyone at this prison!"
   "Gordon, you're an altruistic son-of-a-bitch! You know that?"
   "What you or anyone else in this universe thinks of me is immate-rial."
   "I've got a damn prison to run. If I played nursemaid to the men behind these bars, they'd forget why they're here and I'd never get anything accomplished. These men are beneath contempt. And that's exactly how they'll be treated!"
   "There are those who would dispute that callous statement." said Kramer.
   "And those are the same misinformed misguided idiots who be-lieve in rehabilitation. I say fuck the lot of 'em!"
   "You're all heart, Gordon."
   There was more silence. Slade turned back to the rain.
   "So tell me, Gordon." Kramer took off his glasses and held them up to the light from the window. Then he quickly put them back on. "Which one of your hatchet men turned out Jessop's lights?"
   "If you're referring to the men in uniform, they're called guards not hatchet men."
   "Okay, I'll rephrase the question. Which one of your guards is re-sponsible for Jessop's present condition?"
   "What makes you think it was a guard?" Slade adjusted his tie and smoothed out the lapels on his jacket. "Maybe it was another prisoner."
   "Oh --- that's certainly possible, but I don't think --- "
   "Maybe he fell down a flight of stairs."
   "Highly unlikely."
   "Or --- maybe he was playing gin rummy. I hear it's a rough game."
   "Cut the crap, Slade! I saw him right after it happened, okay? Someone really did a number on him." The physician's tone became condescending. "Now we both know those injuries of his were in-flicted by one of your men. I'm just curious as to which one it was."
   Slade waited a while. Then he answered evenly. "August Fletcher."
   "By God!" Kramer hit his knee with the flat of his hand. "I should have known it was him!"
   Then he pointed his finger at Slade and raised his voice. "And I'd bet my house and car that he was the son-of-a-bitch behind Jessop's brutal attack three weeks ago."
   Slade shrugged disconcertingly. His expression remained impas-sive. "Maybe."
   "Maybe hell!" Kramer sat forward in his seat and lowered his voice. "Gordon, you know as well as I do that this isn't the first time Fletcher has hurt someone. Now damn it! You're gonna have to take some kind of action against him."
   The warden hesitated before he responded. "I am. I'm going to dismiss him."
   Richard raised his eyebrows. "Really!"
   "I don't want to but I feel it's best for all concerned."
   "Well," Kramer smiled. "maybe there's hope for the future after all."
   Slade turned slowly towards Kramer and snickered. "I knew you'd be happy to hear it."
   "Happy? I'm ecstatic! That degenerate should have been fired long ago."
   "I know what he is. But he does his job." Slade leaned in, his hand still against his cheek. "And say what you will. I've had virtu-ally no discipline problems since he started working here."
   "Do you consider beating prisoners a part of their discipline?"
   Slade sat back in his chair. "We don't beat prisoners here, Rich-ard."
   "What? Since when?"
   Slade cleared his throat quickly. "Sometimes a guard has to exert a little force to keep a convict in line. Inmates must not be allowed to take control. That would result in utter chaos." Then he turned rapidly to Kramer. "But they are never beaten!"
   "Is that a fact?" Kramer brought his chair closer to the desk. "What about Barrett Jessop? Was he planning to take control? Or was he just being --- kept in line?"
   "Don't get cute, Richard! That was an exception and you know it!"
   After a short pause, Kramer said calmly. "So I assume there won't be any formal charges or a formal investigation."
   "Your assumption is correct. I'm not going to make any more out of this than necessary. Like I said, I've got a prison to run. And the last thing I need is dissent."
   "So, no investigation, no charges, and no justice." Kramer shook his head in disgust. "Gordon, somehow the punishment --- or lack of it --- just doesn't seem to fit the crime."
   "Look, Richard." Slade narrowed his eyes until they were slits. "August Fletcher is sixty-one years old. He's uneducated. He has no basic skills. There is no way in hell he'll ever find a job like this. That's assuming he can find a job, period!" Slade put his thumb out. "He has an excellent salary." He added a forefinger. "He has a pro-jected pension." He added a third finger. "He has good insurance." He added a fourth finger. "He has security." Snide folded his hands on the desk exposing his birthmark. "Now he'll have shit! He could easily end up sleeping on the street!"
   He looked Kramer directly in the eye. "I'm sorry, Richard. But I think the punishment does fit the crime."
   "Well, Gordon, I disagree." He put his hand up before Slade could object. "But you're the warden. You handle it your way."
   "Damn right I'll handle it my way!"
   "But I'll tell you something, Gordon." said the angry physician. "If it were up to me, I'd take everyone of them damn guards you got and string 'em all up by their balls!"
   "Well, Richard," Slade had both hands flat on the desk. The birthmark was still on display. "it isn't up to you, is it?"
   Slade turned back to the window and once again watched the rain which was letting up and becoming a weak drizzle.
   "And what if Jessop doesn't make it?" added Kramer. "Which happens to be a strong possibility. Then what?"
   "I'll cross that bridge if and when I come to it."
   "Because if that occurs, then August Fletcher --- "
   "Listen, Richard!" Slade turned abruptly to the physician. "I'm getting sick and tired of defending my position here!" His hand automatically went to his cheek as he spoke. "And I'm through dis-cussing August Fletcher. He's out and that's it!" Slade pulled down the shade and turned on the light. "I hate rain." He mumbled it low almost to himself.
   After several more minutes of silence, Kramer stood up and donned his lightweight wool jacket. Then he took an old worn out cap from the jacket pocket and out it on.
   "You know, Gordon, I've been prison doctor here for quite some time. I do my job, I mind my own business and I keep my mouth shut --- even though I see a lot of shit get swept under the carpet. Your men take bribes. Your men beat prisoners --- " Slade started to protest but Kramer continued to speak. " --- and don't tell me it isn't so. Because I know it is! And things ain't getting any better. If anything, they're getting worse." Again Slade started to protest and again Kramer
kept talking. "I got to tell you, Gordon --- " He opened the door. " I'm beginning to hate this fucking place!"

   Jack Crenshaw, chief of neurosurgery at Trinity Hospital, stood to greet an anguished Lysle Richardson as he entered his private of-fice. After a warm handshake, Crenshaw sat down behind his clut-tered desk while Lysle sat down heavily in front of it. As Lysle sat, he unzipped his windbreaker and looked around the spacious room. One wall was covered with diplomas and certificates. The opposite wall was filled with medical books --- mostly on neurosurgery. Two white lab coats hung neatly on a metal clothes rack standing in one corner. The large window behind the desk had the drapes closed, which blocked out the overcast sky. A round fluorescent ceiling fix-ture provided ample light. The bright blue walls and the thick dark blue carpeting tried desperately to add cheerfulness to the sur-roundings. But they had no effect on Lysle.
   "Have you seen him yet?" As Crenshaw spoke, he took out a brown folder from the top drawer of his desk.
   After a moment's hesitation, Lysle nodded dejectedly. "I just left his room." He looked at his hands. "And I'm still shaking!" Now he looked at the physician and spoke hurriedly. "I definitely wasn't prepared for --- " Lysle pointed in the direction of Barrett's room. " --- that! What the hell is going on here for Christ's sake?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I'm usually pretty good in traumatic situations. But --- Jesus! I --- I feel like I'm in a trance." He sat back and closed his eyes
for several seconds. Then he took a deep breath. "Okay, Dr. Crenshaw. Tell me what happened --- please!"
   "Have you spoken to anyone about your friend's condition?"
   Lysle shook his head. "No. Either no one knows or they're not saying anything."
   "Oh --- " The chief of Crenshaw opened the file. " --- perhaps that's just as well." He cleared his throat. "Mr. Jessop was --- "
   "Dr. Jessop!" snapped Lysle.
   "Oh --- yes --- of course." Crenshaw seemed to be caught off guard. "Uh --- Dr. Jessop --- " He cleared his throat again. " --- was brought in here --- " He turned a page. " --- yesterday at 3:46 pm." Then Crenshaw looked at Lysle and continued grimly. "He is comatose and has been on a life support system since his arrival."
   Lysle only stared, shaking his head in disbelief.
   "He has a --- " Crenshaw turned another page. " --- fractured skull, a shattered cheekbone, three cracked ribs, and an assortment of other extensive injuries."
   Lysle's mouth dropped open and the color drained from his face. "My God!"
   Crenshaw pushed the folder to one side. "Apparently he had some sort of altercation with a guard or another prisoner --- or someone at the prison. I'm not totally clear on that point yet."
   "So --- what you're saying is --- " Lysle had trouble getting the words out. " --- that he was --- beaten?"
   "Well, it is a prison. And I would guess these things must occur frequently."
   "I know. But even so --- I mean --- this is Godawful!"
   "Yes. I agree. But --- " The neurosurgeon shrugged.
   Lysle looked closely at the man in front of him. He guessed his age to be early sixties. Crenshaw was tall, thin, bald and olive skinned. He had a narrow gray mustache beneath a small pointed nose and close-set hazel eyes. His lips were fine and his jaw was firm. His collar was open and he wore no tie.
   "Dr. Crenshaw." Lysle sighed deeply. Then he leaned in and folded his hands on his lap. The shaking had stopped and color had returned, even to his fingertips. "What are his chances?"
   Crenshaw furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. "Well --- "
   "Fifty-fifty? Twenty per cent? What?" Lysle could feel his body stiffen and his neck heat up.
   "To be perfectly honest --- " He paused a moment. " I cannot be too optimistic." Then he hastily added, "But you never know. Things could change and --- "
   "But they're not likely to, are they?" Lysle wanted to pick some-thing up and smash it against the wall.
   The neurosurgeon took a long time to answer. "Probably not." And again he quickly added. "But we can never be --- "
   "So --- " Lysle interrupted. " --- what do we do?"
   "Well --- " Crenshaw picked up a pen and studied it briefly. " --- fortunately --- " Then he looked at Lysle. " --- or unfortunately, his vital signs are good. This makes any call a tough one."
Crenshaw slowly ran his hand across the top of his head. "Person-ally, I would wait a couple of weeks before I --- "
   "Pull the plug?"
   "Well --- I wouldn't put it quite that way. I think in two or three weeks we can re-evaluate things --- "
   "And then pull the plug!" Before Crenshaw could respond Lysle put his hand up and softened his tone. "Sorry. I suppose I'm a little bitter."
   "And you have every right to be." Crenshaw was patient and calm. "I know he was --- is your friend, and --- " His voice trailed off and he ran his hand across the top of his head again. "Tell me, Dr. Richardson." He put the pen and folder in the top drawer of his desk. "Does Dr. Jessop have any family --- other friends --- anyone else besides you?"
   Lysle thought a long moment. "Barrett's parents are deceased. He has no brothers or sisters that I know of. There are no children." He thought some more. "I have no idea where his in-laws are." Janet's name was on his tongue but he swallowed it. "There's Marie. I forget her last name." Crenshaw looked puzzled. Lysle elabo-rated. "Marie was Barrett's assistant."
   "Oh, I see."
   "But she's moved to Seattle --- somewhere." Crenshaw nodded. Lysle continued to think out loud. "There's the Mintons and the Sharkeys and --- " Lysle remembered how boring Barrett thought the Mintons were and how much Barrett detested Ralph. "But I doubt if anyone else would be of much help. So --- it looks like I'm it!"
   "You're it, eh?" Crenshaw paused a long time. Then he folded his hands on the desk on top of a small stack of manila envelopes. "Dr. Richardson." He spoke reassuringly. "The neurosurgery depart-ment here at Trinity is excellent. It's well staffed and better equipped than any facility of its kind --- anywhere."
   "I'm sure it is, Dr. Crenshaw."
   "And you know we'll do all that's humanly possible."
   Lysle nodded and spoke in a whisper. "Yes. I know." Then he looked at his watch and quickly stood. "I better get going. My wife will think I got lost."
   Crenshaw stood to face him and they shook hands again.
   "I'll come by again tomorrow." Lysle's voice was strained. "Hopefully, since the initial shock is over, these visits won't be quite as devastating."
   Crenshaw put his hand on the dentist's shoulder and walked him to the door. "By the way. Does Dr. Jessop have a living will?"
   Lysle turned slowly toward the surgeon and pondered the ques-tion. "I don't know. I know he has a standard trust. But I don't know about a living will."
   "I see."
   "But I'll check with Joe Calvin and --- "
   "Excuse me?" Crenshaw's puzzled look returned.
   "Joe Calvin. He's a local attorney."
   "I see," he repeated. The surgeon waited a moment before he continued. When he did, he spoke slowly and chose his words carefully.
    "I hope you take what I have to say in the manner that it's given." Now it was Lysle's turn to look puzzled. Crenshaw went on. "Since at this time Dr. Jessop is unable to function on his own, any decisions about him will have to be made for him. So --- if he does-n't have a living will I would strongly urge you to obtain power of attorney --- just in case."
   Lysle considered Jack's comment a moment. "Hmm --- if I had power of attorney, that would make me his guardian, wouldn't it?"
   "Well --- I'm not a lawyer, but in a manner of speaking I imagine it would. It would also make you guardian of his estate."
   "Frankly, Dr. Crenshaw," Lysle zipped up his jacket. "Barrett Jessop has very little if any assets left. There would be nothing to be guardian of."
   "In that case, the State would end up paying for his stay here." He forced a smile. "We call that deficit financing."
   "Is that a problem?" Lysle did not return the smile.
   "Oh no. It's done all the time. We prefer private pay, of course, but with government intervention as it is today, that isn't always possible."
   "I understand." Lysle had no desire to discuss finances any longer. "Well, I'll take your advice and see my attorney as soon as possible. And I'll be back sometime tomorrow. Goodbye, Dr. Crenshaw."
   "Goodbye, Dr. Richardson."

*

   Shortly after Lysle Richardson's last visit with Jack Crenshaw, Barrett Jessop's heart developed a severe arrhythmia and his breath-ing, even with the aid of a respirator, became erratic. Finally, after three nerve-racking weeks of waiting, Lysle, with his wife Ronni at his side, signed all the papers that were needed to have Barrett's life support system removed. Crenshaw's observations proved to be accurate.
   After a brief but intense discussion, Lysle succumbed to Ronni's sentimentality and reluctantly agreed to have Barrett buried next to Janet. The graveside service would take place tomorrow.
   As soon as all the paperwork was completed, Lysle and Ronni left Trinity Hospital as swiftly as they could. When they got to the car they stopped, suddenly aware of a strange gloom that had de-scended all around them. They sky was black and the streets were deserted. And now it was starting to rain.
   "Let's get the hell out of here!" Lysle said as he opened the car doors.
   They both got in quickly and sped away.
   As they were racing home, Ronni turned to her husband. Her eyes were filled with tears. "Lysle, I just realized what tomorrow is."
   "Yeah! It's the damn funeral." Lysle turned on the heater.
   "It's more. And this is really bizarre!" She took out a tissue and dried her eyes. "Tomorrow Barrett and Janet would have been mar-ried ten years."
   "Ronni." Lysle reached over and squeezed his wife's hand. "You're right. That is bizarre."
   They were both silent for several minutes. Ronni turned to her husband again. "I know this may sound somewhat melodramatic, but --- oh, you'll just think I'm being silly."
   "No I won't." Lysle's eyes remained focused on the road. "What?"
   "Well --- do you think it might be possible that --- " She gave her face on last dab then put the tissue away. " --- Barrett and Janet will be celebrating their anniversary --- together --- somewhere?"
   Lysle laughed for the first time in weeks. "Honey. If it makes you feel better to think that, it's all right. But as for me, I doubt it. I sin-cerely doubt it!"


 

FINIS