Alexis spread her hands palms up and…

After silently placing the canvas bag on the floor, Renaldo readied himself.

He looked at Manuel, and Manuel indicated that he was ready.

Moving quickly but quietly, Renaldo followed the route he'd mapped out.

The girls' heads could just be seen over the back of the brightly colored couch. The TV volume, which had seemed low when they'd first heard it, was not low, especially the laughing sequences. Renaldo and Manuel were able to move up directly behind the unsuspecting girls.

With a nod from Renaldo, each man sprang around either end of the couch and glommed on to the respective girl. The men were rough and decisive, grabbing the children by the necks and pressing their faces into the soft pillows of the couch. Both girls had made feeble reflex squawks, but the sounds were immediately muffled. Using their teeth, the men pulled off lengths of duct tape from each of their rolls, and, keeping their weight on the girls, they managed to bind each of their hands behind their backs.

Almost simultaneously, they rolled the girls over. The girls gasped for breath, wide-eyed with terror. Renaldo put his finger over his closed lips to indicate that the girls must remain silent, but there was no need. Both girls did all they could do to satisfy their air hunger, and they were frightened to near paralysis.

"Where's your sister?" Renaldo hissed through clenched teeth. Neither girl spoke, watching their captors with unblinking intensity. Renaldo snapped his fingers at Manuel and pointed to Meghan, who was trembling in his grasp.

Manuel let go of Meghan long enough to pull out a square rag, which he roughly pressed into her mouth. She tried to resist by twisting her head from side to side, but it was to no avail. Manuel slapped a short piece of duct tape over the lower part of the girl's face, securing the gag. Rapidly, a second piece of tape was added, forcing Meghan to breathe loudly through her nose.

Seeing what had happened to Meghan, Christina quickly tried to be cooperative. "She's upstairs taking a shower," she cried breathlessly.

Renaldo rewarded her by quickly gagging her in the same fashion as Manuel had gagged Meghan. Then both men bound the girls' feet before yanking them upright and then together to tape them back to back. At that point, Renaldo gave them a push and they toppled over in an awkward heap, both still struggling for breath.

"Stay here!" Renaldo growled as he picked up his roll of duct tape.

Moving silently but quickly, Renaldo ascended the stairs. Once in the upstairs hallway he could hear the shower. It was a distant, soft, sibilant sound, which he followed, passing several bedrooms with open doors. The third door on the right opened into a bedroom unique in its disarray.

Clothes, books, shoes, and magazines were haphazardly tossed about on the floor and on all horizontal surfaces. Black thong panties and a bra were draped over the bathroom's marble threshold. From within the bathroom, clouds of steam billowed out into the room.

With rising anticipation, Renaldo quickly traversed the room, being careful to avoid the debris. He poked his head into the bathroom but could barely see through the dense mist. The mirror was completely fogged over.

It was a small bathroom with a pedestal sink, a toilet, and a low tub that also served as a shower. An opaque white shower curtain with black sea horses hung from a silver-colored rod, and it was moving both from the forces of the water and rising steam and also from occasional contact by the shower's occupant.

Renaldo briefly debated how best to handle the situation. With the other girls already secured, it really wasn't a problem. In fact, knowing the girl was naked was a turn-on, and that had to be factored in as well. He reached out with the roll of duct tape and placed it on the edge of the sink. He couldn't help but smile, thinking he was being paid to do something he might pay to do. He knew the girl in the shower was fifteen going on twenty-one, with a couple of knockers worth a second look.

After thinking about a few different alternatives, including waiting for the girl to finish and get out of the shower herself, Renaldo merely grabbed the shower curtain and whipped it back. It was a tension rod, and the force of Renaldo's jerk pulled the whole apparatus off the wall, and it tumbled onto the floor in a heap.

At the moment of the shower rod and curtain's disappearance, Tracy had her back to the shower with her head under the torrent, forcibly rinsing her thick tresses. She hadn't heard the clatter, but she must have felt the surge of significantly cooler air because she leaned forward out of the gush of water and opened her eyes. As soon as she caught sight of the black-ski-masked intruder, she screamed.

Renaldo reached in and grabbed a handful of wet hair and yanked Tracy from the bathtub. Her feet tripped on the rim, and she fell headlong to the floor. Renaldo let go of her hair and put a knee into the small of her back while he lunged for her flailing wrists. Using decisive strength, he forced her hands behind her back, snatched the duct tape off the sink, and as he'd done downstairs, used his teeth to pull a strip of tape from the roll. With rapid movements, he wound the tape in and out and around Tracy's wrists.

Within only a few seconds, her hands were securely bound.

Through this procedure, Tracy had maintained a scream, but it was dampened by the sound of the shower. Renaldo rolled her over. He pulled a square rag from his pocket, balled it up, and began stuffing it into her mouth. Tracy was a quantum stronger than Christina, and she was able to resist until Renaldo straddled her and used his knees to secure her head.

Then she succeeded in biting his finger, which infuriated him.

"Bitch!" he yelled. He slapped her hard, splitting her lip. She still resisted, but he was able to get the gag into her mouth and place several pieces of duct tape to hold it in place. Then he got up and stared down at the terrified teenager.

"Not bad." Renaldo commented as he took in Tracy's nubile figure and the belly button piercing. His eyes stopped at a small tattoo of a snake just north of her mons pubis. "Already shaving your snatch, and you got a tattoo. I wonder if Mommy and Daddy know that. Aren't you a little ahead of yourself, girl?"

Renaldo reached down and hooked a hand under one of Tracy's armpits and hoisted her roughly to her feet. She responded by bolting out of the bathroom, catching Renaldo off guard. He had to race to catch her before she got out of her bedroom.

"Not so fast, sister," Renaldo snarled, yanking her around to face him. "If you're smart and cooperative, you won't be hurt. If you're not, I guarantee you'll be a very sorry girl. Read me?"

Tracy stared defiantly back at her attacker with fiery eyes.

"Feisty thing, huh?" Renaldo questioned derisively. He glanced down at her breasts, which he found considerably more impressive with her upright posture. "And sexy, too. How many snakes have you had in that snake den of yours? I bet a lot more than your parents think, huh?" He nodded his head knowingly.

Tracy continued to glare at Renaldo, with her chest heaving from her adrenaline rush.

"Let me tell you what's going to happen here. You and me are going to march downstairs to the family room for a family reunion with your sisters.

We'll tape you girls together so you'll be one big happy family unit. Then I'm going to tell you a few things I want you to tell your parents. Then we're out of here. Does that sound like a plan?"

With a push, Renaldo directed Tracy out into the hall. He still had ahold of her arm just above the elbow. When they came to the stairs, he urged her to descend.

In the family room, Manuel was dutifully standing over Meghan and Christina. Meghan was silently crying, as evidenced by her tears and the intermittent trembling of her torso. Christina was still wide-eyed with terror.

"Nice work," Manuel said as the naked Tracy was led over to the couch. He couldn't help eyeing Tracy as Renaldo had done.

"Sit the two up facing either end of the sofa," Renaldo commanded.

Manuel yanked the two preteens up and rotated them as Renaldo had directed.

Renaldo directed Tracy to sit on the sofa's edge with her back to her sisters.

When she was in place, he wound tape around all three. When he was finished, he straightened up and checked his handiwork. Satisfied, he handed the tape to Manuel and told him to gather up their stuff.

"Listen, sweeties," Renaldo said to the girls, but mostly to Tracy, with whom he made direct eye contact. "We want you to deliver a message to your parents. But first let me ask you something. Do you know what an autopsy is? Just nod your head if you do!"

Tracy didn't move. She didn't even blink.

Renaldo slapped her again, further opening her split lip. A trickle of blood ran down her chin.

"I'm not going to ask you again. Nod or shake your head! Whatever is appropriate."

Tracy nodded quickly.

"Good!" Renaldo said. "Here's the message for Mommy and Daddy. No autopsy! You got that? No autopsy! Nod your head if you got it."

Tracy dutifully nodded.

"Okay. That's the main message: no autopsy. I could write it for you, but I don't think that's wise under the circumstances. Tell them if they ignore this warning that we will be back to visit you kids, and it won't be pretty. You know what I'm saying? It will be bad, not like this time, because this is just a warning. It might not be tomorrow and maybe not next week, but sometime. Now, I want to know you understand the message so far. Nod your head if you do."

Tracy nodded. Some of the brashness had disappeared from her eyes.

"And the last part of the message is just as simple. Tell your parents to keep the police out of this affair. It's just between us and your parents. If they go to the police, I'm going to have to visit you again somewhere, someplace.

It's pretty clear. Are we on the same page about all this?"

Tracy nodded again. It was now obvious she was terrified just like her younger sisters.

"Great," Renaldo said. Then he reached out with his gloved finger and tweaked one of Tracy's nipples. "Nice boobs. Tell your parents not to make me come back."

After a quick visual sweep around the room, Renaldo motioned for Manuel.

As quickly as they had come in, they left, picking up the canvas bag on the

way and taking off their masks and gloves. They closed the door behind them and followed the same route back to the street. En route to the car, they passed a couple of kids on bikes, but it didn't bother them. They were just two handymen returning from having done some work. Back in the car, Renaldo looked at his watch. The whole exercise had taken less than twenty minutes, which wasn't bad for a thousand bucks.

14

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7, 2006

3:50 P.M.

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Randolph took longer than usual to get up from the defense table, organize his notes, and situate himself behind the podium. Even when ostensibly prepared, he eyed Leona Rattner long enough for her to briefly look away.

Randolph could be intimidating with his powerful, paternal aura.

"Miss Rattner," Randolph said in his refined voice. "How would you describe your choice of apparel at the office?"

Leona laughed uncertainly. "Normal, I guess. Why?"

"Would you label your usual attire conservative or modest?"

"I never thought about it."

"Did Marlene Richardt, who is the de facto office manager, ever suggest your attire was inappropriate?"

For a moment, Leona looked like the fox caught in the hen-house. Her eyes darted from Tony to the judge and then back to Randolph.

"She said something to that effect."

"How many times?"

"How should I know? A number of times."

"Did she use terms like 'sexy' or 'provocative'?"

"I suppose."

"Miss Rattner, you testified that Dr. Bowman was giving you 'the eye' about a year ago."

"That's correct."

"Do you think it might have had anything to do with your choice of apparel?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"You testified that at first it made you embarrassed, because he was married."

"That's true."

"But a year ago, Dr. Bowman was officially separated from his wife. There were strains in his marriage that were being addressed. Wasn't that common knowledge in the office?"

"Maybe it was."

"Could it be that you were giving Dr. Bowman the eye rather than vice versa?"

"Maybe subconsciously. He's a good-looking guy."

"Did it ever go through your mind that Dr. Bowman might be susceptible to provocative clothing, considering he was living alone?"

"I never thought about it."

"Miss Rattner, you testified that on September eighth, 2005, you were living in Dr. Bowman's Boston apartment."

"I was.

"How did that happen? Did Dr. Bowman invite you to move in?"

"Not exactly."

"Did your moving in ever come up in a conversation so that the benefits and the disadvantages could be discussed?"

"Not really."

"The reality was that you decided to move in on your own accord. Is that correct?"

"Well, I was staying there every night. Why pay rent on two apartments?"

"You did not answer the question. You moved into Dr. Bowman's apartment without discussing it with him. Is that correct?"

"It's not like he complained," Leona snapped. "He was getting it every night."

"The question is whether you moved in on your own accord."

"Yeah, I moved in on my own accord," Leona spat. "And he loved it."

"We shall see when Dr. Bowman testifies," Randolph said, consulting his notes. "Miss Rattner, on the evening of September eighth, 2005, when the

call came in from Mr. Jordan Stanhope about his wife, Patience, did Dr.

Bowman ever say anything about the Newton Memorial Hospital?"

"No, he did not."

"He didn't say it would be better to go to the Stanhope residence than the hospital, because the Stanhope residence was closer to Symphony Hall."

"Nope. He didn't say anything about the hospital."

"When you and Dr. Bowman arrived at the Stanhope residence, did you remain in the car?"

"No. Dr. Bowman wanted me to come inside and help him."

"I understand you were carrying the portable cardiogram."

"That's right."

"And when you got to Mrs. Stanhope's bedroom, what happened?"

"Dr. Bowman started to work on Mrs. Stanhope."

"Did he act concerned at that point?"

"He sure did. He had Mr. Stanhope call an ambulance right away."

"I understand he had you breathe for the patient while he did what he had to do."

"That's right. He showed me how to do it."

"Was Dr. Bowman concerned about the patient's condition?"

"Very concerned. The patient was very blue, and her pupils were big and unreactive."

"I understand the ambulance came quickly to take Mrs. Stanhope to the hospital. How did you and Dr. Bowman get to the hospital?"

"I drove his car. Dr. Bowman went with the ambulance."

"Why did he go in the ambulance?"

"He said if she has trouble, he wants to be there."

"You did not see him again until much later, after Mrs. Stanhope had died.

Is that correct?"

"It is. It was in the emergency room. He was all blood-spattered."

"Was he discouraged because his patient had died?"

"He was pretty down."

"So Dr. Bowman made a strenuous effort to save his patient."

"Yes."

"And he was despondent when all his efforts were unsuccessful."

"I guess I'd say he was depressed, but he didn't dwell on it. In fact, we ended up having a pretty damned good Friday night back at the apartment."

"Miss Rattner, allow me to ask you a personal question. You strike me as a high-spirited young woman. Have you ever said things you didn't really mean when you've been angry, maybe exaggerate your feelings?"

"Everybody does," Leona said with a shallow laugh.

"On the night Dr. Bowman was served with the lawsuit, did he become upset?"

"Very upset. I'd never seen him so upset."

"And angry?"

"Very angry."

"Under such circumstances, do you believe there was a chance when he, quote, 'ran off at the mouth' and voiced inappropriate comments about Patience Stanhope that he was merely blustering, especially considering the strenuous effort he'd made to resuscitate her on the fateful evening, and the weekly house calls he'd made during the year leading up to her death?"

Randolph paused, waiting for Leona to answer.

"The witness will answer the question," Judge Davidson said after a period of silence.

"Was that a question?" Leona said with apparent befuddlement. "I didn't get it."

"Repeat the question," Judge Davidson said.

"What I'm suggesting is that Dr. Bowman's comments about Patience Stanhope on the evening he was served were a reflection of his agitation, whereas his true feelings about the patient were accurately demonstrated by his dedicated commitment to attend to her at her home on a weekly basis for almost a year and his strenuous efforts to resuscitate her the night she passed away. I'm asking, Miss Rattner, if this sounds plausible to you."

"Maybe. I don't know. Maybe you should ask him."

"I believe I will do that," Randolph said. "But I first want to ask you if you are still living in Dr. Bowman's rented apartment in Boston."

Jack leaned over toward Alexis and whispered, "Randolph is getting away with some questions and statements that should have raised objections from Tony Fasano. Fasano has always been quick on the trigger before. I wonder what's going on."

"Maybe it has something to do with that hushed conversation the judge had with the lawyers earlier in Leona's testimony. There's always a bit of give-and-take for fairness."

"That's a good point," Jack agreed. "Whatever the reason, Randolph's making the best of it." Jack listened while Randolph cleverly began questioning Leona about her feelings since the malpractice suit began and Craig moved back with his family. Jack knew exactly what Randolph was doing; he was setting the stage for a "spurned love" defense, where the previous testimony would be rendered suspect as having been motivated by spite.

Jack leaned back toward Alexis and whispered, "Let me ask you a question, and be truthful. Would you mind if I slipped out? I'd like to get in some basketball for exercise. But if you want me to stay, I will. I have a sense the worst is over. From here on, she'll just be making herself look bad."

"Please!" Alexis said sincerely. "Go get some exercise! I appreciate your having been here, but I'm fine now. Go and enjoy yourself. The judge is going to wind things up here momentarily. He always does around four."

"You are certain you're okay," Jack asked.

"Absolutely," Alexis insisted. "I'll eat early with the girls, but there'll be something for you to eat later. Take your time, but be careful, Craig always gets hurt when he plays. You have your key?"

"I've got the key," Jack said. He reached around his sister for a quick hug.

Jack got to his feet, and by excusing himself to those people sitting in his row, he worked his way to the aisle. When he arrived, he glanced over at Franco's typical location. Jack was surprised. The man wasn't in his accustomed seat. Although Jack did not stop, he searched among the spectators for the hoodlum's familiar silhouette. When Jack got to the door, he turned around and quickly scanned the spectators again. No Franco.

Using his back to press down the door's lever, Jack backed out of the courtroom. Not seeing Franco in his usual place gave him pause. The thought of running into the man in some difficult location with limited egress, such as the underground parking garage, passed through his mind.

Although several years previously he wouldn't have given the issue a second thought, now that he was getting married in two days, he wasn't quite so nonchalant. With someone else to think about besides himself, he needed to be careful, and being careful meant being prepared. The idea of getting some pepper spray had occurred to him the previous day, but he'd failed to act on it. He decided to change that.

The third-floor elevator lobby was full of people. The doors to one of the four courtrooms were propped open, and people were being disgorged. A trial was in recess. There were clumps of people chatting; others hurried to the elevators, trying to determine which of the eight elevators would come next.

Jack joined the group and found himself looking around warily and wondering if he'd run into Franco. Jack doubted there would be any problem in the courthouse building. It was outside that he was concerned about.

At the security checkpoint at the entrance, Jack stopped to ask one of the uniformed guards if he knew of a nearby hardware store. He was told there was one down on Charles Street, which Jack was told was the main drag of neighboring Beacon Hill.

Jack was assured he'd have no trouble finding the street, especially since it also bisected the park, meaning it was the street Jack had used to get into the car park where his rent-a-car was waiting. Armed with that information and the advice that he should wander westward, down through the maze of Beacon Hill, Jack left the courthouse.

Again, Jack scanned for signs of Franco, but he was nowhere to be seen, and Jack chuckled at his paranoia. Having been told the general direction was opposite the courthouse's entrance, Jack made his way around the

courthouse building. The streets were narrow and twisty, hardly the grid he'd become accustomed to in

New York. Following his nose, Jack found himself on Derne Street that mysteriously became Myrtle. The buildings for the most part were modest, narrow four-story brick town houses. To his surprise, he suddenly came upon a charming toddler playground awash with kids and moms. He passed aptly named Beacon Hill Plumbing with a friendly chocolate Labrador doing a poor job of guarding the entrance. As Jack crested the hill and began a slow descent, he asked a passerby if he was going in the right direction for Charles Street. He was told he was but advised to take a left at the next corner where there was a small convenience store, and then a quick right onto Pinkney Street.

As the street became progressively steeper, he realized that Beacon Hill was not just a name but a real hill. The houses became larger and more elegant, although still understated. On his left he passed a sun-filled square with a stout wrought-iron fence circling a line of hundred-year-old elms and a patch of green grass. A few blocks on, he came to Charles Street.

In comparison with the side streets he'd been following, Charles Street was a major boulevard. Even with parallel parking on either side, there was still room for three lanes of traffic. Lining the street on either side were a wide variety of small shops. After stopping one of the many pedestrians and asking for a hardware store, Jack was directed to Charles Street Supply.

When he walked into the store, he silently questioned if purchasing the pepper spray was necessary. Away from the courthouse and Craig's lawsuit, Franco's threat seemed a distant possibility. But he had come that far, so he bought the pepper spray from the square-jawed, friendly proprietor, whose name coincidentally was Jack. Jack had learned this fact by chance when another employee had called out the owner's name.

Turning down the offer of a small bag, Jack slipped the pepper spray into his right jacket pocket. As long as he made the effort to buy the narrow canister, he wanted to keep it handy. Thus armed,

Jack strolled the rest of the way along Charles Street to the Boston Common and retrieved his Hyundai.

While in the dim, dank, deserted underground garage, Jack was glad he had the pepper spray. It was in just such a circumstance that he would not like to confront Franco. But once in his car and on his way to the tollbooth he again laughed at his paranoia and wondered if it was misplaced guilt. In retrospect, Jack knew he should not have kneed the man in Stanhope's driveway, although there was a lingering thought that had he not done so, the situation could have quickly gotten out of hand, especially with Franco's apparent lack of impulse control and penchant for violence.

As Jack pulled out of the murky depths of the garage and into the bright sunshine, he made a conscious decision to stop thinking about Franco.

Instead, he pulled to the side of the road and consulted Alexis's city map.

As he did so, he felt his pulse quicken with the thought of a good pickup basketball game.

What he was searching for was Memorial Drive, and he quickly found it running alongside the Charles River Basin. Unfortunately, it was in Cambridge on the opposite side of the river. Judging from his Boston driving experience, he guessed that getting there might be somewhat of a struggle, since there were few bridges. His concerns were well founded as he was hampered by a confusing interplay of no left turns, one-way streets, the spottiness of street signs, and the overly aggressive Boston drivers.

Despite the handicaps, Jack eventually managed to get on Memorial Drive and then quickly found the outdoor basketball courts Warren's friend David Thomas had described. Jack parked on a small side street, got out, and raised the trunk of his car. Pushing aside the autopsy supplies he'd gotten from Latasha, he got out his basketball gear and looked around for a place to change. Not finding any, he climbed back into the car, and like a contortionist managed to get out of his clothes and into his shorts without of-fending any of the multitudes of bicyclists, in-line skaters, and joggers along the banks of the Charles River.

After making sure the car was locked, Jack jogged back to the basketball courts. There were about fifteen men, ranging in age from about twenty up.

At forty-six, Jack assumed he'd be the senior player. The game had yet to begin. Everybody was shooting or showboating, with a bit of playground trash talk being exchanged by the court's regulars.

Being wise to the complicated playground etiquette from his many years of experience in a similar environment in New York, Jack acted nonchalant.

He began by merely rebounding and passing the balls out to those people who'd made their practice shots. Only later did Jack begin shooting, and as he expected, his accuracy caught the attention of a number of players, although nothing was said. After fifteen minutes, feeling loose, Jack casually asked for David Thomas. The person he'd asked didn't answer, he merely pointed.

Jack approached the man. He'd been one of the more vociferous of the trash-talkers. As Jack had surmised, he was African-American, mid- to late thirties, slightly taller than Jack, and heavier. He had a full beard. In fact, he had more hair on his face than on the crown of his head. But the most distinguishing characteristic was the twinkle of his eye; the man was quick to laugh. It was evident he enjoyed life.

When Jack approached and introduced himself, David unabashedly threw his arms around Jack, hugged him, and then pumped Jack's hand.

"Any friend of Warren Wilson is a friend of mine," David said enthusiastically. "And Warren says you're a playmaker. Hey, you're running with me, okay?"

"Sure!" Jack said.

"Hey, Aesop!" David called out to another player. "It's not your night, man.

You ain't running with us. Jack is!" David gave Jack a thump on the back and then added as an aside, "That boy always has a story. That's why we call him Aesop!"

The play turned out to be terrific: as good as Jack had experienced in New York. Very quickly, Jack realized he'd been lucky to be included on David's pickup team. Although the games were all close, David's team continually triumphed, which meant that for Jack the play was continuous. For more than two hours, he, David, and the three others David had selected for the evening's run did not lose. By the time it was over, Jack was exhausted. At the sidelines, he looked at his watch. It was well after seven.

"You going to come by tomorrow night?" David asked as Jack gathered up his things.

"Can't say," Jack said.

"We'll be here."

"Thanks for letting me run with you."

"Hey, man. You earned it."

Jack walked out of the chain-link fenced court on slightly rubbery legs.

Although he'd been drenched with sweat at the end of the play, it was already gone from the dry, warm breeze wafting in off the river. Jack walked slowly. The exercise had done him a world of good. For several hours, he'd not thought of anything besides the immediate requirements of the game, but now reality was setting in. He was not looking forward to his conversation with Laurie. Tomorrow was Thursday, and he didn't even know what time he'd be able to start the autopsy, much less when it would be over and when he'd be able to fly back to New York. He knew she was going to be understandably upset, and he wasn't sure what he should say.

Jack got to his little cream-colored car, unlocked the door, and started to open it. To his surprise, a hand came over his shoulder and slammed it shut.

Jack twisted around and found himself looking into Franco's deep-set eyes and not-too-pretty face. The first thing that flashed through his mind was that the damn ten-dollar-forty-nine-cent pepper spray was inside his jacket pocket inside the car.

"We've got some unfinished business," Franco growled.

Jack was close enough to Franco to almost be bowled over by the smell of garlic on his breath.

"Correction," Jack said, trying to lean back. Franco was crowding him against the car. "I don't believe we have ever had business together, so it can't be unfinished." Jack noticed that behind Franco and a little to the side was another man who was also involved in the confrontation.

"Wiseass," Franco muttered. "What's between us concerns you sucker-punching me in the nuts."

"It's not a sucker punch when you hit me first."

"Grab him, Antonio!" Franco ordered while moving back a step.

Jack responded by trying to dart between Franco and the car. With his sneakers on, he thought he could easily outrun the two thugs despite his fatigue from the basketball game. But Franco lunged forward and managed to get a handful of Jack's shirt with his right hand, pulling Jack up short while at the same time hitting him in the mouth with his left fist. Antonio grabbed one of Jack's arms and tried to get ahold of the other to pin them behind Jack's back. Meanwhile, Franco cocked his right hand back for a knockout blow.

But the blow never landed. Instead, a short piece of pipe came down on Franco's shoulder, causing him to cry out in surprise and pain. His right arm dropped limply to his side while his left hand shot to his injured shoulder, and he hunched over.

The pipe was pointed at Antonio. "Let him go, man!" David said. More than a dozen other basketball players had materialized in a threatening U around Jack, Franco, and Antonio. Several had tire irons; one had a baseball bat.

Antonio let Jack go and glared at the newcomers.

"I don't believe you guys are from the neighborhood," David commented, his voice no longer truculent. "Aesop, pat them down!"

Aesop stepped forward and quickly removed Franco's gun. Franco did not resist. The second thug was not armed.

"Now I recommend you boys remove yourself from the neighborhood,"

David said, taking the gun from Aesop.

"This ain't over," Franco muttered to Jack as he and Antonio walked away.

The basketball players parted to allow them through.

"Warren warned me about you," David said to Jack. "He said you were prone to get into trouble and that he'd had to save your ass on more than one occasion. You're lucky we saw these honkies hanging around while we were playing. What's the deal?"

"It's just a misunderstanding," Jack said evasively. He touched his finger to his lip. There was a spot of blood.

"If you need some help, you let me know. Right now you better get some ice for that fat lip, and why don't you take this gun? You might need it if that asshole shows up on your doorstep."

Jack declined the gun and thanked David and the others before climbing into the car. The first thing he did was get the canister of pepper spray out.

Next, he looked at himself in the rearview mirror. The right side of his upper lip was swollen, with a bluish cast. A trickle of congealed blood ran down his chin. "Good God," he murmured. Warren was right, he did have a penchant for getting himself in compromising circumstances. He cleaned off the blood as best he could with the bottom of his T-shirt.

On the way back to the Bowmans', Jack considered fibbing and saying his injury was from basketball. Bruises were not uncommon with as much as he played and the fact that basketball was a contact sport in his experience.

The problem was that Craig and Alexis were going to be downcast after the

day's testimony, and he didn't want to add to their burden. He was afraid they might feel inappropriately responsible if he told the truth.

Being as quiet as possible, Jack used the key Alexis had given him to come in the front entrance. He was carrying his clothes and shoes in his arms. His goal was to slip downstairs and quickly shower before running into anyone.

He was eager to ice his lip but it had already been long enough since the injury that another fifteen minutes was hardly critical. As he silently closed the front door, he stopped with his hand on the doorknob. His sixth sense was nagging him; the house was too quiet. Every other time he'd entered, there'd been background noise: a radio, a ringing cell phone, children's chatter, or the TV. Now there was nothing, and the silence was foreboding.

From having seen the Lexus in the driveway, he was reasonably sure at least the parents were home. His immediate concern was that something had gone wrong at the trial.

Continuing to clutch his clothes against his chest, Jack moved quickly and silently down the hall to the archway leading into the great room. He leaned through the opening, expecting the room beyond to be deserted. To his surprise, the whole family was there on the couch, with the parents at either end. They appeared as if they were watching television, but the TV was off.

From his vantage point, Jack could not see any faces. For a moment he stood still, watching and listening. No one moved or spoke. Mystified, Jack stepped into the room and approached. When he got about ten feet away, he tentatively called out Alexis's name. He didn't want to disturb them if it was some family thing, but he couldn't seem to walk away, either.

Both Craig's and Alexis's heads shot around. Craig glared back at Jack.

Alexis got to her feet. Her face was drawn and her eyes were red.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

15

NEWTON, MASSACHUSETTS

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7, 2006

7:48 P.M.

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"So there you have it," Alexis said. She'd told Jack the story about how she and Craig had come home after the trial had been recessed to find their terrified daughters bound and gagged with duct tape. She'd spoken slowly and deliberately. Craig had spat out a few gory details, like the fact Tracy had been dragged from the shower stark naked and rudely struck.

Jack was speechless. He was sitting on the coffee table, facing his sister and her family. As the story unfolded, his eyes jumped from Alexis, who was anxious, fearful, and concerned, to Craig, who was beside himself with outrage, to three children who were shocked and clearly traumatized. All three children were sitting silent and immobile. Tracy had her legs tucked under herself and her arms folded across her chest. She was dressed in oversized sweat clothes. Her hair was frizzed. There was no bare midriff.

Christina and Meghan both had their arms clutched around their legs with their knees jutting up into the air. All three had raw, red bands across their lower faces from the duct tape. Tracy had a split lip.

"Are you guys all right?" Jack asked the children. It appeared to him that only Tracy had been physically abused, and thankfully, it looked minor.

"They are as well as can be expected," Alexis said.

"How did the intruders get in?"

"They forced the back door," Craig snapped. "They were obviously professionals."

"Has anything been stolen?" Jack asked. His eyes rapidly scanned the room for any damage, but everything seemed to be in order.

"Not that we can determine," Alexis said.

"What did they want then?" Jack asked.

"It was to convey a message," Alexis said. "They gave Tracy a verbal message to give to us."

"What?" Jack asked impatiently when Alexis didn't elaborate.

"No autopsy," Craig snapped. "The message was no autopsy or they'd be back to hurt the kids."

Jack's eyes rocketed back and forth between Craig and Alexis. He could not believe his offer to help could have caused such a situation. "This is crazy,"

he blurted. "This can't be happening."

"Tell that to the kids!" Craig challenged.

"I'm sorry," Jack said. He looked away from the Bowmans' faces. He was crushed he'd been the cause of such a disaster. He shook his head and looked back, particularly at Craig and Alexis. "Well, fine then, no autopsy!"

"We're not sure we're ready to give in to this kind of extortion," Alexis said.

"Despite what's happened, we're not ruling an autopsy out. It seems to us

that if someone is willing to go to the extent of threatening children to block the autopsy, that's all the more reason to do it."

Jack nodded. The thought had occurred to him as well, but it wasn't for him to put Tracy, Meghan, and Christina any more at risk. Besides, the only culprit that came to his mind was Tony Fasano, and his motivation could only involve fear of losing his contingency fee. Jack looked at Craig, whose anger had seemingly lessened a degree as the conversation progressed.

"If there's any risk at all, I'm not for it," Craig said. "But we're thinking we can eliminate the risk."

"Have you called the police?" Jack asked.

"No, we haven't," Alexis said. "That was the second part of the message: no autopsy, no police."

"You have to call the police," Jack said, but his words rang hollow since he'd not reported either his confrontation with Fasano et al. the previous day or his confrontation with Franco a half-hour earlier.

"We're considering our options," Craig explained. "We've been talking it over with the girls. They are going to stay with their grandparents for a few days, until this trial is over. My mom and dad live up in Lawrence, Massachusetts, and they are on their way down here to pick them up."

"I'll probably be going along with them," Alexis said.

"You don't have to, Mom," Tracy said, speaking for the first time. "We'll be fine with Gramps and Grandma."

"No one knows where the girls will be," Craig explained. "They'll stay out of school at least for the rest of this week and maybe for the year since there's only a few days left. They've promised not to use their cell phones or tell anyone where they are."

Jack nodded, but he didn't know what he was agreeing to. It seemed to him he was getting mixed messages. There was no way the risk for the children could be completely eliminated. He was concerned that Alexis and Craig might not be thinking clearly under the stress of the trial. The only thing Jack was certain of was that the police had to be notified.

"Listen," Jack said. "The only person that comes to mind who might be behind this outrage is Tony Fasano and his cronies."

"We thought the same," Craig said. "But it seems almost too venal, so we're trying to keep an open mind. The one thing that has particularly surprised me during my trial is the animosity colleagues feel about my concierge practice. It gives some credence to the rhetorical questions you posed last night about a conspiracy."

Jack allotted the idea a quick thought, but other than being grist for an avowed conspiracy-theory aficionado, he gave the chances of such a scenario an extremely low probability, even though he'd suggested it the previous evening. Tony Fasano and his tag team were a much more likely possibility, especially since Tony had already threatened him. "I don't know if you've noticed my fat lip," he said, gingerly touching the swelling.

"It would be hard to miss," Alexis said. "Was it from basketball?"

"I was going to pass it off as such," Jack admitted. "But it was from another run-in with Tony Fasano's Franco. It's becoming a regrettable, daily ritual."

"Those bastards," Craig snarled.

"Are you okay?" Alexis questioned with concern.

"I'm better than I would have been had my newly made Boston basketball buddies not intervened on my behalf in the nick of time. Franco had an accomplice."

"Oh my God," Alexis said. "We're sorry to involve you in this."

"I take full responsibility," Jack said. "And I'm not looking for sympathy.

What I'm trying to suggest is that Fasano et al. were probably behind what happened here as well. The point is: The police have to be notified on both accounts."

"You can call the police about your problem," Craig said. "But I don't want to gamble on my children's safety. I don't think there's a damn thing the police can do. These people that came here were professionals with ski masks, nondescript worker's uniforms, and gloves. And the Newton police force is not accustomed to this kind of thing. It's just a suburban town."

"I disagree," Jack said. "I bet your local police have seen a lot more than you imagine, and forensics is a powerful tool. You have no idea what they could find. They could associate this event with others. They can surely increase surveillance. One of the problems if you don't report it is that you are playing into the hands of whoever did this. You are allowing yourselves to be extorted."

"Of course we're being extorted," Craig yelled loud enough for the kids to jump. "Good God, man. You think we're stupid?"

"Easy, Craig!" Alexis advised. She put her arms around Tracy, who was sitting next to her.

"I have a suggestion," Jack said. "I have a very good friend in New York who is a senior detective with the New York City Police Department. I can call him and just get the benefit of his expertise and experience. We can ask him what you should do."

"I don't want to be coerced," Craig said.

"No one is going to coerce you," Jack said. "I guarantee it."

"I think Jack should call his friend," Alexis said. "We hadn't decided for sure about the police."

"Fine!" Craig said, throwing up his hands. "What do I know?"

Jack went through the pockets of his jacket and located his phone. He flipped it open and speed-dialed Lou Soldano at home. It was a little after eight p.m., which was probably the best time to catch the detective, but he wasn't home. Jack left a message on his voicemail. Next he tried Lou's cell phone and got the detective in his car on his way out to a homicide in Queens.

While the Bowmans listened, Jack gave Lou a thumbnail sketch of what he'd been doing and what had happened in Boston. He concluded by saying he was sitting with his sister, her husband, and the children at that very minute and the question was: Should they notify the police or not?

"There's no question," Lou said without hesitating. "They have to notify the police."

"They are concerned the Newton police might not be experienced enough to justify the risk."

"You say they are right there with you?"

"Yes. Right across from me."

"Put me on speakerphone"!"

Jack did as Lou requested and held the phone out in front of himself. Lou formally introduced himself, expressed his sympathies for their ordeal, and then said, "I have a very, very good friend who is my counterpart with the Boston Police Department. We were in the service together aeons ago. He is very experienced in every kind of crime, including what you people are victims of. I'll be happy to call him and ask him to personally become involved. He lives either in your town or West Newton. It's Newton something. I'm sure he knows the guys on the Newton force. It's up to you. I can call him right away. His name is Liam Flanagan. He's a terrific guy.

And let me tell you something. Your kids are at more risk if you don't report the incident than if you do. I know that for a fact."

Alexis looked at Craig. "I think we should take him up on his offer."

"All right," Craig said with some reluctance.

"Did you hear that?" Jack asked.

"I did," Lou said. "I'll get right on it."

"Hang on, Lou," Jack said. He took him off speakerphone, excused himself from the Bowmans, and walked into the hall, out of earshot. "Lou, when you talk to Flanagan, see if he could get me a gun."

"A gun?" Lou questioned. "That's a tall order."

"See if it's possible. I'm feeling more vulnerable than usual."

"Is your permit current?"

"Yes, for New York. I went through the formal training and everything.

You're the one who pushed me to do it. I just never got the gun."

"I'll see what I can do."

As Jack flipped his phone closed, the front doorbell chimed. Alexis came hurrying past. "It must be Grandma and Gramps," she said. But she was wrong. It was Randolph Bingham, dressed casually but as elegantly as usual.

"Is Craig ready for his rehearsal?" Randolph inquired, noticing Alexis's surprise. "He's expecting me."

Alexis acted confused for a beat after having been so certain it was Craig's parents at the door. "Rehearsal?" she questioned.

"Yes. Craig will be testifying in the morning, and we agreed some rehearsal was in order."

"Come in," Alexis said, embarrassed at her hesitation.

Randolph took note of Jack's shorts and soiled, bloodstained T-shirt but said nothing as Alexis led him down the hall and into the family room.

Randolph was next to be apprised of what had happened that afternoon at the Bowman home. As the story unfolded, his expression changed from his normal, mildly condescending aloofness to one of concern.

"Have the girls been seen by a doctor?" he asked.

"Not other than Craig," Alexis responded. "We didn't call their pediatrician."

Randolph looked at Craig. "I could make a motion for a continuance of your case if you'd like."

"What are the chances of the judge granting it?" Craig asked.

"There's no way to know. It would be entirely at Judge Davidson's discretion."

"To be honest with you, I think I'd rather get this nightmare trial over with,"

Craig said. "And it's probably the safest for the kids."

"As you wish," Randolph said. "I assume you have contacted the police?"

Alexis and Craig exchanged a glance. Then Alexis looked over at Jack, who'd come back into the room.

"That's in the process," Jack said. He then quickly outlined the plan. When he finished, he went on to explain their belief that Tony Fasano had something to do with the episode, using Tony's very specific threat to Jack that he would be "history" if Jack carried out the autopsy.

"That is clearly assault," Randolph said. "You could bring charges."

"The episode is a little more complicated," Jack said. "The only witness was Fasano's thug, who I ended up striking after he struck me. The bottom line is that I personally have no intention of pressing charges."