He walked into her cell, sat on the cot, and said, “Well! You've created quite a sensation for a lady who's been in town only twenty-four hours.” He grinned. “But you're lucky. You're a lousy shot. It's only a flesh wound. Romano's going to live.” He took out a pipe. “Mind?”

“No.”

He filled his pipe with tobacco, lit it, and studied Tracy. “You don't look like the average desperate criminal. Miss Whitney.”

“I'm not. I swear I'm not.”

“Convince me,” he said. “Tell me what happened. From the beginning. Take your time.”

Tracy told him. Everything. Perry Pope sat quietly listening to her story, not speaking until Tracy was finished. Then he leaned back against the wall of the cell, a grim expression on his face. “That bastard,” Pope said softly.

“I don't understand what they were talking about.” There was confusion in Tracy's eyes. “I don't know anything about a painting.”

“It's really very simple. Joe Romano used you as a patsy, the same way he used your mother. You walked right into a setup.”

“I still don't understand.”

“Then let me lay it out for you. Romano will put in an insurance claim for half a million dollars for the Renoir he's hidden away somewhere, and he'll collect. The insurance company will be after you, not him. When things cool down, he'll sell the painting to a private patty and make another half million, thanks to your do-it-yourself approach. Didn't you realize that a confession obtained at the point of a gun is worthless?”

“I — I suppose so. I just thought that if I could get the truth out of him, someone would start an investigation.”

His pipe had gone out. He relit it. “How did you enter his house?”

“I rang the front doorbell, and Mr. Romano let me in.”

“That's not his story. There's a smashed window at the back of the house, where he says you broke in. He told the police he caught you sneaking out with the Renoir, and when he tried to stop you, you shot him and ran.”

“That's a lie! I —”

“But it's his lie, and his house, and your gun. Do you have any idea with whom you're dealing?”

Tracy shook her head mutely.

“Then let me tell you the facts of life, Miss Whitney. This town is sewn up tight by the Orsatti Family. Nothing goes down here without Anthony Orsatti's okay. If you want a permit to put up a building, pave a highway, run girls, numbers, or dope, you see Orsatti. Joe Romano started out as his hit man. Now he's the top man in Orsatti's organization.” He looked at her in wonder. “And you walked into Romano's house and pulled a gun on him.”

Tracy sat there, numb and exhausted. Finally she asked, “Do you believe my story?”

He smiled. “You're damned right. It's so dumb it has to be true.”

“Can you help me?”

He said slowly, “I'm going to try. I'd give anything to put them all behind bars. They own this town and most of the judges in it. If you go to trial, they'll bury you so deep you'll sever see daylight again.”

Tracy looked at him, puzzled. “If I go to trial?”

Pope stood and paced up and down in the small cell. “I don't want to put you in front of a jury, because, believe me, it will be his jury. There's only one judge Orsatti has never been able to buy. His name is Henry Lawrence. If I can arrange for him to hear this case, I'm pretty sure I can make a deal for you. It's not strictly ethical, but I'm going to speak to him privately. He hates Orsatti and Romano as much as I do. Now all we've got to do is get to Judge Lawrence.”

Perry Pope arranged for Tracy to place a telephone call to Charles. Tracy heard the familiar voice of Charles's secretary. “Mr. Stanhope's office.”

“Harriet. This is Tracy Whitney. Is —?”

“Oh! He's been trying to reach you, Miss Whitney, but we didn't have a telephone number for you. Mrs. Stanhope is most anxious to discuss the wedding arrangements with you. If you could call her as soon as possible —”

“Harriet, may I speak to Mr. Stanhope, please?”

“I'm sorry, Miss Whitney. He's on his way to Houston for a meeting. If you'll give me your number, I'm sure he'll telephone you as soon as he can.”

“I —” There was no way she could have him telephone her at the jail. Not until she had a chance to explain things to him first.

“I — I'll have to call Mr. Stanhope back.” She slowly replaced the receiver.

Tomorrow, Tracy thought wearily. I'll explain it all to Charles tomorrow.

That afternoon Tracy was moved to a larger cell. A delicious hot dinner appeared from Galatoire's, and a short time later fresh flowers arrived with a note attached. Tracy opened the envelope and pulled out the card. CHIN UP, WE'RE GOING TO BEAT THE BASTARDS. PERRY POPE.

He came to visit Tracy the following morning. The instant she saw the smile on his face, she knew there was good news.

“We got lucky,” he exclaimed. “I've just left Judge Lawrence and Topper, the district attorney. Topper screamed like a banshee, but we've got a deal.”

“A deal?”

“I told Judge Lawrence your whole story. He's agreed to accept a guilty plea from you.”

Tracy stared at him in shock. “A guilty plea? But I'm not —”

He raised a hand. “Hear me out. By pleading guilty, you save the state the expense of a trial. I've persuaded the judge that you didn't steal the painting. He knows Joe Romano, and he believes me.”

“But… if I plead guilty,” Tracy asked slowly, “what will they do to me?”

“Judge Lawrence will sentence you to three months in prison with —”

“Prison!”

“Wait a minute. He'll suspend the sentence, and you can do your probation out of the state.”

“But then I'll — I'll have a record.”

Perry Pope sighed. “If they put you on trial for armed robbery and attempted murder during the commission of a felony, you could be sentenced to ten years.”

Ten years in jail!

Perry Pope was patiently watching her. “It's your decision,” he'said. “I can only give you my best advice. It's a miracle that I got away with this. They want an answer now. You don't have to take the deal. You can get another lawyer and —”

“No.” She knew that this man was honest. Under the circumstances, considering her insane behavior, he had done everything possible for her. If only she could talk to Charles. But they needed an answer now. She was probably lucky to get off with a three-month suspended sentence.

“I'll — I'll take the deal,” Tracy said. She had to force the words out.

He nodded. “Smart girl.”

She was not permitted to make any phone calls before she was returned to the courtroom. Ed Topper stood on one side of her, and Perry Pope on the other. Seated on the bench was a distinguished-looking man in his fifties, with a smooth, unlined face and thick, styled hair.

Judge Henry Lawrence said to Tracy, “The court has been informed that the defendant wishes to change her plea from not guilty to guilty. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Are all parties in agreement?”

Perry Pope nodded. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“The state agrees, Your Honor,” the district attorney said.

Judge Lawrence sat there in silence for a long moment. Then he leaned forward and looked into Tracy's eyes. “One of the reasons this great country of ours is in such pitiful shape is that the streets are crawling with vermin who think they can get away with anything. People who laugh at the law. Some judicial systems in this country coddle criminals. Well, in Louisiana, we don't believe in that. When, during the commission of a felony, someone tries to kill in cold blood, we believe that that person should be properly punished.”

Tracy began to feel the first stirrings of panic. She turned to look at Perry Pope. His eyes were fixed on the judge.

“The defendant has admitted that she attempted to murder one of the outstanding citizens of this community — a man noted for his philanthropy and good works. The defendant shot him while in the act of stealing an art object worth half a million dollars.” His voice grew harsher. “Well, this court is going to see to it that you don't get to enjoy that money — not for the next fifteen years, because for the next fifteen years you're going to be incarcerated in the Southern Louisiana Penitentiary for Women.”