"Wait." Riker had a sixth sense for lawyerly fiddles, and this attorney had already confessed to several crimes. "Janos? You read him his rights?"

Detective Janos held up the signed Miranda card that listed every constitutional perk, including the fact that anything said could be used against the old man in court. "Mr. Fairlamb's representing himself. He did his own plea bargain with the DA's office."

"Indeed," said Horace Fairlamb. "I have complete immunity in exchange for cooperation. So there won't be any charges for procuring firearms, document fraud or obstruction of justice. Oh, and all those other charges? Bribery, littering and such – all gone. Now, I want to make it perfectly clear that getting weapons for Victor and his friend – well, that was not Johanna's idea. In fact, she was horrified when I told her – somewhat after the fact, I'm afraid."

All heads turned in the direction of an irritating rapping noise. It came from the other side of the one-way mirror that concealed a viewing room. Riker stared at the glass. "Who's in the box tonight?"

"That's an assistant DA." Janos stared at the mirror, then raised his voice for the benefit of the man behind the glass. "He's reminding me that he's a busy little prick with big plans for the evening. I suppose he thinks we're wasting his time."

Riker banged one fist on the table, and the annoying rap abruptly ceased.

Horace Fairlamb put a cigar in his mouth, Cuban of course, and Riker would bet that contraband was also included in the deal with the district attorney.

Damn every lawyer ever born.

Agent Hennessey leaned across the table to light the old man's cigar, saying, "So let's get on with the good stuff, all right?"

"Yeah," said Riker. "Let's start with the murder trial. What happened in that jury room? Why did they all vote not guilty?"

"I have no idea," said Horace Fairlamb. "I never discussed that with my associates."

Janos's head snapped back, as if the lawyer had stunned him with a baseball bat between the eyes. "Hey, we had a deal, old man."

"Oh, yes… the deal." The old man exhaled a cloud of smoke. "As I recall the terms, I agreed to tell you everything I knew about the Ian Zachary jury. So now I've told you all I know. And, if I may anticipate your next question, I have no idea who the Reaper is."

Weary Janos laid his head on the table, and Agent Hennessey slumped in his chair, muttering, "We've all been scammed."

Well, not all of them, not Mallory. And now Riker understood why his partner had not bothered to sit in on this interview – this worthless crumb she had thrown to the FBI.

Behind the lighted glass sat young Crazy Bitch, eyes glistening, fever-bright. The girl gave the impression of a cat on tenterhooks, forever trapped in a conflict of fight or flight.

Johanna Apollo stared at the other window on this studio, the dark one, and this unsettled Ian Zachary. She smiled.

Paranoia, my old friend.

It had been childishly simple to suss out the Englishman's weakness. She looked down at the carpet and noted the impressions left by the console's former position. He had turned his desk sideways so that he would not have to face the booth window when he worked his telephones, his levers and dials. However, that had not ended his discomfort. His next solution had been the Japanese folding screen beside his chair. It sheltered him from the window's view, making it easier to lose the idea of a watcher behind that dark glass.

Crazy Bitch must be a mind reader of sorts, for she caught the doctor's eye and made a thumbs-up gesture. Johanna was uncertain about the words this girl was mouthing, but she thought the context might have been Go for his balls.

Noting Johanna's interest, Zachary stared at the Japanese screen, as if he could see through it to the dark window on the other side. "That's Needleman's booth – my producer. Did you see something?"

"Not yet."

He lost his charming smile for a moment, but then he rallied, turning to the lighted window and his assistant, who instantly ceased to clap her hands. "Crazy Bitch? You screwed up the voice level again."

The girl behind the glass extended one finger from a closed fist, an obscene gesture to tell him how much his criticism meant to her.

He flicked a lever, then leaned far back in his chair. "I could run the whole show from this console. But my assistant has a certain entertainment value. You may have noticed – she's insane."

"Eccentric, perhaps," said Johanna. She had found the younger woman's survival instinct was still intact, always a good indication for hope, but yes, Crazy Bitch was definitely in trouble. Johanna's sudden smile was directed at the producer's booth, and this had a telling effect on Zachary.

Once more, he turned to face the screen blocking his view of the dark glass. "So, Dr. Apollo, do you know Needleman?"

Though no sound escaped the lighted booth, Crazy Bitch was laughing hysterically and nodding with wildly exaggerated bobs of her head.

"Everyone knows Needleman," said Johanna.

Riker had invited the FBI man to the second interview of the night, the one that might actually break the case. They entered a small room with a lockup cage and no mirrors – no witnesses. Mallory was clearly surprised and unhappy to see Hennessey, not liking this change of plans – her plans.

The fake blind man had finally been returned from Bellevue, and his public defender had just finished reading the psychiatric evaluation, slapping it on the table in disgust. Though the court-appointed lawyer was still not satisfied that his client was competent to waive legal counsel, and he said so for the record, he now left the strange little man in police custody and quit the room with a secretive smile, so happy to finally end his long workday and happier still to be rid of this lunatic.

Victor Patchock sat with his arms folded. His white cane had been taken away from him, but he stubbornly insisted on wearing his wig and dark glasses, and neither would he remove his overcoat. "In case I have to leave in a hurry."

"You're not going anywhere for a long time." Mallory snatched the dark glasses away. Patchock raised his hands, anticipating a blow to the face, and the overcoat fell open to expose drops of blood on his shirtfront. A surprised Agent Hennessey stared at these bloodstains.

Riker and Janos turned in unison to stare at Mallory.

Before she could utter her trademark line, I didn't do it, the little man quickly closed up his coat, saying, "I have nosebleeds when I'm under stress."

Now that Mallory had been cleared of mistreating her prisoner, she reached toward the little man once more. One white hand, five sharp red nails, flashed out to touch the nylon strands of the red wig and to make the little man flinch. "Why the costume, Victor?"

"That was Dr. Apollo's idea," said Victor Patchock. "She told me no one would look for me under a neon sign – if you take my meaning. Before she bought me the wig, I couldn't bring myself to leave my room."

"So she was treating you?"

The little man nodded. "Getting out of my room was a big part of my therapy. You know, taking back my life. So I spent my time following other players around, MacPherson, Johanna and – "

"And Ian Zachary." Mallory touched his arm, making him jump a bit. "That's how you knew he'd be in the parking garage the other night."

"Yes. It took me a while to figure out that his limo was picking up an impersonator. After I caught on, I followed him to that garage lots of times." Victor Patchock smiled at Riker, but it was not a happy smile, more on the sly side. "I followed you around, too – all those nights you went out drinking with Dr. Apollo after work. You never saw me, did you? No, you only had eyes for the doctor." He wagged one finger at the detective. "I would kill for that woman. Just you remember that, you bastard." Now he turned his suspicious eyes on Mallory.