“Mr. Heider?” the judge asked.

“Your Honor, this goes directly to motive. It is the State’s position that Boggs is a homosexual and that he killed Bobby Washington during a lover’s quarrel. The ferocity with which Mr. Washington was stabbed indicates great passion on the part of the killer.”

“But there is no evidence that Mr. Boggs is a homosexual. It’s all speculation,” Jamison whined. “He has to produce evidence if he is going to drag in this dirt and he didn’t during the State’s case.”

“Yes, Mr. Heider, I made a ruling on that before we started this trial. I ruled that we were not going into this area without proof.”

“I know that, Your Honor, and I did stay away from it, but Mr. Jamison opened the door during his examination of Mr. Boggs when he tried to raise as a defense that Washington was a homosexual who had accosted Mr. Boggs and that Boggs stabbed him in self-defense after wresting the knife from Washington.

“Mr. Jamison went into the sex angle first and I think I have a right to cross-exam on his defense.”

As Heider spoke, he watched the expression on Jamison’s face as the older attorney realized what he had done. A quick grin flashed across his face as he savored his moment. Judge Samuels caught the look of triumph and stifled a feeling of anger. Heider was a prick. He had no concept of professional responsibility.

Jamison was babbling now. Grasping at straws, as he tried to explain what he had and had not intended by his question. Samuels let him have his say, because he knew how he would have to rule and he wanted to make sure that Jamison had every chance to make his record.

“I am afraid Mr. Heider is right, Harry. I was astonished when you asked those questions, especially after our discussion in chambers. But you did and I am going to have to allow Mr. Heider to continue along this line for a while.”

“I see,” Jamison said weakly. He was crushed and he seemed to sag as he lifted himself from his chair and headed back to the courtroom.

Samuels stopped Heider before he could leave the chambers.

“This is a cheap shot, Mr. Heider, and I am watching you at each step. If you don’t tie this in, or if you push this too far, I will give Mr. Jamison his mistrial.”

“I understand, Your Honor,” Heider replied politely. He had won and there was no profit in gloating. He cast a quick glance at Jamison as he returned to his seat. That fat slob was so stupid he couldn’t tie his shoelaces without a blueprint, he thought. A good attorney could have made a real fight out of this case. Still, Heider was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. The win would not hurt his reputation and he would not mind seeing that simpering little fag behind bars anyway. He hated weakness and Boggs was weak. He had sensed it during the trial and on each occasion he had met the defendant. Boggs was a worm, begging the jury for a second chance. And he might have gotten it, Heider mused, if it had not been for the incompetence of his counsel. The jury might have acquitted a sixty-seven-year-old white bookkeeper with no prior record for the murder of a black junkie. But they would never acquit a queer for the murder of his lover. Heider leaned back in his chair and looked across the courtroom at Boggs. Then he glanced at his note pad and asked his next question.

Five hours later Heider strode through the gate next to Fanny Maser’s desk and headed for the interior of the district attorney’s office with two reporters in tow. Heider was grinning.

“Guilty?” asked a young D.A. who was standing in the corridor as Heider’s flying wedge swept by.

“What else?” Heider said and the reporters laughed. They liked Heider. He was colorful and always willing to talk to the press.

“Mr. Heider,” Fanny yelled after him, “Mr. Holman wants to see you. He said it was important.”

Heider wondered what the D.A. wanted to see him about. Besides being his boss, Herb Holman was an old family friend who owed his present position, in large part, to Stewart Heider’s financial and political support.

Heider excused himself and the reporters settled at a small table to jot down notes for their story. Holman’s private office was isolated at the far end of the District Attorney’s Office. Heider had to pass by several of his colleagues on his way, but few offered congratulations or even bothered to ask about the Boggs verdict. Heider was not well liked by the other deputies. Their attitude stemmed in part from the obvious favoritism shown him by Holman and partly from Heider’s superior attitude.

Herb Holman was a little man with a ruddy complexion. He smiled when Phil entered and he extended his hand.

“Very well done. Judge Samuels’s clerk called me.”

Heider shrugged and grinned.

“With Jamison on the other side, it was like having an assistant.”

Holman laughed and they both sat down.

“Phil, are you still serious about trying for state representative next year?”

“Dad and I have talked it over a few times,” Heider answered, puzzled by the question. “He thinks Faulk can be had and I agree.”

“Okay. Well, something has come up that may help you get the nomination. How well do you remember the Murray-Walters murder case?”

“‘Murray-Walters,’? Isn’t that the rape-murder in Lookout Park that happened about five or six years ago?”

“Right.”

“I remember a little about it. I was in college at the time and I remember it even made the eastern papers.”

“I received a call from a Portsmouth detective named Roy Shindler this afternoon. Do you know Shindler?”

“Sure. He’s worked on a couple of my cases. Very sharp.”

“Yes, I agree. Shindler thinks he has enough to get an indictment in Murray-Walters. I want you to talk to him. If you agree, take it to Grand Jury and all the way after that.”

Heider could hear his heart beat. “Murray-Walters” was a household name in Portsmouth. Parents still used it as a bugaboo to keep their teenage children out of Lookout Park at night. Trying the case would mean front-page headlines for months. Assuming that he could get an indictment within a month, and that the trial started within three months, the publicity could carry him right up to the time for filing.

Holman smiled.

“I thought this would interest you. Hell, if I thought I was going to have any opposition next fall, I would have taken the case myself. Shindler will be expecting your call. Treat this one with kid gloves. And, Phil, no leaks.”

“I read you.”

“Good boy.”

Heider was thinking and listening while Shindler talked and drove. The whole thing was fantastic. The problems involved…How do you make a jury believe in a witness who did not believe that she was a witness until six years after the crime? The papers would call it trial by voodoo. Still, Shindler was no wild-eyed kid. He was steady, intelligent, not a man to make rash decisions. Everything depended on the girl. That was why he had insisted that Shindler take him to see her. If he did not believe her, the jury would not believe her.

“Dr. Hollander is certain that she’s telling the truth?”

“Oh, absolutely. We’ve been over her story dozens of times.”

“And she has an independent recollection now?”

“Yes.”

“Independent of the tapes? She doesn’t have to listen to the tapes?”

“No. She can tell it from memory now. She remembers it all. Dr. Hollander says that the blocks were removed when she made the breakthrough under the drug.”

“Because, if she can’t remember it without the tapes, it will look like a put-up job.”

“No, this is the real thing. We have other witnesses that corroborate her story. The guy who saw the drag race and the woman who owns the dogs. There are the people at the party who saw Billy Coolidge with the knife.”

Heider studied the passing scenery. Shindler reminded himself not to talk too much. It was hard. He was so high. He had worked so long and so hard on this case that had seemed so hopeless and now to see the end in sight…he felt an awful calm in his body and a terrible elation of the spirit, as if only part of him was tied to the earth, the other part soaring, unstoppable.