"Which woman was that, Inspector? Missy D'Amiens? You remember her? The first woman they ID'd for you? Or Catherine, the second woman whose single photo got you an ID, too? In both cases, you told the witnesses who you thought they had seen, then showed them a single photo, and surprise! You got the ID you wanted, right?" Hardy, on a roll of adrenaline and anger, kept piling it on. "You said that you use a six-pack when the

ID is in question, didn't you, Inspector? Can you think of anything that might put an ID in question more than a previous ID of someone else's photo?"

Another shrug, another glance at Rosen-Do something! Rosen tried to help. "Your Honor, objection. Vague."

"Not vague, but compound and argumentative. Do it a piece at a time, Mr. Hardy, and perhaps a bit less…"

"Sure, Your Honor." Then, with a slow and thoughtful cadence, he began again. "Inspector, you showed a single photo of Missy D'Amiens and got IDs, right?"

Cuneo couldn't disagree. "Correct."

"And after that, Catherine accused you of harassment, right?"

"I don't know what she said."

"Inspector, after you got the ID on Missy, and before you got the ID on my client, Deputy Chief Glitsky told you Catherine had complained of harassment, right?"

"Yes, that's what he told me."

"And with this information in mind, you took a single photo of Catherine, went back to those same witnesses, and said words to the effect of 'You made a mistake last time. Here's the woman you really saw.' Correct?"

"That's not what I said."

"The bottom line, Inspector, is that knowing these witnesses had already identified somebody else, you took a single photo of my client, showed it to them, and asked if this was the person they saw, not the other person they had ID'd, right?"

Cuneo had nowhere to go. "Yes." "Tell me, Inspector, in all your hours of training, has anyone even hinted to you that this was a proper way to make an ID?"

"Not that I recall."

Hardy bowed from the waist. "Thank you."

But even after all this, there was one more nail to be driven into the inspector's coffin. He pressed ahead. "Sergeant Cuneo, during your visit to Catherine Hanover's house for your first interview, did you touch her?"

"No, I did not."

"Did you shake hands?"

"I may have done that. I don't remember."

"But to the best of your recollection, you did not touch her otherwise?"

"No."

"In passing perhaps?" "Your Honor. Asked and answered." "Cross-examination, Mr. Rosen. I'll allow it." Cuneo: "No."

"Aside from the handshake, did any part of your hand come into contact with any part of Catherine Hanover's body at any time?"

"Objection."

"Overruled."

Cuneo: "No."

"Were you standing close enough to Catherine Hanover to touch her during any part of your discussion?" "Objection."

This time Braun, obviously irritated by the needless interruptions, paused briefly. Hardy hoped the jury caught the signal. "Overruled. Sergeant, you may answer the question."

Cuneo obviously didn't want to, but he couldn't refuse, although first he looked at Rosen for a cue. By now he had the whole imaginary drum kit going, his eyes slits at Hardy. "Maybe."

"Maybe? You were or you weren't close enough, Sergeant. Which is it?"

"Yes, then, I was."

"Standing close enough to touch her?"

"Yes."

"But in fact you touched neither her arm nor her shoulder?"

Rosen, from his table. "Your Honor!"

But Cuneo, thoroughly worn down, replied before the judge could rule. "I don't know." Behind him, the gallery, which had obviously been closely following the testimony, made itself heard even through the security screen, as Cuneo mumbled. "Maybe I touched her once or twice by mistake."

Hardy stood stock still, then delivered the coup de grace. "I'm sorry, Your Honor. I missed that. Could I have it read back?"

Jan Saunders read Cuneo's words again, playing it straight. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe I touched her once or twice by mistake."

Glitsky and Treya kept getting what they were told was good news, but it didn't seem to give them much relief. The great news was that the echocardiogram ruled out aortic stenosis. Today's X-rays on Zachary's heart also showed no abnormality or sudden growth in size. The EKG-wires and leads stuck all over the infant's body while he lay exposed and cold on the gurney sheet-also indicated that the heartbeat was regular. Through it all, the baby didn't cry, but endured it with a stoicism that would have done his father proud.

All the tests took the better part of an hour. In his office when they were done, Dr. Trueblood walked a careful line between optimism and realism. "I have to tell you that Zachary's condition as of today is the best that we could possibly have hoped for just a couple of days ago. Of all the children that I see in here, he's in the top one percent. And this is really terrific, terrific news."

These wonderful tidings were delivered, however, in a funereal tone. The old hunched man sat behind his desk with his shirt undone, his tie askew and his mottled hands linked in front of him. The light in the office itself was muted, the shades drawn against the dreary wetness outside, while the pitter of the constant rain provided the only soundtrack. "All that said, I feel I need to caution you that, though this is far better than aortic stenosis, it's still something to take very seriously. Sometimes a VSD can change quickly, especially in the early months. We'll want to keep a very close eye on Zachary."

"What does that mean?" Treya asked.

"Well, first I mean just watch him. If he shows any marked or dramatic change in color, breathing, feeding or energy level, you can call me at any time, day or night.

You've got all my numbers, right? But then beyond that, it would be a good idea to bring him in here every week for the next four to six weeks for the same kind of tests… "

Treya interrupted. "Every week?"

"Yes. For the next month or month and a half. Then, if there's no change, we'll go to once a month and see how that works out."

"What then?" Holding his wife's hand, Glitsky didn't want to betray his own fear. Treya needed him to be calm and even optimistic, and his voice reflected that. He wasn't relaxed, but they were moving into a routine, one they'd grown used to. He just wanted to know where they were now.

"Then," Trueblood said, "say, when he's a year old, we'll go to once every six months, and then once a year."

"For how long?" The Glitskys asked it simultaneously.

"Well, assuming the hole doesn't close up by itself- and it may do that because it's so small-but assuming that it doesn't, once a year certainly until he's a young adult. Maybe longer."

"Forever," Glitsky said.

Trueblood nodded. "Possibly, yes. But remember, they've found these VSDs in autopsies of ninety-year-olds."

"So you're saying Zachary could have a normal life?" Treya asked, barely daring to hope.

"He could. You'll have to be aware of his situation, of course. He'll have to be premedicated for any dental work or surgery, but other than that it's possible that it may never affect him at all. Maybe he'll be able to run, play sports, do anything. Maybe he'll need heart work in the short term, or in five years. We just don't know yet at this stage." Reading the agony in their faces, Trueblood broke out of his professional voice. "I realize that it's difficult not knowing," he said, "but please try to remember that it's better than almost any alternative we had just a day ago. It's entirely possible that Zachary's going to grow up to be a fine, normal, healthy child."

Treya squeezed Glitsky's hand, forced a smile of sorts. He knew her, knew that she didn't want to hear any false or possibly false cheer. She wanted to know what to do so that they could be prepared for it and do it right. "So I guess we'd better set up an appointment for next week, then. That's the next step?"