Nell laughed. “You ready to play a cop again?”

“If I could get the part, sure. The real job—yours—no way. Just portraying a cop, getting inside his skin, was enough.”

“You must have done it well.”

“There was talk of a Tony.”

Nell propped her head on her elbow. “Really?”

“Well…most of the talk was by me.”

Nell laughed and let her head fall back on her wadded pillow. It was pleasant, the way the room was cooling down but still smelled like sex, the way the breeze from the ceiling fan played over her bare right leg that was extended from beneath the white sheet. Terry was an insightful and wonderful lover. He could sense when she didn’t want him to be so gentle, and he accommodated, but always she was in control. And he was tireless. His sexual drive, his energy, captivated her.

Then why was she thinking about Jack Selig? This wasn’t some sexual contest the three of them were engaged in. And if it were, the considerate and subtle Selig would finish a close second to Terry.

Nell admonished herself, feeling ashamed. These were not the sorts of comparisons that led to wise decisions.

What decisions? Hadn’t she already made up her mind?

“You’re pensive,” Terry said. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Would you believe baseball?”

“No. I don’t think you’re that big a fan.”

“The Mets are playing the Cardinals tonight on TV.”

“You’re a Mets fan?”

“Just a baseball fan. Isn’t it legal for women to be baseball fans?”

“Sure,” Terry said. “He set his beer can back on the magazine on the bedside table, then turned toward her. He kissed her on the ear, flicking with his tongue. “I’ll show you what’s illegal,” he whispered. “At least in certain states.”

Nell forgot about baseball.

She forgot about Jack Selig.

The exhumation order was in da Vinci’s hands the next day, but they waited for nightfall before executing it. That was da Vinci’s decision. It wasn’t that he wanted to heighten the mood. Harry Lima was buried toward the center of a century-old cemetery that covered acres bordering a New Jersey highway, so lights and activity wouldn’t be noticeable from outside the premises. At night, when the cemetery was closed, there would be no one unauthorized inside the fenced and gated grounds to witness or disturb the exhumation.

Nola, whose signature had helped to authorize the exhumation, had decided not to attend. Beam was there, along with da Vinci. No need for Nell or Looper.

Beam stood in the night with da Vinci and a tall African American man named Dan Jackson from the Medical Examiner’s office. Jackson stood off to the side, smoking a cigar. They were in soft light that seeped through a canvas tent that had been pitched around Harry’s grave. A small bulldozer had unearthed most of the grave before the tent was pitched. Now, inside the tent, cemetery workers, watched over by a uniformed officer, worked with shovels and an electric winch.

“They sound busy in there,” da Vinci said.

“It won’t be long now,” Jackson assured him.

“I can hardly wait,” da Vinci said under his breath. He gave Beam an annoyed look in the moonlight.

“Having second thoughts?” Beam asked.

“I’m not allowed those.” A strong smell of Jackson’s cigar smoke came their way on the breeze. “Adelaide Starr was scheduled to report for jury duty today.”

“She show up?” Beam asked.

“No.”

“Gonna issue a warning?”

“No. We’re going to bring her in tomorrow, if we can find her.”

“You’ll find her,” Beam said. “It’s what she wants. She’s probably already got her toothbrush packed.”

“If it’s what she wants, why are we doing it?”

“Not much choice. And it sends the right signal.”

“She won’t shut up in jail,” da Vinci said. “She’ll find a way to send her own signals to her adoring public.” He jumped and batted something away from his face. “Friggin’ moths!”

“I saw it,” Jackson said. “It was a bat.”

“Jesus H. Christ!”

“I’m mostly interested in signaling one member of her public,” Beam said. “The Justice Killer.”

Light spilled out of the tent as the uniform held the flap open. “We’re ready, sir,” he said to da Vinci.

Beam led the way inside. His show.

The illumination from the portable lights inside the tent was almost blinding and left no place for shadows to hide. It was hot in there. There was no strong odor, only a faint musty scent.

Harry’s casket was made out of some kind of smooth, light colored metal that looked as if it might have been buried yesterday. It sat on a couple of four-by-fours that had been laid across the open grave. It was open. The cemetery workers, the uniform, Jackson, all stood back away from the casket. Beam and da Vinci edged forward to look.

Harry hadn’t held up as well as the casket. One glance at what was left of his face, and Beam looked away. It wasn’t Harry’s face he was interested in, anyway.

There was Harry’s reattached right hand, awkwardly extending from his faded blue suit coat sleeve.

The gaudy ring was still there—much too large for Harry now—on the withered, leathery hand. Hand that had touched Nola. Beam swallowed and turned away.

“That it?” da Vinci asked.

“It,” Beam said.

Jackson moved in with a camera and began photographing. With any luck, Harry could now rest beneath the earth forever.

“So the ring in the shop is a duplicate,” da Vinci said. “But why is it there?”

“Not for Nola,” Beam said. “For me. To taunt me. To let me know he’s aware of my relationship with Nola and can do something about it any time he chooses.”

Da Vinci squinted at him in the blinding light. “You got a relationship with Nola Lima?”

“Something like,” Beam said.

“I don’t care for this, Beam.”

“It’s what moved our freak friend to go to a lot of trouble.”

“And expense.”

Da Vinci went back out into the night, and Beam followed.

“Helen was right about him wanting to taunt you,” da Vinci said, standing with his hands in his pockets. “One for the profiler.”

“The ring borders on a threat,” Beam said. “To me and to Nola. And there’s something else in it for JK—misdirection. We’re doing this instead of breathing down his neck.”

“He had to have the duplicate ring made somewhere,” da Vinci said. “The jeweler will remember working off the photographs and ring descriptions that were in the news. We can find him.”

Beam stood gazing around the cemetery, at the silent, leafy trees black against the dark sky, at the tombstones and statuary pale in the moonlight. It didn’t seem peaceful to him. He had the eerie feeling that everyone buried there was aware of what had been done tonight to one of their own, and was dismayed by it. Blamed Beam for it.

He shuddered and began walking toward where the cars were parked near a stone angel on a narrow, winding road. “I’m getting out of here,” he said over his shoulder. “You gonna hang around a while?”

“Not friggin’ likely,” da Vinci said, and hurried to catch up with him.

Maybe he felt what Beam did.

Rest in peace, Harry. It’s easier down there than up here.

47

“I didn’t know you were a lawyer,” Adelaide said.

“In a previous life,” Barry told her, “and not actually a criminal lawyer, but I’m still a member of the bar. They had no choice but to let me in to see you.”

They were talking on phones, separated by a thick sheet of Plexiglas. Three chairs down, another detainee was talking to his lawyer. With the phones, it was impossible to eavesdrop.

“So you’re my lawyer as well as my agent.”

“I’m your agent, Ad. We’ll get you the real thing when it comes to trial attorneys. Are they treating you okay?”