5:23 p.m.

Grace let Emily wear Vince's William and Mary alumni baseball cap. He had also promised his daughter she could use his favorite travel mug for her juice but Grace couldn't find that box. As Grace passed Emily's bedroom she could hear her daughter telling her friend, Bitsy, about her daddy's favorite cap, his lucky cap.

She checked her watch and decided she had time to unpack one more box before she started their dinner. It was amazing that they had managed these past weeks with all their worldly belongings buried in cardboard boxes, half mislabeled and the other half not labeled at all. This evening she needed to get back to the case files she had brought home. She had a preliminary set for Friday morning. Another crack whore up on drug charges. The only reason she remembered so clearly was because the defendant was being represented by Max Kramer. She thought that perhaps after his media stint with Barnett ole Max wouldn't need to defend any more lowlifes.

Sometimes Grace wondered why men like Max Kramer became lawyers.

For Grace it was easy. When anyone asked-though the question came less frequently these days-why she had chosen to become a lawyer, she always said, without hesitation, that it was because of Atticus Finch. As a little girl Grace had been mesmerized by Harper Lee's character in To Kill a Mockingbird who Gregory Peck brought to life on film. In the courtroom scenes, Atticus commanded respect, dressed in that crisply pressed three-piece suit, the shiny chain of his watch dangling when he pushed back his jacket and put his hands in his trouser pockets. Atticus Finch was a strong, quiet hero, the true personification of good in the midst of evil.

Yes, Atticus Finch had inspired Grace to become a lawyer. That's what she told anyone who asked, especially anyone in the media. It was easy, less messy, and for the most part, it was true. However, it was Jimmy Lee Parker who convinced Grace she should be a prosecutor. It was Jimmy Lee Parker who, on a hot, sticky night in July 1964, broke into a police officer's home, sneaked up the narrow staircase to the officer and his wife's bedroom and bashed in their skulls with a baseball bat.

That was the summer Grace turned six. She was spending that night, just three blocks away, at her grandma Wen-ny's. She didn't remember much about the rest of that summer, the summer she went to live with her grandmother. The summer Jimmy Lee Parker killed Omaha police officer Fritz Wenninghoff and his wife, Emily.

Yes, Jimmy Lee Parker was the reason Grace had become a prosecutor. She doubted that Max Kramer had any Jimmy Lees who had inspired him or surely he never would have believed freeing Jared Barnett to be justice.

Grace ripped open another box using a bit more force than necessary. She didn't like thinking about that summer her father and mother were murdered in their own home, in their own bed. Although she couldn't remember much about it. She dug into the box, shoving aside the flaps. Finally, the bathroom towels. She needed to get her mind back to the present. She loaded up an armful and headed for the bathroom, but this time when she passed Emily's room she heard her daughter say, "You saw the shadow man?"

Grace stopped and listened.

"He was here inside our house?"

"Emily," Grace interrupted, "what shadow man are you talking about?"

"The one Daddy talked about."

Grace remembered Vince telling her to not look for Barnett in the shadows. That had to be what Emily was referring to. "You mean at the airport?" Emily nodded. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, facing the antique dresser and mirror. "He was only joking, sweetie. There is no shadow man."

"Bitsy says he was here today," Emily said, looking over Grace's shoulder as if her friend was standing there. Only when Grace turned, there was just the dresser and mirror.

"Now, how would Bitsy know?"

"She saw him sneaking around. He took Mr. McDuff."

Grace didn't want to get angry with Emily, but she wasn't sure why she was making all this up. Maybe the idea of a shadow man had really frightened her.

"Are you sure you didn't misplace him?"

Emily shook her head. "He was on my bed where I always leave him."

Grace looked around the room. The rest of the house was a mess but Emily had organized her room. Definitely not a trait she inherited from her mother. The stuffed white dog was nowhere in sight.

"I'm sure he's here somewhere."

"Bitsy said the shadow man took him."

Grace rubbed at the ever-present knot in the back of her neck. She was beginning to get impatient, but kept her voice calm. "Sweetie, you know Daddy and I would never let anyone hurt you. You know that, right?"

Emily nodded again, but she seemed distracted. She glanced over Grace's shoulder again. Maybe it was nothing all. Maybe she really was just playing, just talking.

"Why don't you look around and see if McDuff is downstairs?"

"Okay."

Grace started out the door but Emily said, "Mommy, Bitsy says we should lock the door from the house to the garage whenever we leave from now on."

Grace stared at her daughter, and for a brief second she felt a chill, like a draft from an open door. How in the world did Emily know they didn't lock that door?

Before getting back to the boxes she stopped to check all the locks on the doors and windows. Then she realized how silly she was being. She couldn't let Emily's fear and confusion cloud her judgment or frighten her. And she wouldn't let Jared Barnett make her jump at shadows.

She had unpacked only one box when the phone interrupted her.

"Hello," she answered, distracted and thinking it would be easier to go out and buy new things.

"Grace, glad I found you."

It was Pakula and only then did she remember she hadn't called him back after they'd been disconnected.

"I'm okay. I know I should have called you back after we got cut off."

"What?"

"My damsel-in-distress call."

"Oh, yeah. No, that's okay. That's not why I'm calling. I've got something you're gonna wanna see."

Grace looked around for a pen. She knew if Tommy didn't have time to joke around this was serious.

"What's going on?"

"I'm at the Nebraska Bank of Commerce, that little branch off Highway 50. You know the one? Back behind Sapp Brothers, off 1-80."

"You're actually at the bank?" She found a pen and looked for paper, settling instead for the top of a packing box to jot down the directions.

"Yeah, it's a fucking mess."

"Pakula, you're the last one I need to remind, bank robberies are the feds' mess."

"Not when there's a homicide."

She figured as much. "You think it's the convenience-store robber moving up and getting trigger-happy?" There had been three robberies across the city at different convenience stores. It wasn't unusual for a robber to get cocky and think he was ready for a bigger hit.

"A black and white got a good look. We're running the plate number. Hold on," he said and she could hear a muffled conversation. She recognized Pakula's "Holy crap," followed by a "fuck." Then he was back on the line. "This is one fucking mess. You think you can come take a look?"

"I need to take Emily over to my grandmother's. I should be there in about fifteen to twenty."

"I have to warn you, Grace-"

"I know, it's a fucking mess."

"I don't think I've seen this much blood in one place since the Jepperson drug bust in '97."

"So there's more than one homicide?"

"Last count there might be five."

"Christ, Pakula! Why didn't you say that in the beginning?"

"I thought I did. I better go. See you in fifteen."