"All right," Sandra said. "You have me convinced."

David called admitting to warn them Sandra would be coming. Then he gave her a written set of orders and sent her on her way.

Angela felt terrible. She was exhausted. Several cups of coffee had not been enough to revive her. It had been almost three o'clock before she'd fallen asleep, and once she had, she'd not slept soundly. She'd had nightmares again, featuring Hodges' body, the ski-masked rapist, and the brick through the window.

When she finally did wake up she was surprised to discover that David had already left for work.

As Angela dressed, she regretted her promise to David to try to forget about Hodges. She didn't see how she could "just let Hodges go" as David suggested.

Angela wondered again about Phil Calhoun. She still had not heard a word from him. She figured that the least he could do was check in. Even if he hadn't discovered something significant, he could at least let her know what he'd accomplished to date.

Angela decided to give Phil Calhoun a call, but all she got was his answering machine. Deciding against leaving a message, she simply hung up.

Downstairs, Angela found Nikki in the family room busily reading from one of her schoolbooks.

"Okay," Angela said. "Upstairs for postural drainage."

"I already did it with Dad," Nikki said.

"Really?" Angela said. "How about breakfast?"

"We had that too," Nikki said.

"What time did you two get up?" Angela asked.

"Around four," Nikki said.

Angela wasn't happy about David's getting up so early. Having trouble sleeping was often a sign of depression. She also didn't like the idea of having Nikki up so early.

"How did Daddy seem this morning?" Angela asked as she joined Nikki in the family room.

"Fine," Nikki said. "He called while you were in the shower. He said that Caroline was okay and that I can visit her this afternoon."

"That's wonderful news," Angela said.

"He also asked me to remind you about a gun," Nikki said. "He acted weird, like I wouldn't know what a gun is."

"He's worried," Angela said. "It's no joke. Guns are bad business when it comes to kids. A lot of kids are killed each year because of family-owned guns. But more often than not those cases involve handguns."

Angela walked out into the front hall and brought the shotgun back into the family room. She took the shell out of the chamber and showed Nikki how to tell there were no more inside.

Angela spent the next half hour going over the gun with Nikki, allowing Nikki to pump it, pull the trigger, and even load and unload it. When they were finished with the instruction, they went outside behind the barn and each fired a shell. Nikki said she didn't like firing it because it hurt her shoulder.

Returning to the house, Angela told Nikki that she wasn't to touch the gun. Nikki told her not to worry, she didn't want to have anything to do with it.

Since the weather was warm and sunny, Nikki wanted to ride her bike to school. Angela watched as she started off toward town. Angela was pleased she was doing so well; at least Bartlet was good for Nikki.

Shortly after Nikki left, Angela did the same. After parking in the reserved area, Angela couldn't resist the temptation to examine the spot where she'd been attacked. She retraced her steps into the stand of trees that separated the parking lots and found her own footprints in the muddy earth. With the help of the footprints she found the spot where she'd fallen. Then she discovered the deep cut left in the earth by the man's club.

The cleft was about four inches deep. Angela put her fingers in it and shuddered. She could still vividly recall the sight and sound of that club whizzing by her ear. She even could vaguely recall the glint of a flash of metal streaking by.

Suddenly, Angela realized something she hadn't focused on before: the man had not hesitated. If she had not rolled out of the way, she would have been struck. The man hadn't been trying to rape her, he'd wanted to hurt her, maybe kill her.

Angela thought back to the injuries to Hodges' skull she'd examined during the autopsy. Hodges had been hit with a metal rod. Her head could have looked just like Hodges'!

Against her better judgment, Angela put in a call to Robertson.

"I know what you're calling about," Robertson said irritably, "and you can just forget it. I ain't sending this brick up to the state police lab for fingerprints. They'd laugh me out of the goddamn state."

"I'm not calling about the brick," Angela said. Instead, she conveyed her idea that her assault had been attempted murder, not attempted rape.

When Angela was finished, Robertson was so quiet, she was afraid that he'd hung up. "Hello?" she asked at last.

"I'm still here," Robertson said. "I'm thinking."

There was another pause.

"Nah, I don't buy it," Robertson said finally. "This guy is a rapist, not a murderer. He's had opportunity to kill in the past, but he didn't. Hell, he didn't even hurt the ones he did rape."

Angela wondered if the rape victims didn't feel hurt, but she wasn't about to argue the issue with Robertson. She merely thanked him for his time and hung up.

"What a flake!" Angela said out loud. She was a fool to have thought Robertson would give any credence to her theory. Yet the more she thought about the attack, the more sure she became that rape hadn't been the goal. And if it had been an attempted murder, then it had to be related to her interest in Hodges' murder. Maybe the man was Hodges' murderer!

Angela shivered. If she was right, then she'd been stalked. The idea terrified her. Whatever she did, she'd have to be sure to make it seem as if she were giving up on the affair.

Angela wondered if she should tell David her latest suspicions. She was indecisive. On the one hand, she never wanted there to be any secrets between them. On the other, she knew he'd only use it as more reason for her to give up her probe of Hodges' murder. For the time being, Angela decided that she'd only tell Phil Calhoun-if and when he contacted her.

"I'll have a little more coffee," Traynor said as he pointed toward his cup with the handle of his gavel for the waitress's benefit. As was their habit, Traynor, Sherwood, Beaton, and Caldwell were having a breakfast meeting in advance of the monthly hospital executive board meeting scheduled for the following Monday night. They were seated at Traynor's favorite table at the Iron Horse Inn.

"I'm encouraged," Beaton said. "The preliminary figures for the second half of October are better than those of the first half. We're not out of the woods yet, but they are significantly better than September's."

"We get one crisis under control and then have to face another," Traynor said. "It's never-ending. What's the story about a doctor being assaulted last night?"

"It was just after midnight," Caldwell said. "It was the new female pathologist, Angela Wilson. She'd been working late."

"Where in the parking lot did it take place?" Traynor asked. He began his nervous habit of hitting his palm with his gavel.

"In the pathway between the lots," Caldwell said.

"Have lights been put in there?" Traynor asked.

Caldwell looked at Beaton.

"I don't know," Beaton admitted. "But we'll check as soon as we get back. You ordered lights to be put there, but whether it got done or not I'm not sure."

"They'd better be," Traynor said. He hit his palm particularly hard and the sound carried around the room. "I've had no luck lobbying the Selectmen about the parking garage. There's no way it can even get on the ballot now until spring."

"I checked with the Bartlet Sun," Beaton said. "They have agreed to keep the rape attempt out of the paper."

"At least they're on our side," Traynor said.