From a distance, drifting toward him through a red fog of agony, he heard Detective Bowen say, “Duncan, don’t-”

“Shut up, DeeDee!” he barked. “I told you I was going to do this my way.”

“But you can’t-”

“I can. I am.” His grip tightened, gave another twist.

“What do you want?” Cato didn’t recognize the thin voice as his own.

Gradually Hatcher’s fist relaxed and then he let go. “Now that I have your undivided attention, you’ll do well to listen.”

Cato, trying to catch his breath and will away the pain, glanced toward the front seat. Detective Bowen was watching them with obvious anxiety. She didn’t agree with her partner’s tactics, but she wasn’t going to cross him by interfering.

“We think you’re dirty, Judge.”

“What?” He looked back at Hatcher, too quickly, he guessed by the smile that appeared on the detective’s face.

“We know you’re a crook, we just don’t yet know the extent of your criminal activity. And you know what? I don’t even care.”

Cato’s breathing had almost returned to normal, but, all the same, he thought it best to keep quiet.

“I’ve got nothing on you,” Hatcher said. “But I’ve finally got something on Savich, and it’s him I really want.”

The judge looked from him to DeeDee, then back to Hatcher. “We all want Savich.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that. Because tomorrow he’ll be arraigned for doing Napoli.”

“Meyer Napoli?” Even if the judge said so himself, his exclamation of surprise sounded genuine.

“Oh, right. I forgot to mention that,” Hatcher said. “We’ve had an eyewitness come forward who saw Savich pop Napoli on the Talmadge Bridge.”

“You’re serious?” He addressed the question to Hatcher, then looked at his partner for confirmation.

She said, “Very serious, Judge. The witness also saw Napoli push Mrs. Laird over the wall into the river.”

“So Elise didn’t…didn’t jump? She didn’t end her own life?”

“It appears not,” DeeDee replied.

He ducked his head and dropped his voice to an emotional huskiness that also sounded authentic. “That’s good…good to know.”

“Savich came along just after Napoli did his dirty work for him,” DeeDee continued. “Apparently Napoli was blackmailing Savich with those photos of him and Mrs. Laird, same as he was blackmailing her and planned to blackmail you. Savich killed him.”

“And when the son of a bitch is brought into your courtroom tomorrow for his bond hearing,” Hatcher said, “you’d damn well better be in a hanging mood. That hearing should set the tone for his murder trial. Or we’re going to start looking for a reason why not.”

“I don’t understand why you felt it necessary to stage this…” He motioned out the window at the daunting surroundings. “Whatever this is.”

“Because I wanted to make it clear to you that I’m tired of being jerked around by the justice system-i.e., by you,” Hatcher said. “The last time we had Savich in your court, you let him walk.”

“I was compelled by-”

“Save it, Your Honor. But remember the conviction in your voice just now. That’s good. Very…judicial-sounding. Tomorrow, you deny Savich bond. He goes to jail and he stays in jail until his trial. You arrange it to preside over his trial, and you don’t give him or his lawyer Stan Adams a single break. Not on jury selection, not on any motions they may file, not on bathroom breaks. Nothing goes their way. Do we understand each other?”

“You’ve got no problem,” Cato returned smoothly.

“Actually we do,” DeeDee said, shooting a worried glance toward Hatcher. “Our eyewitness isn’t the most credible-”

“Credible enough.” Hatcher’s terseness effectively silenced her. “We have an eyewitness. We can nail Savich if for once you favor us instead of that murdering bastard. I don’t want a mistrial, not even if the jurors are reading the newspaper and watching a live broadcast of the trial on their cell phones while sitting in the jury box.

“I’m not going to be satisfied with anything other than a conviction and a sentence that will put him away for the rest of his life. I’ll leave whether or not he gets the death penalty to the jurors.”

The judge divided a look between them, ending on Hatcher. Although he despised the man, he felt like kissing him. The blustering idiot didn’t realize he was solving Cato’s problem: how to end his partnership with Savich without fearing retribution.

He’d recently come to the conclusion that their arrangement had run its course. He’d made a fortune off it, more money than he could ever spend, although he would have a happy retirement trying.

Not that money was the reason he’d entered into the agreement. The initial allure had been the thrill of the secrecy, the danger of getting caught. He’d loved having an ongoing flirtation with disaster.

But it had become almost too easy. The excitement had waned. Their partnership was a vulnerability no longer worth the risks. But to end it would have placed his life in peril. Savich ended partnerships, his partners didn’t.

Savich would be imprisoned for life, if not executed. If he called foul and began telling tales about crooked judges, who would listen? All men on death row had a gripe and a grudge, and nobody paid any attention to them, especially when the gripes were aimed at the judges who’d sentenced them.

It was all he could do to keep his expression appropriately somber when he made his pledge. “Savich will get what’s coming to him. I’ll see to it.”

Hatcher stared directly into his eyes as though testing his trustworthiness. Finally, apparently satisfied, he glanced at Detective Bowen and nodded. Without a word, she made a three-point turn and drove back toward the courthouse.

Despite his throbbing testicles, Cato could barely keep himself from humming.

The anteroom was empty, Kenny nowhere in sight.

The door to Savich’s private office was ajar. The room was dark except for a small lamp that cast a disk of light onto his desk. His sleek head was bent over paperwork. The part in his hair was so precise it looked like an incision cut by a scalpel.

Sensing he was no longer alone, he reached beneath his desk, where a pistol was secreted, then raised his head and looked at his unexpected guest.

His brilliant eyes widened marginally, but the surprise was quickly shuttered behind the impenetrable blue gaze that was the last thing many had seen in this life.

He said, “I heard the elevator and thought you were Kenny.”

“I look nothing like Kenny.”

He smiled, his teeth glaringly white in his dusky face. “Your sense of humor is intact. A good commentary on the afterlife.”

Elise pushed open the door and walked into his office. “I’m all too alive.”

“So I see. And looking reasonably well. Although I can’t say I approve of the new hairdo, and the outfit leaves much to be desired.”

“You don’t seem all that shocked to see me,” she said.

“I deal in absolutes, Elise. The accounts of your death were sketchy, speculative, and inconclusive. Did Napoli push you from the bridge? Did you jump after killing him? All very muddled.” He raised his hands. “Who knew what to believe?”

They looked at each other for several moments. Finally she said, “You haven’t offered me a seat.”

“Forgive me.” He motioned her into the chair facing his desk. “I guess I am a trifle shocked. Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

Both were wary, curious, edgy in the presence of the other because neither could predict the outcome of this meeting. She alone knew the purpose of it.

“Is your husband still in the dark?” he asked.

“You mean, does Cato know that I’m alive? No.”

“I see.”

“You don’t see at all.”

He flashed a smile. “Too true. I suppose you have a good reason for remaining dead. I’m bursting with anticipation to know what that reason is. Where have you been?”