Mary felt her heart quicken. So much for the facade of

the young model movin' on up. Maybe Paige had no hard feelings about moving out; her mother sure did. Mary was about to tell the others when she remembered she hadn't checked the bathroom. She should, just to be complete. She walked to it and flicked on the bathroom light, and looked carefully around. Nothing unusual except for too much makeup and a complete line of Kiehl's shampoos, conditioners, and 'silk groom,' whatever that was.

She left the bathroom and walked by the shelves, pausing again at the dolls. They were so pretty; so perfect. Especially the big one at the top, with a blue gown and matching train spread around her, glistening and satiny. Her hair was a beehive of blond plastic; Mary guessed it was Madame Alexander's version of Cinderella. She itched to hold it just once.

Oh hell. What was the harm?

Mary tugged her shirtsleeve down over her hands to cover her fingerprints, so the cops wouldn't indict her for murder. It seemed professional, especially if you were doing something as dorky as playing with dolls at a crime scene. Once her hand was covered, she scooped up the doll by the hair. Then she gasped. Not at the doll. At what lay hidden under the doll's satin gown.

'Lou!' she called. 'Judy! Come quick!'

A small, pink leather book sat on the shelf where the doll had been and its cover said 'MY DIARY.' The doll lay forgotten on the floor. Mary told them her theory of what had happened between Paige and her mother while the three of them gathered around the diary, deciding what to do.

'Let's take it and run,' Mary said, excited. 'Finders keepers, losers weepers. Isn't that a legal principle?'

'Shouldn't we tell the cop at the door?' Judy asked, but Mary shook her head.

'No, he'll seize it. He'll turn it in unopened, and we won't get to read it.' She turned to Lou for verification.

'That's right. The uniform at the door won't open it. He doesn't have the authority, and once it's bagged, it's theirs.' Lou's mouth set in the harsh bathroom light, emphasizing the deep lines of his jowls. Still he didn't look old to Mary, he looked experienced.

'If it helps Newlin's case, they have to turn it over to us, under the discovery rules.' Mary was remembering from her cramming. 'But I don't know when we'll get it. A lot of the cases suggest it could take months, if we ever get it back.'

Judy looked grave. 'It's true. I've read cases where they never turn it over.'

'I'm opening it,' Mary announced, reaching for the diary, but Lou stopped her arm.

'No. Let me, in case I gotta testify.' He reached into the inside pocket of his windbreaker, withdrew a white cotton handkerchief, and deftly wrapped his hand with it. Mary was impressed.

'You carry that to pick up evidence?' she asked.

'No, I carry it to wipe my nose,' he answered, and picked up the diary.

BOOK THREE

35

Mary sat opposite Jack in the tiny interview room, not six feet by six feet, with no partition between them. The walls were of cinderblock painted an institutional sea green and contained windows of bulletproof glass with a view of the guard station. A large button of bright red protruded from the wall, and Mary, who had never been in a prison before, knew it had to be the proverbial panic button. If it had been any other prisoner, it would have made her edgy, but with Jack she felt completely safe, if not completely professional. 'We need to talk,' she said.

'Sure, what is it? Is it about the preliminary hearing?' He smiled in a friendly way, despite the strain evident on his face. His color was pale and he seemed restless, his long legs crossed at the ankle, in dark blue pants with sneakers. A light blue shirt sat loosely on his shoulders, its V-neck deep enough to reveal a light tangle of chest hair and its sleeves short enough to show off sinewy biceps. To Mary's eye, he did more for a prison uniform and steel handcuffs than most felons.

'No, it's about the case. We need to start over. I don't think you killed your wife.'

His smile vanished. 'Are you serious?'

'Yes. I think Paige did it, with her boyfriend Trevor. You were supposed to be at dinner that night, but I think that when you came in, your wife was already dead. You made it look like you killed her, but you didn't. You're innocent.'

'This is silly, Mary. I did do it.'

'No, Paige did, and you're protecting her. If you tell me the truth, we can help her. They'll give her the deal they won't give you.'

'I did it. You just don't want to believe it.'

'I'd believe it if it were true, but it's a lie. All of it, from the outset.'

'No it isn't. I did it. I confessed to it.' Jack pursed his lips. 'I even had blood on my hands, and you still don't believe it?'

'Not at all.'

'Face it, Mary. You're not seeing me clearly.'

'Of course I am. Why wouldn't I?'

'You know why. You tell me.' Jack didn't bat an eye, and Mary's face flushed crimson. So he knew. She couldn't deny it, so she didn't try. She fumbled for words.

'You're right… about that. I have a crush, I plead guilty. And I may be embarrassed and humiliated, but I'm not wrong.' Mary set her jaw, her neck still aflame. 'You didn't kill your wife, and I know it. I can distinguish between the murder case and my personal feelings.'

'No you can't. You can't separate those things. You're emotional and new at criminal law. You don't want to think I'm capable of murder, but you're kidding yourself. Is this why you don't want to negotiate my guilty plea?'

'Jack, give it up.' Mary leaned forward urgently. She had to convince him. 'I can tell you now, there won't be a deal in this case, not for you. It's all over the papers today. Masterson announced there will be no deals in this case. No plea bargains, understand? If they ask for the death penalty, you're headed straight to Death Row. Dwight Davis has put ten men there, and you'll be the eleventh. Tell me the truth and I can help you, before it's too late.'

'I can't believe this.' Jack's face colored with growing anger. 'I shouldn't have hired someone with so little experience.'

'I have enough experience to know that you're lying to protect Paige. Paige and your wife fought all the time, and your wife put enormous pressure on her, emotionally abusing her for years, as her manager, too. You ignored it,

maybe denied it, for too long, and when you finally came to, it was almost too late.'

'That's not true.' Jack's brow darkened and his mouth grew tight.

'You supported Paige's emancipation but your wife didn't. You drafted the papers, but Honor wouldn't even let Paige back into her room. Honor kept everything that kid owned, stole it like a common thief. She even kept Paige's diary. I found it in her room.'

'What?' Jack exploded. 'You had no business doing that!'

'My guess is your marriage started coming apart a year ago, when you took Paige's side. You've been over-compensating since then, that's why you're protecting her now. I know guilt when I see it. It's my favorite emotion.'

'Mary, what are you saying? Why are you doing this to Paige? Investigating her, reading her diary, accusing her of murder. You'll ruin her life!'

'Taking responsibility for a crime she committed isn't helping her. I understand that now. It's wrong for you and wrong for her. Let her take responsibility for herself. Otherwise, you raise a kid who expects her way paved her whole life, and the world doesn't work that way. She's like an orchid, Jack. She can live in a hot-house, but it's cold outside.'

'Paige is not your business!'

'Then what about Trevor? You're protecting him, too. Paige lied about him, to you and to me.'

'No she didn't!' Jack shouted.