Reducing the light again, Jack started across the room, moving more from memory than visually. A meager amount of ambient light was managing to finger its way through the dormer window from the street. It was enough to give Jack a vague outline of the larger pieces of furniture. Reaching the foot of the bed, Jack stopped and strained to hear the intermittent sibilant sounds of sleep. The room was deathly quiet. Jack felt a rush of adrenaline. To his horror, there was no sound of respiration. Craig was not breathing!

The next few seconds were a blur for Jack. The instant he realized his brother-in-law was not breathing, he lunged forward with the intention of rounding the corner of the bed to get to Craig's side in the shortest possible time. There he would whip back the covers, rapidly evaluate the man's status, and begin CPR if it was appropriate.

The sudden sideward movement possibly saved Jack's life. In the next instant Jack realized that he was not alone in the room. There was another figure, clad in black, making him all but invisible, who streaked out of the open bathroom doorway. The individual was brandishing a large club that he swung in a wide arc at the spot where Jack's head had been.

Although the blow missed Jack's head, it did hit his left shoulder. Luckily, it was a glancing blow that did not impact with its full force. Still, it sent a shooting, searing pain into the core of Jack's body, weakening his knees in the process.

Jack was still clutching the flashlight, the beam of which raced haphazardly around the room as he scrambled past the end of the bed, avoiding going alongside it. He did not want to be trapped by the intruder. More by instinct than vision, he knew that another blow with the club was coming as the figure leapt at him in pursuit. Jack ducked down low to the floor and, believing offense the best defense, threw himself forward, meeting his attacker with the point of his right shoulder as if he intended to tackle him. Jack had the man around the upper thighs and with continued pumping of his legs strengthened by all his bicycle riding, he was able to drive the man backward before both fell to the floor.

In close proximity, Jack felt he had the advantage by using the foot-long, heavy Maglite as a weapon. The longer club, wielded by the attacker, was at a distinct disadvantage. Letting go of the man's thighs, Jack grabbed a handful of shirt and rapidly lifted the flashlight alongside his head with full intention of striking the man's forehead. But as he raised the flashlight, its beam had illuminated the man's face. Luckily, before Jack struck, his mind quickly fired the right neurons and recognized the man. It was Craig.

"Craig?" Jack shouted in disbelief. He swiftly brought the light down from its threatening position and shined it on Craig's face just to be certain.

"Jack?" Craig sputtered in return. He raised his free hand to shield his eyes from the blinding light.

"Good God!" Jack voiced. He let go of Craig's shirt, directed the flashlight away from Craig's face, and got to his feet.

Craig got to his feet as well. He went to a wall switch and turned on the light. "What the hell are you doing here, sneaking around in my house at whatever the hell time it is?" He looked over at the bedside clock. "Three thirty in the goddamn morning!"

"I can explain," Jack said. He winced at a stab of shoulder pain.

Tentatively, he touched the area, finding a point of tenderness at the juncture of his collarbone and shoulder.

"Good grief," Craig complained. He tossed what turned out to be a baseball bat onto the bed. He came over to Jack. "God, I'm sorry I freakin' hit you. I could have killed you. Are you all right?"

"I've had worse," Jack said. He glanced over at the bed. What he'd thought had been Craig was merely pillows and bedcovers. "Can I check it?" Craig asked solicitously.

"Sure, I guess."

Craig took hold of Jack's arm and gently put his hand on Jack's shoulder. He rotated Jack's arm in its shoulder socket, then raised it slowly. "Any pain?"

"A little, but the movement doesn't make it worse."

"I don't think anything is broken, but an X-ray wouldn't hurt. I could drive you over to the Newton Memorial if you'd like."

"I think I'll put some ice on it for now," Jack said.

"Good ideal Come on down to the kitchen. I'll put some ice in a Ziploc bag."

As they walked along the upper hallway, Craig said: "My heart is going a mile a minute. I thought you were one of these guys who'd broken in and manhandled my daughters, who was back to carry out his threat. I was ready to knock you into the next county."

"I suppose I thought you were one of those guys as well," Jack said. He noticed that Craig was wearing a dark-colored bathrobe and not the black ninja outfit Jack had creatively imagined. He also felt the gun in his jacket pocket knocking against him. He'd not thought of it in the fury of the moment, and it was a good thing.

Craig got Jack set up with an ice bag. Jack was sitting at one end of the couch, holding the cold pack against the point of his shoulder. Craig collapsed at the other end, holding a hand against his forehead.

"I'll get out of here so you can get back to sleep," Jack said. "But I owe you an explanation."

"I'm listening," Craig said. "Before I went to bed, I went downstairs to check the apartment. You'd pulled the linens off the bed. I certainly didn't expect you, and especially at this hour, and especially not sneaking around upstairs."

"I promised Alexis I'd check on you."

"Did you talk with her tonight?"

"I did, but not until quite late. Frankly, she's worried about your mixing alcohol and sleeping pills, and she should be worried. I've autopsied a few people, thanks to that combination."

"I don't need your advice."

"Fair enough," Jack said. "Nonetheless, she asked me to check on you. To be honest, I didn't think it was necessary. The reason I was seemingly sneaking was because I was afraid to wake you for fear you'd be angry I was there."

Craig took his hand away from his face and gazed at Jack. "You're right about that."

"I'm sorry if I offended you. I did it for Alexis. She was afraid you might be more upset than usual after what happened at the trial."

"At least you're honest," Craig said. "I suppose I should see it as a favor. It's just hard with what's going on. I'm being forced to see myself in an unflatteringly different light. I was a miserable, ridiculous, self-defeating witness today. When I think about it in retrospect, I'm embarrassed."

"How do you think the afternoon went with the defense experts?"

"It was reasonable. It was nice to hear some positive words for a change, but I don't think it was enough. Unless Randolph pulls off an Oscar-winning performance with his summation tomorrow, which I personally believe he's incapable of, I think the jury is going to find for that bastard, Jordan." Craig sighed despondently. He was staring at the blank TV screen.

"I had another reason for coming out here at this late hour," Jack said.

"Oh! And what was that?" Craig asked. He turned to look at Jack. His eyes were glazed, as if he was ready to cry but too embarrassed to do so. "You haven't told me about the autopsy. Did you do it?"

"I did," Jack said. He went on to tell Craig a truncated version of the day's events, starting with the exhumation and ending with the meeting with the toxicologist. He didn't tell Craig as much as he'd told Alexis, but the gist was the same.

As Jack spoke, Craig became progressively riveted, especially about the toxicologist and the possibility of the involvement of criminality. "If the toxicologist could find some drug or poison, it would be the end of this malpractice nonsense," Craig said. He sat up straighter.