They'll be here soon, so I have to leave, Cardoni said. Mr. Breach did want me to tell you something, though. It seems that a contact in the police department gave him a copy of your pain journals. He says he found them quite interesting and is looking forward to trying the techniques you found most effective.
Fiori's eyes stretched open as far as possible. He strained uselessly against his bonds. Cardoni watched him for a moment more, then threw his head back and began to laugh. His laughter continued to echo in the cold, hollow space as he disappeared into the night.
Chapter 67
Two weeks after her escape, Amanda was reviewing case notes in the corridor outside a courtroom when she looked up to find Mike Greene smiling down at her.
Mr. Greene, are you spying on me? she asked, matching his smile with one of her own.
Mike sat beside her on the bench. Nope, I' m just checking to see if you're okay.
Thanks, Mike, I' m fine.
This must be really hard for you. You were very close to Fiori, weren't you?
Amanda smiled sadly. He used me to find out about the investigation, Mike. I never meant anything to him, and he doesn't mean a thing to me now. I'll tell you one thing, though I' m through dating serial killers.
Mike barked out a laugh. Then he sobered and looked at Amanda uneasily. She sensed that he wanted to say something, but Greene looked uncharacteristically nervous.
Have you heard anything more about Bobby Vasquez? Amanda asked when the silence went on too long.
He'll be out of the hospital by next week, Greene said. He seemed grateful for the easy question. He's made a great recovery.
Thank God for that. She paused. Have you ... ?
Mike shook his head. There's nothing new on Fiori. He's dropped off the face of the earth.
Amanda sighed. She nodded toward the police officer sitting a few benches away.
It sure would be nice to know that I didn't need protection anymore.
Well, you're going to get it until we know you're safe. I don't want anything happening to you at least outside court.
Amanda smiled. I think I can take pretty good care of myself there.
That you can, Mike agreed. Then he hesitated. You know, I could take over as your bodyguard this Saturday if you're interested.
Amanda looked confused. Mike smiled nervously.
Do you like jazz?
What?
There's a really good trio playing at a club in Old Town next week.
Amanda couldn't hide her surprise.
Are you asking me out, like on a date?
I've wanted to ask you out for a long time. Mike blushed. No guts. But I figured if you could be brave enough to go up against Fiori, I could muster the courage to ask you out.
I love jazz.
Mike's face lit up. Okay.
Give me a call and let me know when we're going.
I will. This is great.
Amanda laughed. Does this mean you'll go easier on me the next time we have a case together?
Not a chance, Mike answered, grinning unabashedly. Not a chance.
Epilogue
The three men who were playing cards looked up when Martin Breach walked through the door to the warehouse.
Hey, Marty, Art Prochaska said.
Breach waved, then glanced down at the man who lay on the bloodstained mattress. It was almost impossible to tell that he was human. After a moment Fiori looked up listlessly with his one good eye. Breach lost interest and walked to the card players.
You think we got everything out of him? Breach asked Prochaska.
Our guy in the islands cleaned out the account. I don't think he's got another one. If he ain't talked by now, nothing else we do is gonna make him. It's been a month.
Breach nodded. Get rid of him, he told Prochaska.
Prochaska breathed a sigh of relief. His enjoyment in torturing Fiori had waned considerably after the first few days, although Marty's enthusiasm had lasted much, much longer.
Oh, and Arty, Breach said, pulling a can of beer from a cooler, let's leave a little something so the cops know he's dead. I don't want them to keep wasting their time on a big manhunt. Those are my tax dollars they're spending.
How about we send them a hand? Prochaska asked with a smile. Breach considered the suggestion for a moment, then shook his head.
That would be poetic, but I want the cops to know he's really dead. And Frank's daughter, I want her to know, too. She's a good kid, and Frank's always done right by me. I don't want them worrying.
Breach popped the tab on his beer and took a long, satisfying drink.
So what's it gonna be, Marty?
Breach thought for a moment. Then he looked down at Fiori and smiled.
The head, Arty. Send them the head.
An Interview with Phillip Margolin
When I was in the seventh grade, as a result of an overdose of Perry Mason novels, I decided that I wanted to be a criminal defense lawyer when I grew up and that is what I have been for the majority of my legal career. After I graduated from New York University School of Law in 1970, I moved to Oregon where I clerked for the Chief Judge of the Oregon Court of Appeals. I was with the Multnomah County District Attorney's Office before opening my own private practice with a specialty in criminal defense at the trial and appellate level. As a trial attorney, in state and federal court, I handled every type of criminal case from traffic tickets to murder cases. I was the attorney of record in thirty homicide cases, including twelve death penalty cases. At the appellate level, I was the attorney of record in approximately eighty appeals. I have appeared before the United States Supreme Court, the Oregon Supreme Court, the Oregon Court of Appeals and the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit. I was the first attorney in Oregon to use battered woman's syndrome as a defense in a homicide case involving a battered woman who had killed her abusive husband.
I am still a member of the Oregon State Bar and the Federal Bar, but I have not practiced law since 1996. I didn't stop practicing because I disliked being a lawyer. I had a very exciting legal career. The reason I stopped was because it became impossible to practice law and write the type of books I was writing at the same time. When my first two novels, Heartstone and The Last Innocent Man, were published in 1978 and 1981, respectively, they were not bestsellers and I did not do any promotion for them. When Gone, But Not Forgotten, my third novel, was published in 1993, my publisher wanted me to go on a book tour. By 1993 I had a very busy criminal defense practice. Many of my cases were death penalty murder cases or federal drug conspiracy cases which require a lawyer to be in court for a few weeks to a few months and also require a lawyer to do a tremendous amount of preparation. The judges and district attorneys in Oregon were very kind to me when I asked for setovers in cases so that I could go on my first book tour.
However, I realized that the tours were going to get longer and that it was impossible to do the type of job I would have to do to provide my clients with competent legal representation and be out of state for a month or so at a time. I had been a practicing attorney for twenty-five years and I had done almost everything that a criminal
