judiciary. The festive hum of voices subsided into silence when the door from the chambers opened and a stately procession of black-robed judges marched in to welcome a new colleague to their midst.
Kerry quietly walked from the side of the chamber and took her place to the right of the bench as the judges went to the chairs reserved for them in front of the guests.
She looked out at the assembly. Her mother and Sam had flown in for the ceremony. They were sitting with Robin, who was ramrod straight on the edge of her seat, her eyes wide with excitement. There was barely a trace of the lacerations that had brought them to that fateful meeting with Dr. Smith.
Geoff was in the next row with his mother and father. Kerry thought of how he had rushed down in the FBI helicopter to come to her in the hospital, how he had been the one to comfort a hysterical Robin and then bring her home to his family when the doctor insisted Kerry stay overnight. Now she blinked back tears at what she saw in his face as he smiled at her.
Margaret, old friend, best friend, was there, fulfilling her vow to be part of this day. Kerry thought of Jonathan and Grace. They had planned to be present too.
Grace had sent a note.
I am going home to South Carolina and will live with my sister. I blame myself for everything that happened. I knew Jonathan was involved with that woman. I also knew it wouldn’t last. If only I had ignored that picture in which she was wearing my pin, none of this would have happened. I didn’t care about the jewelry. That was my way of warning Jonathan to give her up. I didn’t want his career ruined by scandal. Please forgive me and forgive Jonathan if you can.
Can I? Kerry wondered. Grace saved my life, but Jonathan would have killed Robin and me to save himself. Grace knew Jonathan had been involved with Suzanne and might even have been her murderer, yet she let Skip Reardon rot in prison all those years.
Skip, his mother and Beth were somewhere in the crowd. Skip and Beth were getting married next week; Geoff would be best man.
It was customary for a few close friends or associates to make brief remarks before the swearing-in. Frank Green went first. “Searching my memory, I cannot imagine any person-man or woman-who is more suited to assume this high position than Kerry McGrath. Her sense of justice led her to request me to reopen a murder case. Together we faced the appalling fact that a vengeful father had condemned his daughter’s husband to prison, while the real killer was enjoying freedom. We…”
That’s my boy, Kerry thought. Lemonade from lemons. But in the end, Frank had stood by her. He had personally met with the governor and urged that her name be placed before the senate for confirmation.
Frank had been the one to clear up the Jimmy Weeks connection to Suzanne Reardon. One of his sources, a small-time hood who had been a gofer for Jimmy, supplied the answer. Suzanne indeed had been involved with Jimmy, and he had given her jewelry. He had also sent the roses to her that night and was supposed to meet her for dinner. When she didn’t show up, he had become furious and in drunken anger had even said he would kill her. Since Weeks was not generally given to idle threats, a couple of his people thought he really had been the murderer. He was always afraid that if his connection to her came out, her death would be pinned on him.
Now the assignment judge, Robert McDonough, was speaking, talking about how when Kerry came into the courtroom for the first time eleven years ago as a brand-new assistant prosecutor, she had looked so young that he thought she was a college kid on a summer job.
I was a brand-new bride too, Kerry thought wryly. Bob was an assistant prosecutor then. I only hope he has the brains to stay away from Jimmy Weeks and his ilk from now on, she mused. Weeks had been convicted on all counts. Now he was facing another trial for tampering with a juror. He had tried to blame that on Bob but hadn’t been able to make it stick. But Bob had narrowly missed being indicted himself. And Weeks wouldn’t get anywhere if he complained about the juror whose father had been incarcerated. He knew that during the trial and could have asked then that she be replaced by an alternate. Maybe all this would scare Bob before it was too late. She hoped so.
Judge McDonough was smiling at her. “Well, Kerry, I think it’s time,” he said.
Robin came forward, carrying the heavy Bible. Margaret rose and walked behind her, the black robe over her arm, waiting to present it to Kerry after the oath. Kerry raised her right hand, placed her left hand on the Bible and began to repeat after Judge McDonough: “I, Kerry McGrath, do solemnly swear…”
Mary Higgins Clark is the bestselling author of fourteen novels and two collections of short stories. Beginning with the phenomenally successful Where Are the Children?, her books have sold more than thirty million copies in the United States alone. Born and raised in New York City, she has serviced as president of Mystery Writers of America. She makes her home in Saddle River, New Jersey, and in Dennis, Massachusetts.
Excerpt from “Epitaph” by Edna St. Vincent Millay: From Collected Poems, HarperCollins. Copyright 1934, 1962 by Edna St. Vincent Millay and Norma Millay Ellis. Reprinted by permission of Elizabeth Barnett, literary executor.
Acknowledgments
No man is an island and no writer, at least not this one, writes alone. Special glowing thanks to my editors, Michael V. Korda and Chuck Adams, who are always the sine qua non of my books from conception to publication. Particularly and especially with this one and at this time, they’ve been wonderful.
A thousand thanks always to Eugene H. Winick, my literary agent, and Lisl Cade, my publicist. Their help is immeasurable.
A writer needs expert counsel. This book concerns plastic surgery. My thanks to Dr. Bennett C. Rothenberg of Saint Barnabas Hospital, Livingston, New Jersey, for his expert medical advice. Kudos to Kim White of the New Jersey Department of Corrections for her assistance. And once again, Ina Winick has vetted for me the psychological aspects of the story line. Thank you, Ina.
My offspring, all five of them, read the work in progress. From them I get much sound advice-legal: “Make sure you sequester the jury…”; or dialogue: “No one our age would say that. Put it this way…”-and always cheery encouragement. Thanks, kids.
Finally, my ten-year-old granddaughter, Liz, who in many ways was the role model for Robin. I would ask her, “Liz, what would you say if this were happening…?” Her suggestions were “awesome.”
I love you, one and all.
