changeable white letters, the kind that tell you in what room the Ratzenberg’s bar mitzvah or Smith-Jones wedding is being held. This one read: “Burton-Crimstein Press Conference.” Advertising the firm. She followed the arrow to a door, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.
The whole thing was like one of those courthouse movie scenes-that pinnacle cinematic moment when the surprise witness bursts through the double doors. When Grace walked in, there was that sort of collective gasp. The room hushed. Grace felt lost. She glanced around and what she saw made her head spin. She took a step back. The faces of grief, older but no more at peace, swirled about her. There they were again-the Garrisons, the Reeds, the Weiders. She flashed back to the early days at the hospital. She had seen everything through the haze of Halcion, as if through a shower curtain. It felt the same today. They approached in silence. They hugged her. None of them said a word. They didn’t have to. Grace accepted the embraces. She could still feel the sadness emanating from them.
She saw the widow of Lieutenant Gordon MacKenzie. Some said that he had been responsible for pulling Grace to safety. Like most true heroes, Gordon MacKenzie rarely talked about it. He claimed not to remember what he did exactly, that yes, he opened doors and pulled people out, but that it was more out of reaction than anything approaching bravery.
Grace gave Mrs. MacKenzie an extra long hug.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Grace said.
“He found God.” Mrs. MacKenzie held on. “He’s with Him now.”
There was really nothing to say to that, so Grace just nodded. She let her go and looked over the woman’s shoulder. Sandra Koval had entered the room from the other side. She spotted Grace at almost the same moment and a strange thing happened. Her sister-in-law smiled, almost as if she’d expected this. Grace stepped away from Mrs. MacKenzie. Sandra tilted her head, signaling her to step forward. There was a velvet rope. A security guard stepped in her way.
“It’s okay, Frank,” Sandra said. He let Grace pass.
Sandra led the way. She hurried down a corridor. Grace limped behind, unable to catch up. No matter. Sandra stopped and opened a door. They stepped into a huge ballroom. Waiters busily laid out the silverware. Sandra led her to a corner. She grabbed two chairs and turned them so that they faced each other.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” Grace said.
Sandra shrugged. “I figured you were following the case in the news.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Doesn’t matter, I guess. Until two days ago you didn’t know who I was.”
“What’s going on, Sandra?”
She did not answer right away. The tinkling of the silverware provided background music. Sandra let her gaze wander toward the waiters in the center room.
“Why are you representing Wade Larue?”
“He was charged with a crime. I’m a criminal defense lawyer. It’s what I do.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“You want to know how I stumbled upon this particular client, is that it?”
Grace said nothing.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me.”
“You, Grace.” She smiled. “You’re the reason I represent Mr. Larue.”
Grace opened her mouth, closed it, started again. “What are you talking about?”
“You never really knew about me. You just knew that Jack had a sister. But I knew all about you.”
“I’m still not following.”
“It’s simple, Grace. You married my brother.”
“So?”
“When I learned you were going to be my sister-in-law, I was curious. I wanted to learn about you. Makes sense, right? So I had one of my investigators do a background check. Your paintings are wonderful, by the way. I bought two. Anonymously. They’re in my home out in Los Angeles. Spectacular stuff, really. My older daughter, Karen-she’s seventeen-loves them. She wants to be an artist.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with Wade Larue.”
“Really?” Her voice was strangely cheerful. “I’ve worked criminal defense since I graduated law school. I started by working with Burton and Crimstein in Boston. I lived there, Grace. I knew all about the Boston Massacre. And now my brother had fallen in love with one of the Massacre’s major players. It piqued my curiosity even more. I started reading up on the case-and guess what I realized?”
“What?”
“That Wade Larue had been railroaded by an incompetent lawyer.”
“Wade Larue was responsible for the death of eighteen people.”
“He fired a gun, Grace. He didn’t even hit anyone. The lights went out. People were screaming. He was under the influence of drugs and alcohol. He panicked. He believed-or at least, honestly imagined-that he was in imminent danger. There was no way, no way at all, that he could have known what the outcome would be. His first lawyer should have cut a deal. Probation, eighteen months away tops. But no one really wanted to work this case. Larue was sent to jail to rot. So yes, Grace, I read about him because of you. Wade Larue had been shafted. His old attorney screwed him and ran.”
“So you took the case?”
Sandra Koval nodded. “Pro bono. I came to him two years ago. We started preparing for the parole hearing.”
Something clicked. “Jack knew, didn’t he?”
“That I don’t know. We don’t talk, Grace.”
“Are you still going to tell me you didn’t talk to him that night? Nine minutes, Sandra. The phone company says the call lasted nine minutes.”
“Jack’s call had nothing to do with Wade Larue.”
“What did it have to do with?”
“That photograph.”
“What about it?”
Sandra leaned forward. “First you answer a question for me. And I need the truth here. Where did you get that picture?”
“I told you. It was in my packet of film.”
Sandra shook her head, not believing her. “And you think the guy from Photomat stuck it in there?”
“I don’t know anymore. But you still haven’t explained-what about the picture made him call you?”
Sandra hesitated.
“I know about Geri Duncan,” Grace said.
“You know what about Geri Duncan?”
“That she’s the girl in the picture. And that she was murdered.”
That made Sandra sit up. “She died in a fire. It was an accident.”
Grace shook her head. “It was set intentionally.”
“Who told you that?”
“Her brother.”
“Wait, how do you know her brother?”
“She was pregnant, you know. Geri Duncan. When she died in that fire, she was carrying a baby.”
Sandra stopped and looked up in horror. “Grace, what are you doing?”
“I’m trying to find my husband.”
“And you think this is helping?”
“You told me yesterday you didn’t know anyone in the picture. But you just admitted you knew Geri Duncan, that she died in a fire.”
Sandra closed her eyes.
“Did you know Shane Alworth or Sheila Lambert?”
Her voice was soft. “Not really, no.”
“Not really. So their names are not totally unfamiliar to you?”
“Shane Alworth was a classmate of Jack’s. Sheila Lambert, I think, was a friend from a sister college or something. So what?”
“Did you know that the four of them played together in a band?”
“For a month maybe. Again so what?”
“The fifth person in the picture. The one with her head turned. Do you know who she is?”
“No.”
“Is it you, Sandra?”
She looked up at Grace. “Me?”
“Yes. Is it you?”
There was a funny look on Sandra’s face now. “No, Grace, it’s not me.”
“Did Jack kill Geri Duncan?”
The words just came out. Sandra’s eyes opened as if she’d been slapped. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I want the truth.”
