enough, and Aiden trusted his judgment.
'This is harassment,' said Louisa Cormier when she opened the door.
Aiden noticed that Louisa was holding her hands together to try to keep them from shaking. Louisa's eyes fell on the man in a blue suit with the two CSI investigators.
'I'm not inviting you in,' she said. 'And I'm calling my attorney. I'll get an injunction against you and the entire- '
'We don't want to come in,' said Mac.
Louisa Cormier looked puzzled.
'You don't? Well I'm not, under advisement from my attorney, answering any of your questions.'
'You don't have to,' said Mac. 'But you do have to come with us. You're under arrest.'
'I…' Louisa began.
'And if you would, we'd like you to bring your Walther with you. This detective will go with you to get it. We do have the papers for that.'
Mac reached into his jacket pocket and removed a tri-folded sheet of paper.
'You can't,' Louisa Cormier said. 'I showed you that gun. You know it hasn't been fired.'
'We think it has,' said Aiden.
Louisa Cormier began to collapse. Aiden stepped forward to catch her and caught a whiff of the author's perfume, a gardenia scent exactly like the one Aiden's mother used.
Stevie worked his way slowly up the dark stairwell, dragging his reluctant leg behind him. When he hit the main-floor landing, the bakery smells came through the doors to his left.
Stevie liked the bakery, the smell of fresh bread, driving the truck, talking to the customers on his route. He knew it would all be gone in a few minutes, that he would, one way or another, be gone. It was unfair, but his mistake had been in forgetting that life was unfair and putting his trust and loyalty in the pocket of Dario Marco.
Before he reached the last two steps and stepped into the corridor, he stood in the shadows and looked both ways. No one stirred.
Dario Marco's office was only three doors down on the right. Stevie did his best to hurry and to be quiet. He had to settle for being quiet.
If Helen Grandfield was there when he opened the door, he would probably kill her. He could do it quickly, not give her time to react. She had been part of the set-up. Daughter of Dario Marco, niece of Anthony Marco, she had been part of what he knew now was a plan to make Stevie, Stupid Stevie, Loyal Stevie, the fall guy.
He paused at the door to the office and listened. He heard nothing. He opened the door ready to pounce on a startled or off-guard Helen Grandfield. But there was no one in the outer office.
Stevie wondered if Dario was out, possibly for the day. It wouldn't be like him to miss a day, but the last few days had been like no others.
Stevie went to the inner door, listened again, heard nothing and slowly opened it. The lights were dim and the blinds closed, but Stevie could see Dario Marco behind his desk.
Dario looked up. Stevie was not prepared for what he saw, a calm Dario Marco who said, 'Stevie, we've been waiting for you.'
Out of the corner stepped Jacob the Jockey and Helen Grandfield. The Jockey had a gun in his hand, and it was aimed at Stevie.
The table in front of Joelle Fineberg's desk was crowded. She had the lowest seniority, actually none at all, so Joelle had the smallest office.
She had opted for a very small desk, a small bookcase, and room enough for the table around which six people could fit with reasonable comfort. She used the table as a work space, clearing it off for meetings like this one by simply gathering papers and books, placing them in a black plastic container, and slipping the container behind her desk and out of sight.
'You don't even have enough for a grand jury,' said Noah Pease, his hand on the shoulder of Louisa Cormier, who sat next to him and looked straight ahead.
'I think we do,' said Fineberg, who sat across from them with Mac on one side of her and Aiden on the other.
A neat pile of papers and photographs sat on the table like a deck of oversized cards waiting to be cut for a hard game of poker, which was close to what they were playing.
Fineberg looked at Mac and said, 'Detective, would you go over the evidence once more?'
Mac looked down at the yellow pad in front of him and went step-by-step over the evidence. Then she looked up at Aiden, who nodded her agreement.
Pease's face remained blank. So did Louisa Cormier's.
'Would it surprise you to know that Detectives Taylor and Burn found your client's fingerprints on seven different items in Charles Lutnikov's apartment?' said Fineberg.
'Yes,' said Pease. 'It would.'
Fineberg went through the pile of papers in the stack and came up with seven photographs. She held them out to Pease.
'Perfect match,' said the assistant DA. 'A cup, a countertop, the desk, and four on bookshelves.'
The fingerprints were a perfect match to Louisa Cormier's.
Louisa Cormier reached for the photographs.
'Circumstantial,' said Pease with a sigh.
'Your client lied to us about ever being in Lutnikov's apartment,' Fineberg said.
'I've been there once,' said Louisa. 'Now I remember. He asked me to pick up… something.'
'You have a reason why we're here?' asked Pease.
'Negotiation,' said Fineberg.
'No,' said Pease, shaking his head.
'Then we go before the grand jury asking for Murder Two,' said Fineberg.
She turned to Mac and said, 'Detectives Taylor and Burn will testify. He's convinced by the evidence the CSI unit has gathered and so am I. A jury will be too.'
'Ms. Cormier is a highly respected literary figure with no motive,' said Pease. 'Your case stands on the argument that she did not write her own books. She did.'
'Detective Taylor?' said Fineberg.
'Convince me. Convince my expert,' said Mac.
'How?' asked Pease.
'Have her write something,' said Fineberg.
'Ridiculous,' said Pease.
'She has four days before we go in front of the grand jury,' said Fineberg. 'Five pages. That shouldn't be impossible, especially when a murder charge is involved.'
'I couldn't write under this pressure,' said Louisa Cormier, handing the photographs of the fingerprints back to her lawyer, who placed them neatly on the table and slid them across to Fineberg.
'You're counting on a jury having sympathy for a famous and much-loved celebrity,' said Fineberg. 'How quickly we forget Martha Stewart. You could, of course, counter with O.J. Simpson, but…'
Pease was looking at Fineberg now with an irritation that might well have already turned to open hostility in a less-experienced lawyer.
'We get to that grand jury,' said Fineberg, 'and our case comes out, at least enough of it to get a True
