Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “She plays sports. Things happen.”

  Jonathan nodded and tried to casually move behind his desk. “Yeah? Well, you could’ve fooled me. But you didn’t fool her. I told her to get out of the relationship so she wouldn’t end up dead. I could care less if you’re upset about that. You don’t deserve a woman like that.”

  Jeremy’s face turned red and he was marching toward Jonathan’s desk when two security officers bolted into his office. “Everything all right here, Mr. Harper?” Both men were eyeing Jeremy as they approached.

  Jonathan could feel the perspiration soak through his shirt. “I think this young man could probably be shown the way out. Thanks for stopping by,” he said with a forced smile on his face.

  The security officers took Jeremy by either arm, but he shook them off as he headed to the door himself. Before leaving, he turned around, pointed his finger directly at Jonathan, and said, “You think she looks bad? Wait till I finish with you. You’ll be dead.”

  “Let’s go,” the larger security guard said and pushed him out the door. They escorted him to the elevator as Jonathan breathed for what seemed like the first time since he came into his office. Edie rushed in.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Harper?” she asked, glancing back at the elevator to see if he was still there. The doors were just closing.

  “Yeah. Fine. Thanks for calling security.” Jonathan avoided her eyes.

  “Wow,” Edie said as she smacked her gum. “I’ve never seen someone so mad in my life.”

  “Yeah, well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lot of work to do.” Edie hesitated a moment until Jonathan finally looked up at her. Then she left, shutting the door behind her.

  Jonathan leaned against his window with both hands and wondered if it might be better for him to just jump and end it all now. It would probably only hurt for a second, but the mess his life was right now was painful every minute he was awake. He was still reeling from Nellie’s obvious mistrust of his judgment, and now he was dealing with death threats from a violent ex-fiancé of a woman he now wished he’d never talked to. And then there was the spook writing down the facts of his life as if he were his shadow.

  Jonathan’s body ached for a drink, but he couldn’t afford any more time away from the office. He had a lot more reading to do on both Zippy’s and Clyde’s manuscripts.

  He scooted Clyde’s across the desk, and as he did so, his mind wandered to the very real possibility that Clyde was behind the majority of his distress. After all, he was around a lot, enough to know at least some of the detail in the manuscript. He certainly had motive, as he’d shown disapproval more than once for the life-style Jonathan had found himself in. It didn’t explain all of it, but it was the best explanation he had. Maybe if he broke into Clyde’s house when he wasn’t there, he could find evidence that Clyde was the writer. Jonathan’s fingers drummed against his desk as he wondered if he could get away from the house tonight, see if Clyde was home, and maybe do it then.

  Yes, he was certain Clyde was the writer. His only objective now was to find out why and to stop him before Kathy found out too much. But before he did that, he needed to read more of this manuscript. He had to make sure all the hype he was showing to Nellie rang true in reality. He returned to the point in the book where the DA and the Keaton fellow had apparently been tricked somehow by the serial killer.

  “What is it that you want?” Esther’s teeth were clinched so tightly I thought they all might crumble.

  Donomar rose, and my heart pounded heavily in my chest. He smiled at me, a smile that stung my soul. Then he looked at Esther. “Nothing. I’m done with you. In a practical sense, anyway.”

  “Oh, come on, Donomar. Don’t you want to tell me what you’re up to?” Esther pretended to smile. “Surely you can’t just sit there in your cell and not gloat?”

  Donomar shrugged, scraping the side of a red crayon with his thumbnail. I watched small pieces fall to the ground. “Well, I have to say both of you played into my hands perfectly. Keaton, you were the easiest.” I swallowed hard, my nostrils flaring uncontrollably. He laughed. “You thought you had me figured out, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said in my lowest, most confident voice.

  Donomar laughed again, stared me square in the face, and then dropped the crayon. As I watched it fall, my attention was grabbed by his thumbs. They were twiddling. I slowly looked up at him, the smile across his face so sickening I thought I might puke.

  “Wasn’t this your big clue?” His twiddling thumbs stopped. “I wasn’t twiddling my thumbs? A signature move that gave me away. Gave my humanity away.” His laugh made my hair stand on end.

  “Yeah, so, he’s stupid. So what? So we let someone go that needs to be in prison. Worse things have happened. Your sick games are over, Donomar. And I hope you rot in this jail as slow as anyone ever has.”

  Esther turned to leave, but Donomar approached the glass. “Oh, Esther, I would hate for us to say good-bye just yet. And no, I’m not finished.”

  She turned around, her dark eyes cast at me and then him. “Oh yeah? What’s the big finale, Donomar? You pull a rabbit out of your sleeve and then boil it alive for kicks?”

  Donomar looked down, waiting patiently for her to finish. And then, without ever looking up, he said, “I told you there was an innocent man on death row. There are two prisoners scheduled to die. He’s still there. I never told you that the man you released was the man that was innocent. I simply told you a story that you bought, and then you assumed this man was the innocent one, and you released him. But you were wrong.”

  Esther laughed hard. “Come on, Donomar! You still think we’re going to fall for your nonsense? You think I’m going to believe there’s actually an innocent man on death row? I’ve been burned once. I learn fast.”

  Donomar’s eyes glowed with excitement. “Maybe. And whether or not you believe me is irrelevant. At some point, you’re going to have to decide which one will die and which one will live. It will be your decision and your decision alone.”

  Esther’s smile faded. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Esther, I’m sad you’re not following me as closely as I had hoped. But for your benefit and advantage, I will explain it to you.” Donomar glanced at both of us. “You see what I’ve done? I picked you, Esther, because I knew that your decision would be based on emotion. You wanted the FBI to be wrong. You wanted a little justice, a little redemption in your life, didn’t you? Even though Jerome Mitchner never once said he was innocent in his confession to the police, you still let him go.” Esther stood so still I couldn’t even see her breathing. “But it happened exactly as I knew it would, and now I will sit back and watch you in action. Watch you play the part I designed just for you.”

  Esther shook her head, trying to find words underneath all the anger I knew she was feeling. “I’m leaving in ten seconds. If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

  Donomar lifted his chin, looking down his nose at her. “The truth is that there is an innocent man on death row who has been charged with a murder I committed.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t have to. The press is getting wind of this right now, and they’re going to play you like a fiddle. Can’t you see the headlines now? Caladaras Releases Wrong Prisoner. Refuses to Look into Who Is Innocent.”

  “What makes you think the media will believe you?”

  He shrugged. “I tipped them off anonymously. They’re a sucker for things like this, as you well know. But with the untimely and unfortunate deaths of three innocent men in Texas and Oklahoma, do you think they’re going to let this go by without a hitch? It will be a national story, and you will be the center of it. Will you let your stubbornness and pride supercede your compassion for a man who may die unjustly? A man you prosecuted? Sure, you made a mistake once, and what a mistake it was. Will you make a second? Or will you swallow your pride and make a motion for the right man to be released?”

  I couldn’t hold in my curiousity any longer. “So what if the media backs you? Esther’s never cared what anyone thought of her. But I know her well enough to know she wouldn’t let an innocent man die. How can you prove he’s there?”

  Donomar laughed at me and said, “Well, I won’t make it that easy.” He looked at Esther. “No. You will have to make the decision yourself. But when the decision is made, I will be able to prove to you who was innocent and who was guilty.” He turned and extended his arm out to his cell. “The clue that you need is in here. In this very cell. But you won’t find it. Not until you’ve made your decision.”

  Esther turned and walked down the corridor. Donomar looked at me and said, “The men are scheduled to be executed three days from now, twenty-four hours apart. But Esther already knows that, don’t you, dear?”

  Our bitter argument came to an abrupt halt as a heavy knock came at Esther’s office door. She looked at me.

  “We’re using a forensic pyschologist, and that’s final.”

  “That’s ridiculous! A profiler can do just as good of a job.”

  “Not in my opinion,” Esther said sternly, and then said, “Come in.”

  A tall, thin, well-groomed, and good-looking man entered, tucking his tie into his suit coat and smoothing out his shortly trimmed beard. “Sorry I’m late, Esther.”

  I stood as the man extended his hand toward me. “Dr. Alex Burrelson.”

  “Special Agent Spade,” I said boldly, since he was keen on using titles.

  “Ah,” he said, as if my poor reputation preceded me.

  “Please, Alex, sit down,” Esther said, and we both took seats next to each other and across from Esther. Dr. Burrelson took a folder out of his shiny leather briefcase.

  “Well, I’ve reviewed everything,” he said with a predictable, intellectual sigh, as if only he could make any sense out of all that had happened. “I’ve also familiarized myself with some of the other studies done on Mr. Donomar.”

  “Don’t call him Mister,” Esther hissed. “He doesn’t deserve the respect.”

  Dr. Burrelson eyed her for a moment and then continued. “At any rate, I’ve also put together a chart that compares Donomar’s history of stories and lies, and cross-examined the evidence of—”

  “Let’s just cut through this egotistical nonsense, shall we?” Esther said, slamming her forearms down onto her desk. Her fingers were spread wide like the paws of a very mad cat. “Is the pond scum lying or not?”

  Dr. Burrelson held himself together enough to offer a pause and a smile. He then answered. “It’s only an opinion, as you know, but I believe he is telling the truth.”

  Esther lowered her head and closed her eyes. Dr. Burrelson continued. “I’ve looked back at serial killers of this sort, Esther, and they enjoy playing mind games. But the trick to all of them is that their mind games are centered around some truth. That gives them the upper hand and it also feeds their intellect.” He paused and said, “It wouldn’t be any fun for them if there wasn’t something real for you to chase. The fight wouldn’t be fair, so to speak.”

  Esther’s eyes rolled back into her head, and with her eyes closed she snatched the lighter and cigarette off her desk. “They murder people and are concerned about fairness.” Her tone was sharp and cutting. “This is just your opinion, of course.”

  “That’s what they pay him the big bucks for,” I chided. The flame on Esther’s lighter shot up two inches.

  Before Esther could get the cigarette out of her mouth, her assistant Jack entered without knocking. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got the information you wanted.”

  Esther’s silence commanded him to continue. “The two prisoners Donomar is referring to are Lincoln Smith and Joseph James. Smith’s in for killing his girlfriend, and James is in for killing a customer.”

  “A customer?” I asked.

  “Yes. He apparently owned a furniture store or something. They found one of his customers, a young college girl, dead inside the store after it had been locked up.”

  Esther stood, the cigarette between her fingers noticeably trembling. “I suppose they’re both proclaiming innocence?”

  Jack’s eyes fell as he nodded.

  “Alright.” Esther stood tall as if she were rallying the troops. “And the media? What’s the damage assessment there?” I could not help but notice the tinge of sarcasm in her voice.

  Jack’s eyes were still lowered. “It’s . . . it’s about what we thought. They are playing this up really big. Dateline, 60 Minutes, and 20/20 are all doing stories on it . . . interviews from the prison, courtroom analysis, stories about the families, documents—”

  “I get it, Jack.” The room stood still. “Thank you. I’ll need the entire case file for each of those prisoners.” Then she suddenly looked at me. “What about you, Keaton? Haven’t you been fired yet or anything?”

  “No one’s said a word—” My beeper went off, making everyone in the room jump a little. I moved my love handle to the side so I could see the number. It was my supervisor’s cell phone. “Yet.”

  Suddenly an assistant popped her head in and said, “This is bad. They’re doing a ‘breaking news’ piece during a soap opera. Everyone knows not to do that unless it’s some big story.” Esther’s glare moved her back out of the office quickly.

  Her long fingernails scratched the skin on her forehead where her hairline started. She looked at Dr. Burrelson. “So this supposed ‘clue’ Donomar has in his cell . . . that’s the truth, too?”

  “Most definitely,” Dr. Burrelson said, crossing his long legs as he lifted his note pad off his lap. “As you know, when he was finally captured, he bragged about owning something from every single one of his victims. At the time, they didn’t even know how many people he had killed, so it was hard to assess what he had of his victims. Some things were recovered by victims’ families, but there were also things that went unclaimed.” Dr. Burrelson closed his note pad. “Whatever it is, it will be his trophy when you choose the wrong person. If, I mean.”

  Esther lit another cigarette in her hand while the first one was still burning between her lips. “Alright. Then we just hit this head on. We’re smart people. We can figure this out.” She looked at me as she dropped the cigarette out of her mouth. “I want agents in his cell today. I want it torn apart. I want that evidence.”

  “You won’t find it,” Dr. Burrelson said in domineering confidence. Esther shot him an intolerant look. “He’s smart, Esther. He’s smarter than you.”

  “The sooner the better,” she added as she stared at Dr. Burrelson.

  We all stood and gathered our things. The assistant popped her head in again. “Dateline wants to know if they can do an interview with you—”

  Jack was on top of it before Esther had a chance to scream. “Kerri, Esther doesn’t do interviews, and secondly, I think we better work on your timing. . . .” His voice trailed off as they left the room.

  “Alex, I’d like you to help me review these cases. I’d like your opinion on the innocence and guilt of these men.” She then looked at me again. “Good luck with that page, Keaton. I’m assuming that wasn’t a friendly one.”

  I swallowed and grabbed my jacket. No, it was not.

  A light knock preceded the door opening, and before Jonathan could say, “I don’t want to be disturbed,” Sydney had slipped in and shut the door behind her. She was holding some manuscripts.

  “Sydney, please, just—”

  “I know what happened,” she said, her back still against the door. “I’m sorry Jeremy did that. Now you see what I was dealing with.”

  Jonathan couldn’t help but feel anger toward her, even though he was well aware that he had put himself in the present situation. He sighed heavily and leaned his body onto his desk. “Sydney, look, I can handle Jeremy, okay? But the time has come for me to be frank with you and just tell you that I am not interested in a relationship with you. At all. We need to sever whatever was there, if there was anything at all.”

  Tears swelled in her eyes and she wiped them away with frustration. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  Jonathan stood where he was and said, “I’m not doing anything. I’m sorry if I led you to believe we had a future. But the most that’s happened was that I found you attractive, I cared that you were in an abusive relationship, and I gave you advice to get out.” Jonathan sat on the edge of his desk and continued. “And that’s more than should’ve happened. I know better than that. I was just in a weak spot in my life. My wife and I are struggling and my job is rocky. You were a breath of fresh air meant for someone else. Not me.”

  Tears streamed down her face and for a long time she didn’t say anything. Finally, though, she looked up at him, nodded a little, and said, “I understand. You’re right.” She opened the door a little and said, “But Jonathan, I want you to know that Jeremy . . . that he . . . just be careful, that’s all.”

  She opened the door wider and was just about to leave when she turned around and said, “Oh. I almost forgot. I was in the mail room and this was on a shelf waiting to be delivered. I just thought I might as well bring it up.” She laughed a little. “One final excuse to see you.”

  Jonathan smiled and reached out for the manila envelope. As Sydney was shutting the door behind her, Jonathan looked at the front of it. It only said Jonathan Harper in small, typed print on the front. Jonathan ripped the envelope open, pulled out a single page, and at a glance knew this was from his writer. Without even bothering to read it, he flung his door open and chased after Sydney, with Edie’s disapproving look following him.