"A dating service. Now, you take a look at the women first.

You got a twenty-three-year-old receptionist, a Libra. She likes reefer, jazz clubs, and picking up guys in Washington Square Park on weekends. She likes regular intercourse and oral sex, she just doesn't like-'

"You're a pig, Chapman. You are an insensitive, disgusting pig. No wonder you have to work Homicide.

You shouldn't ever be allowed to work with a living, breathing human being who has been traumatized. I looked at my watch and stood up to go inside to dress for the next battle.

Mike barely missed a beat. He didn't need my approval he was content with his audience of one.

"Then you get a perp, Mercer. Not a real violent one. There's that thirty-five-year-old cook from that restaurant in SoHo who got collared last month. He's a Capricorn. Are they good together, Mercer, Libra and Capricorns? Anyway he likes reefer, too. Prefers Battery Park City to Washington Square Park, but she might be flexible. He's also into oral..."

I was out of earshot by then and into the bathroom to shower and wash my hair.

Mike would never understand the cases that Mercer and I liked to handle. He really did prefer working on murder investigations, as he had told me many times. You didn't have to hold the victims' hands, as it were, and deal with the emotional struggle of their recovery. You didn't have to help them manage the pain of reliving the devastating event the pain and torment were long over by the time Chapman got to a crime scene. And you didn't have to deal with victims who lie on occasion, even when we're trying to help them convict their assailants.

Mike was happiest when he could work on the intricate pieces of a puzzle silent clues, words offered by or cajoled out of occasional bystanders, pathological findings slowly and carefully unraveling the mystery of a brutal, untimely death.

Death. Which brought me back to Isabella Lascar and then to Jed. I finished toweling myself off and began the tedious process of blow-drying my hair as I re-examined the damage of a sleepless night in the bathroom mirror.

I dressed in a navy blazer, red-and-white wide-striped Charvet shirt and red skirt businesslike but not somber.

I refused to look as if I was in mourning for a lost love. Mike and Mercer were sitting at the dining-room table with cups of coffee they had made while I primped for the day. It was just after seven when I rejoined them. on "Can I get on the school bus by myself, or do you have to escort me?" as "I'm on this watch for another hour.

Mercer's got the day off. I'll drop you at your office then go home and crash. I he have to be back at the squad for the four to twelve."

We all walked out together. Mercer saw the two of us into Mike's car and continued on his way with a wave.

"Do something to make me look good for a change," I called after him.

"Catch that bastard in the serial rape case, will you?" He nodded his head and gave me a thumbs-up.

I spent most of the car ride fumbling for a way to thank Mike for looking out for me the night before.

"Cut it out, blondie. That's what friends are for. Besides, defenestration is the fuckin' worst. I couldn't bear the sight of your body splashed and splattered all over the sidewalk."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's what I was really afraid of last night. What if you threw yourself out of a window because of that asshole? I hate jumpers. Give me shootings, stabbings, bludgeonings, but no defenestration. I was gonna stay down there all night even if the boss didn't offer to pay me to do it just to make sure you didn't go out on a ledge." I "You thought I'd leap out a window over Jed Segal? I will leave you for the morning with the solemn promise that I have no intention of doing anything that would cause Pat McKinney to have such a nice day. You know, Mike, I met Jed less than four months ago. I fell hard and too fast, and never stopped to scrutinize the relationship very deeply. It just felt good and I liked it. But it isn't the end of my world.

Really, you got me through the first night and I am sincerely grateful for that. I'll be fine I've got a very busy day ahead of me." Maybe if I said it out loud I'd start to believe it.

CHAPTER.

I went into the building and up to my office, pleased that I had arrived early enough to enjoy the solitude of the place to prepare for my court appearance and my next 'save face' with Battaglia.

I had worked at my sentencing remarks for nearly an hour before the phone rang for the first time.

I froze at the sound of Jed's voice.

"Don't, Jed. There's nothing you can say-' "You've got to listen to me, please. I'm not a killer, Alex. I haven't committed any crime.

You've got to see me, you've got to let me talk with you before this goes any further."

"You ran out of "got to's" with me when you started sneaking around behind my back. Don't push me on this, Jed. It's Chapman you have to talk to, not me."

"I need your help with all this. I never meant to hurt you or do anything to destroy what we were building. I love you too much for that."

I placed the receiver back in its cradle without saying another word. I swiveled around in my chair and stared out the window at the roof of the building across the narrow street, which was at eye level with my view. The gallery of gargoyles that decorated the edge of the facade seemed sinister today as they gawked back at me, panther-like creatures with their tongues extended and their eyes rolled upward, mocking me in disbelief.

Most mornings I welcomed their company as I sat at my desk alone, before the office swarmed with colleagues. But today they had turned on me and sneered their disapproval, so I braced my foot against the radiator and kicked the chair back around into place at the desk.

I called Battaglia's assistant, Rose Malone, and told her it was critical that I see him as soon as he arrived. He had gone to Washington the night before, she explained, to testify at Senate subcommittee hearings on gun control and would not be back until tomorrow. Damn. It was the rare occasion that I didn't even want to tell Rose the information about Jed, and so I simply asked her to connect me to him as soon as he checked in.

Joan Stafford was my next call, and I was doubly appreciative as I dialed her number that my loyal friend was a novelist and therefore easy to reach at home most of the time.

"You're a grave, right?" I asked as she answered on the first ring. It was one of Joan's expressions, meaning that the questioner was confirming that the information about to be given was sworn to deepest secrecy. ey on ti as jer he 5t er "Of course. You got something good?"

"I wouldn't call it good. I'm in the middle of a dreadful mess. No one else but Nina knows this yet and I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but Mike Chapman thinks Jed had something to do with Isabella's death.

Mike thinks he may have killed her."

"Oh my God." Her tone changed rapidly from her goodhumored response to one of appropriate concern.

"Tell me-' "I can't tell you anything else right now. Can you meet me for dinner tonight?"

"Sure."

"Don't you have that fund-raiser for-' "Don't be ridiculous. They have my check, they don't need me. Tell me where and when."

"I've got to be in court this morning. Would you call Primola when it opens? Ask Giuliano for that table in the corner near the bar the one he kind of pulls the palm tree in front of for privacy. I'm going to try to take & ballet class right after work I'm really in knots. Meet you at the restaurant at eight."

Laura arrived moments later. I couldn't bring myself to explain the situation to her, so I sheepishly gave her a set of instructions before packing up my Redweld the rust-colored accordion file that held my case papers to go to court.

"I've got my beeper on if the D.A. calls in from Washington. And you can also beep me if anyone needs me on the murder investigation. Sarah can cover the new cases that come in. If Jed calls, tell him I'm not interested in any messages. I don't mean to put you in the middle of this, Laura, but my relationship with Jed is over and it's a bit awkward right now. You'd also better call the switchboard and tell them to disconnect my private line for the time being. I want all calls coming through you, okay?"

She was as discreet as always no questions, no comments, just an understanding nod.

I left my office and began the circuitous route to the other courthouse up the street originally built for civil cases, but usurped by the criminal justice system when we outgrew our old quarters more than a decade ago. Down and out through the turnstiles of the District Attorney's Office, around the corner and across Center Street; up the block and into the ugly modern building; through the security check again; and on to another line for an even slower series of elevators.

Not bad without a trail of witnesses and the shopping carts we push around for major case trials. This was just a scheduled sentence on the last case I had tried, so no witnesses or police officers were present.

I was lost in thought, somewhere in the events of my life in the last four months, smiling in acknowledgment and responding to greetings as I passed other assistants on their way to courtrooms for hearings and trials.

"Did this case keep you up all night?" I snapped out of my reverie at the sound of Ellen Goldman's voice when she approached me at the elevator bank.

"No, no not this. Sorry, I just didn't see you there. I'm a bit preoccupied." I tried to force a smile, but I had forgotten that she would be back today and the last thing I needed to deal with was a reporter.

"Forgive me for saying this, but you look so pale. Do you feel okay?"

"Oh yes, thanks. I'm, well, it's just personal. It hasn't been a very good week."