"What a wimp you are," I chided him.

"Couldn't even call me to tell me about the Quinn sisters making the hit on the photo of Jed, could you?"

"Frankly, I didn't want to tell you, you're right about that.

You didn't seem to want to accept the obvious from the first time we talked about it."

"Have you told his lawyer about the photo ID yet?"

"Nah. I just got in. I'll call him later. Meanwhile, the lieutenant tells me you've accepted our mission gonna throw some moves on Johnny Garelli tonight. Did you find him?"

"Piece of cake. It's all set."

"Where's the meet?"

"Rao's. Can you do it?"

"Way to go, blondie. We're both in for a good evening."

"You can get a table at Rao's? I can't believe it."

"No way. But I can get a seat at the bar. And once I'm in, the whole joint is so small I can scope it all pretty easy.

Joey's aces, the best. He'll let me sit there all night, and Vie will keep my glass looking full." The restaurant was owned by Joey Palomino a real charmer, who not only ran the business, but also acted in a number of movies and TV series, usually playing cops and detectives. He was good to the industry luminaries who frequented Rao's, but just as nice to the guys who let him hang out at precincts and squad rooms to learn the ropes. And Vie was one of those astounding bartenders who would see a customer like me walk in someone who wasn't likely to get there more than twice a year point a finger at me, raise an eyebrow, and say, "Dewar's on the rocks, am I right?"

"So what do I do, Mike? Johnny wants me to meet him there at eight." "I'll make sure I'm there at seven-thirty. I'll see if I can get Maureen Forester freed up from her bodyguard detail to go with me, so it looks like I got a date." Maureen was one of the best detectives in the city, with the added advantages of being great-looking and having a superb sense of humor.

"We'll be at the bar.

"Nobody's expecting any trouble, but this way you'll have us at your elbow if the guy does anything jerky. Sit and have a nice dinner. See if you can find out what his relationship was like with Isabella near the end. So far, nobody we've talked to in L.A. has any idea where this goofball was the week of the murder. See if you can ease anything out of him."

"What'll you do until then?"

"See what other information came in today. If I don't speak to you before dinner, you should let the Gorilla take you home from the restaurant. Then Maureen and I will come up for a nightcap when we see him pull away, and we can compare notes on the day, okay?"

"Yeah. See you later."

I called Mark Acciano's office to see how the deliberations were going in his trial. His paralegal answered and explained that Mark was still in the courtroom. The jurors had asked for a lot of read back most of the testimony of the complaining witness, which meant that at least one person, maybe more, were fighting on her behalf. That process alone would take several hours, so it was unlikely there would be a verdict this evening.

"Please tell Mark I can't wait it out with him tonight. I'm sort of working on something else. But my beeper will be on in case he gets a result sooner than I think." I wished the team good luck and hung up.

Pat McKinney was standing in the doorway.

"I just got a call from Maureen Forester. She's body guarding that pros wha's a material witness in a drug conspiracy murder case that Guadagno's on trial with. She says you've got an emergency need a female undercover that I've got to relieve her for the evening. Do I need to know about this?"

Shit. Not if I can help it. Oh, Mo I wouldn't exactly have called this an emergency.

"Well, you know that pattern we're trying to break up the Con Ed guy?"

"Oh, it's related to that?"

"Not ex-' "You're not using her for a decoy or anything, are you?"

"No, of course not." I wasn't lying, I was just stalling for an excuse. I think all the people who'd been testing my good nature all week had something contagious that I had picked up. Well, it was very unlikely that Pat would ever find out about my evening plans.

"Okay, Alex, you can have her but you're going to have to call around and get somebody to replace her on the bodyguard. My wife and I have theater tickets tonight, and I just don't have time to hang out here begging the squad commander for a replacement. It's in your lap, okay?"

"Fine." Don't let your current state of despair get the better of you, Alex, I tried to tell myself. How does a sour, mean-spirited grouch like Pat get himself a wife who he can take to the theater at the end of a busy day, while I can't find a decent guy to save my life? Karen McKinney's a boring, computer science techno-nerd professor at Brooklyn College, but it still must be awfully nice to have someone to o home to and leave all this bad news behind. ,n I called Chapman at the office and told him what I mped it back on me. If you want Maureen, is I've got to get someone to bodyguard Mo's witness at the ;r hotel overnight. Any ideas? Is she difficult?" ie "Nah. We're just trying to keep her straight during the trial. Junkie. We call her the Princess. She's from the suburbs, very agreeable. Shoots up in her armpits so she doesn't leave any tracks for her old man to see. Easy to baby-sit no problem as long as you keep her away from the stuff. I'll make some calls and have someone up there in an hour. Don't worry about it."

My second line was flashing. Laura signaled that Joan Stafford was on the telephone.

"Can you believe how bad it is? Even Pat McKinney has more of a life than I do," I moaned into the line.

"Little wonder, Alex. I'm thinking of having a Cooper family crest designed for you. A symbol of Athena, with a broken heart, and an inscription in Latin: "I sure know how to pick 'em."" "Why? More from Jed?"

"Alex, he's going over the edge. Now he's calling me constantly. I love you dearly, but I've got a deadline with my editor and I'll never make it if I try to keep Jed at bay for you. I can't keep up with his calls. Maybe you should just hear him out for an hour tonight and get it over with. He can't understand why you won't respond to his messages."

"Joan, there are no messages. He's manipulative and dishonest. Look, I'll speak with his secretary and have her tell him to leave you alone, but don't suggest for a minute that I see him. I'm busy tonight, working. You're an angel I'll get you out of this one, promise."

The last call of the afternoon was to David Mitchell.

"How's everything been going today, Alex?"

I'm not looking for a diagnosis of my condition, I just need help with the case.

"Much better, David, thanks. Got something for me?"

"Yes. I checked first thing this morning. There is no psychiatrist in England named Cordelia Jeffers, nor is there any record that there ever has been. At least she's not a licensed M.D." and there was never anyone by that name who was admitted to the Royal Academy."

Curiouser and curiouser.

David went on.

"I'd like to look at the letters again, if I may. I'll probably have a few more questions for you after I do. Did you remember to make copies?"

I told him I'd make them right now and slide them under his door before my dinner date.

I closed up for the day and walked out of the office to look for a cab.

The fall air was heavy and the thick clouds made an evening rainstorm likely. I grabbed a yellow on the corner of Worth Street and gave him my address. The inside of the taxi smelled like a corral for a herd of camels, and like so many of the new additions to the fleet of drivers in the past few years, the man at the wheel didn't seem to recognize too many words in the English language.

We attempted to make ourselves clear to each other by a combination of waving arms and grunts, but I yielded to the fact that I would have to stay on top of him for the entire ride to make sure he knew where I wanted to go.

"Here she is now," I heard Anthony, the second doorman, tell the young delivery boy, who was barely visible behind they the tall array of two dozen yellow roses.

"Miss Cooper, want on me to send the kid up with you?"

"No thanks, Anthony." I stepped to the table along the wall near the mailboxes and withdrew a pen and a twenty-dollar bill from my pocketbook. I removed the card, ripped up Jed's pathetic note "Please I really need your est help' and gave the kid back the flowers along with the tip.

I scratched on the envelope the words "With gratitude for all you do," relied on the old theory that anonymous giving was really the most generous form of the art, and directed the kid to New York Hospital, which was just a few blocks down the street.