The FBI guy kneeled down. "We have to do this in order to let your mom do a brave thing. You'd want her to do that, wouldn't you? You'd do something brave, wouldn't you, to protect your mom?"

"Yeah." Jarrod nodded. "Sure I would."

"Good." He squeezed the boy's shoulder. "I'm Nick. What's your name?"

"Jarrod."

"It won't be so bad." He smiled. He winked back at Andie. "You ever ridden in a police car, Jarrod?"

Chapter 27.

WHEN I FINALLY MADE IT home, it was after two.

It wasn't easy rousting people out of their homes late at night, scaring the living s.h.i.t out of them, being unable to level with them. The jurors were all taken in unmarked cars to a motel across the Holland Tunnel in Jersey City. Eight U.S. marshals had them under guard there for the night.

I was exhausted, and I felt like c.r.a.p for disrupting their lives. But as I turned the key to my apartment at that predawn hour I knew I'd I'd sleep a whole lot sounder for having done it, having moved them. sleep a whole lot sounder for having done it, having moved them.

Stepping into the apartment, I was surprised to find the lights on. At first I figured Ellen was on call. What else was new? What else was new?

Then, Popeye didn't come to greet me like he always did. And he wasn't on the couch where he usually slept.

Something was wrong, wasn't it?

It took a second. Then I flashed to the threat Cavello had made against me in the courtroom earlier. I drew my gun.

Holy s.h.i.t! Jesus, no. I started toward the bedroom. "Ellen! Are you in there? Ellen?" I started toward the bedroom. "Ellen! Are you in there? Ellen?"

The hall closet was wide open, and I noticed a few coats were missing. Hers. Hers. And two suitcases that we usually had stuffed on the top shelf were gone, too. A couple of photos were missing from the console. Her family and stuff. And two suitcases that we usually had stuffed on the top shelf were gone, too. A couple of photos were missing from the console. Her family and stuff.

"Ellen!"

The bedroom lights were on, shining brightly and hard on my eyes. The bed hadn't been slept in. A tray of her scents and body sprays had been cleared out too.

I had this sinking, helpless feeling, like everything was spiraling out of control. I couldn't believe this was happening. "Ellen . . . Ellen?" I called for her again.

Then I spotted a note on the bed, on my pillow. It was written on her medical stationery.

My heart sank as I read the first line.

My big, strong Nick. This is the hardest thing I have ever had to write. . . .

Chapter 28.

I SAT DOWN on the edge of the bed, the pillows arranged the way she always liked them, her scent still hanging in the air.

I know this will hurt you. But I just need to be on my own for a while. We both know what was great about each other just isn't there much right now.Hopefully, this will make you smile: I promise, there isn't anyone else, just this aching feeling that we're not giving each other what we want or need. And right now, I think I need to look into myself awhile and find out what it is I want someone to give me. You are the best, Nick. You are smart and reliable, and sensitive and strong. You're such a good man. And you know what else you're the best at-I don't have to elaborate!!!You will make some girl a loving partner in life. I'm just not sure it's me. I need this s.p.a.ce, Nick. We both need it! If we're honest, as we've always been with each other.So please don't call me for a day or two. Don't ask me to come back (if you even want me to). Don't look for me. Don't be the cop, Nicky. I need the strength to do this. I'm at a friend's. Popeye is with me. He's already told me I'm a stupid jerk. (You're always the stud, Nick, even with the guys!)I do truly love you, Nick. Who wouldn't?

I put down the note. There was a PS. Okay, I lied just a little. Taking the medical boards was harder. Okay, I lied just a little. Taking the medical boards was harder.

I picked up a photo of us on my night table taken up in Vermont, skiing. G.o.dd.a.m.nit, Ellen, we could have worked it out. We could have talked at least. G.o.dd.a.m.nit, Ellen, we could have worked it out. We could have talked at least.

I made a move for the phone. I went to dial her cell; then I caught myself and stopped midnumber.

She was right. Lay off, Nick. Lay off, Nick. Give her what she asked for. We both knew it. Give her what she asked for. We both knew it. What was great about each other just isn't there much right now. . . . What was great about each other just isn't there much right now. . . .

I took off my tie and tossed my jacket on the bed. Then I just leaned back on the pillow and closed my eyes.

I wanted to feel crushed, empty. I wanted to go pour myself a scotch or kick a chair like I was supposed to do when things like this happened.

But I couldn't. I couldn't!

Ellen was right. What was great about each other just isn't much there right now.

Ellen was right about a lot of things.

Chapter 29.

A BIG BLUE BUS was waiting for the jury in front of the Garden State Inn at 8:00 a.m.

Three court marshals, with their handguns showing, loaded them on. Another heavily armed marshal was waiting inside. Then three police cars pulled up, lights whirring. Their escort. An FBI man was checking names off a roster.

And this was supposed to fill us with a sense of ease, Andie thought as she climbed onboard. Andie thought as she climbed onboard. I don't think so. I don't think so.

Her sister, Rita, had been driven down earlier in a court-a.s.signed car to pick up Jarrod and take him to school. He'd stay with her and his uncle Ray until this mess was over with. Andie was amazed at how well he had handled himself last night. He never let on that he was afraid or even put out. But this morning, he didn't want to leave her, and finally he cried like a little boy. Her Her little boy, her Jarrod. little boy, her Jarrod.

"You have to do your job, and I have to do mine," she said as she hugged him close and put him into Rita's car, holding back a flood of emotions. "And remember . . . Florida's a promontory, right?"

"Peninsula," he corrected her. She waved as they drove away. One thing for sure-he'd have a h.e.l.luva story to share in school that day.

Rosella plopped herself next to Andie on the bus. All of their nervous, harried faces said this was a whole lot more than anyone had ever bargained for.

"My huzban, he's very upset at what's goin' on. He tells me, the h.e.l.l with the forty dollars, Rosie, get jourself off that trial. What about jou? Jou must be goin' crazy with jour son?"

"Jarrod's a trouper," Andie said, half believing it. "He'll get by." She turned around to O'Flynn and Hector. "It's the rest of you guys I'm worried about."

There was a lot of bickering, even before the bus left the motel. Understandable. Hector was insisting this was against the law. That they had to give you a chance to get off now. That they couldn't just hold you against your will. A few people argued with him that that wasn't true.

"It's like the Patriot Act." Marc rolled his eyes. "It's for our own protection."

The bus doors finally closed. The police cars in front began to pull out, lights flashing. The driver started the engine, and the big bus rolled forward slowly.

Andie pressed her cheek to the gla.s.s, the sight of the dreary motel, her new home for the next several weeks, drifting away.

She missed just knowing knowing she would see Jarrod that night. "I don't think Sam Greenblatt exactly signed up for it either," she finally said to herself. she would see Jarrod that night. "I don't think Sam Greenblatt exactly signed up for it either," she finally said to herself.

Chapter 30.

I WAS BEAT, bleary-eyed. I'd barely gotten three hours' sleep the night before. I tried to push the situation with Ellen out of my mind as I sat in court that morning. Cavello was flanked closely by two security people now. One more scene in there, and he was gone.

Joel Goldenberger stepped up to the witness stand. "Good morning, Mr. Denunziatta. I'd like to pick up where we left off the other day." He had papers in his hand.

"You testified that you'd been present in the general area at the time Sam Greenblatt was killed," the prosecutor started in, "and that you spotted Thomas Mussina driving around. With someone else in the car. Would you remind the jury who that other person was, Mr. Denunziatta?"

"It was Dominic Cavello," Denunziatta stated.

"Good." Goldenberger nodded and turned a page. "Now, what I want to move on to are the events that took place subsequent to that. Would you say that you and your colleagues were satisfied with how the job was done?"

"I guess at first we were satisfied." Ralphie shrugged. "I mean, we did the job, everyone got away, no one got hurt."

"Other than Mr. Greenblatt, of course."

"Other than Mr. Greenblatt, naturally." The witness nodded with a contrite smile. "It was maybe the day after that, as I recall, that things started to fall apart."

"What kinds of things are you speaking of, Mr. Denunziatta?"

"This guy that was involved in the hit, Stevie . . ."

"Steven Mannarino," Joel Goldenberger explained.

"Yeah. The kid screwed up. It seemed he didn't find clean plates for the getaway car like he was instructed. So he had to scramble." He cleared his throat. "Apparently he located a set in Louis Machia's yard."

"In the yard of his friend, who had just partic.i.p.ated in the killing, right?"

"Yes." Denunziatta rolled his eyes.

"So how would you describe Stevie?" the prosecutor asked. "Was he an experienced guy in this sort of stuff?"

The witness shrugged. "He was a good kid from the neighborhood. I think he had asthma or something. He just wanted to be around."

"Be around?"

"He just wanted to be in the club. He wasn't the smartest kid, but Louie liked him. So we let him run errands. The kid would've done anything to get on the inside."

"And this was his chance, wasn't it? His big audition?"

"If it had gone well, who knows?"

"So what happened to Stevie, Mr. Denunziatta? After it came out how he had messed up?"

"At first, Louis wanted to handle it himself. The cops came to his house that night, after someone spotted the plates. But Louie had his own issues to worry about, and Stevie was going around making a lot of noise, like he wanted us to take care of him and get him out of the area. Away from the cops. No one had actually seen him at the scene, but he was scared."

"So what did you do for Stevie, Mr. Denunziatta?"

"I told him I would work it out. I met with Tommy Moose. And Mr. Cavello. We took a walk at the Kings County Mall. I said we needed to get this kid out of town. My uncle Richie had a place in the Poconos. He could've hid out there. Tommy agreed that it seemed like a reasonable plan."

Goldenberger nodded. "So that's where Stevie went then, after the Greenblatt hit?"

"Not exactly," Denunziatta said, and cleared his throat.

"Why? You were in charge of the hit. The person you reported to agreed. No one could pin that the guy was involved, right? Why didn't Stevie end up in the Poconos?"

"Because Dominic Cavello didn't go along with that," Ralph Denunziatta said, looking down.

"He didn't go along with it?"

"No." Denunziatta shrugged. "The Boss said Stevie's gotta go."

"Stevie's gotta go," Joel Goldenberger said. He took a step or two toward the witness. "He said it just like that, Mr. Denunziatta? Those words? 'Stevie's gotta go'?"

"No, not those exact words." Ralphie shifted in his seat. He cleared his throat, twice. "As I recall, his exact words were, 'Cut the fat f.u.c.k up and stuff him in a can for all I care. The kid has got to go.'"

Chapter 31.

"'CUT THE FAT f.u.c.k UP and stuff him in a can for all I care. The kid has got to go.'" and stuff him in a can for all I care. The kid has got to go.'"

The prosecutor paused to let the effect of the words fall on the jury. Everyone in the courtroom seemed stunned.

"You heard Dominic Cavello say those words? Give you a direct order to kill Steven Mannarino?"