"Your father was one."

"No, he wasn't. Not like you. He never traded a life for a vote, or justice for a long shot. My father was a statesman. You're a politician and that's all you'll ever be. You're using that woman's death to try and cover up the fact that you want my client for your own purposes. You don't want to see her put to rest."

"And you do?"

"Yes. No." Tara shook her head.

"I want to do what's right. Woodrow, listen." Her hand snaked out to touch his, but he moved it away.

"Listen to me. I spoke with his doctor. The man is afraid for him and of him. He didn't tell me much, but it was enough for me to give my client a fifty-fifty chance of being totally insane. You can't try an insane man. Where will that get you if you try?"

"He's the one, Tara. I know it and you can't hide behind the sanity question."

"You haven't seen him."

"You haven't seen what he did." Woodrow's voice was shrill, the picture of the murder scene fresh in his mind.

"I confirmed everything. The paper hat, the bullet wounds. Granted, I could be off base. He could be the trucker that found the body and called it in. I don't know. If we could test your client's prints against the set we have, then we'd know for sure because the driver told us he didn't touch anything except the pay phone outside. So either you've got the perp, or you've got the guy who turned it all in."

Woodrow sighed and ran a hand across his eyes.

As if he'd willed it, a waiter appeared and flourished menus. Tara shook her head. Woodrow did too. The waiter left, none too pleased. Woodrow leaned over the sparkly red laminate table, folded his hands, and looked at her.

"I'm not going to pet.i.tion for anything on behalf of a man I haven't met. What you've given me isn't enough.

"So many things could be going on here. I would be derelict in my duty as district attorney if I didn't take a look at this from all angles. Let him come in and talk to me, Tara. Or George, if you want. Just talk. You know we can't force him to be fingerprinted. Just convince him to come in and tell us what he told you. Let me evaluate him myself, and I'll have George open the file to you.

We'll put our heads together."

Tara shook her head in disbelief. Bill Hamilton had messed up the rug of her life and Woodrow Weber had just pulled it right out from underneath her.

"Woodrow, I thought you were my friend," Tara said quietly.

"And you're mine," he challenged.

"See, it cuts both ways."

"And so it's a standoff?"

"I guess so," he sighed.

"I don't know that there's any other solution. I can't budge on this, Tara."

"Neither can I. I am legally bound to my client and intend to honor his request. Even if he wasn't my client anymore, I couldn't hand him over to you." She leaned over the table, lowering her voice.

"Have you forgotten what it means to be a lawyer just because you want to be the lawmaker?"

Tara hung her head, not in defeat but to buy time to think. When she raised it again, she was breathing easier, all her energy directed at a solu on to this new problem.

"He's been under a psychiatrist's care, medicated since he was an adolescent. He's complex, he's unstable, he isn't a clear person for want of a better term. This man will not blithely walk in and let you question him. I promised to be his advocate when I accepted him as a client. Don't do this, Woodrow.

Don't put me in a bind like this."

"I don't want to, Tara, but you're not the only one with principles," Woodrow said, finding it difficult to sound convincing.

"I'll make it easy. Just give me his name. I'll run him. I'll do all the work.

You don't have to tell me anything except that.

You've done your job by asking me to pet.i.tion.

Now I'll do mine."

Tara c.o.c.ked her arm and propped the elbow on the side of the booth, hoping the change in position would alleviate the throb. Her thumbnail disappeared between her teeth. She looked past Woodrow as she thought. He looked at her wrist.

Slowly he reached out as if to touch the bandages.

Tara started, then pulled her arm down and put it under the table.

"Did he do that?" Woodrow breathed.

"No," Tara said, unsure if that was the truth, but she exploited the change of subject.

"He helped me when this happened. Now I want you to help me. I want him out of my life, Woodrow.

I want him off my property. But I want it done the right way."

"He's on your property!" Woodrow paled.

"What in the h.e.l.l have you gotten yourself into?

Is this personal? Does this man mean something to you?"

"Yes," she answered, seeing a crack of light behind the door he was closing on her.

"It is personal But not in the way you think. It's a friend of mine, Woodrow. A woman I care deeply about."

"Then you have no choice," he said gravely.

"Give him to me."

"Only if you agree to hospitalization," Tara answered, frustrated and tired. He was missing the point and it wasn't even a fine one.

"If the doctors find he's sane, they'll release him, and he's all yours, but I'll have fulfilled my obligation. You've maybe waited a few months while he's being evaluated.

That's nothing."

"I don't have a few months," Woodrow shot back.

"You do. Stop it. Stop worrying about your campaign," Tara insisted.

"You know the rules as well as I do. I can't give you anything that can be used against him: not his name, not a set of prints, not a piece of physical evidence, nothing. I am bound by my oath of confidentiality and I will not breach it." She almost lay across the table, looking very young and almost defeated.

"Woodrow, what's it going to take to convince you that he's not arrest able much less indictable, at this point?"

"I only have your word that he's unbalanced, Tara. I haven't seen a psychological workup, I haven't met the gentleman in question. Bring me something that says he's certifiable, and I'll consider pet.i.tioning. I wouldn't have a case anyway if he's legally insane. If you can't do that, then convince this guy to talk to us. He made the first step in contacting you and giving you permission to partially disclose. Obviously he wants some kind of resolution.

Do it, Tara. Either one, but do it quick."

Tara hung her head. Woodrow was right. Bill Hamilton had cried out for something. But what?

Was this the whimper of a flawed man? Or a cry that was a prelude to a laugh because the joke was on her? Stanford Carrol was closemouthed and Woodrow was taking the goal and going home.

"Okay, Woodrow." Lifting her head, so tired she could cry, Tara Limey acquiesced.

"I'll get you what you want. But I want your word that he will be committed per the State so that anything he says to the physicians cannot be used against him in a court of law. Your word, Woodrow."

She'd given as much as she could. If Bill Hamilton was going to stand trial, he would do it with a clean slate. No medical file open to the prosecution should he be judged sane. If that could be arranged, Tara would have done her job.

"I'll see, Tara. I'll do my best," was all he said.

Wearily she slid out of the booth and, without a backward glance, left Lindy's and Woodrow Weber, but not her worries, behind. She drove in a trance, never once tagging the unmarked car that followed her all the way to the driveway of her home.

For the first time in her life Tara locked the doors of her car and, once she was inside, the doors of her home. Ten minutes later she was in bed, a painkiller working its magic on her throbbing arm and her aching head and her heavy heart. Failure was not a familiar or comforting bedfellow.

Almost asleep, it was a struggle to answer the phone when it rang. But answer it she did, only to hear nothing on the other end. Sleep coming fast, she almost hung up when she heard a sound like wind through the cottonwoods. But it wasn't wind, it was someone sighing. A beautiful, almost deep voice pulling in a breath and exhaling it, and in the rhythm it made, Tara was sure she could hear a word. Over and over again she heard the word.

"Bang."

"Bang."

"Bang."

Eleven.

"Are we billing this time?" Caroline stood in front of Tara's desk, notepad in hand, waiting for instructions.

"Darn right we're billing this," Tara muttered.

The night had been too short, her sleep too disturbed by ridiculous dreams, to make her anything but out of sorts. Bill Hamilton was disturbing every minute of her life; he might as well pay for it.

"And if Mr. Hamilton doesn't get his check back posthaste, then we drop him."

Bravado. It was a ridiculous indulgence. She wanted Bill Hamilton to disappear, but on her terms. Putting her fingers to her eyes, Tara wondered if the likes of him could ever be exorcised.

No matter what the outcome of all of this, he would color her life, and Donna's, forever; he would shadow their friendship until the end of time and Donna might never even know it.

"Maybe you should cancel your appointments today."

Tara lowered her fingers and a worried Caroline came into view. Tara smiled.

"I'm fine. Really. I just didn't sleep well last night."

"Can't imagine why," Caroline drawled.

"Did you have anyone look at that arm yet?"

Tara laughed.

"Not yet, but I will. Donna went through my address book this morning and made an appointment for me. Pushy, pushy."

"Good for her. I should have thought of that."

Caroline raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going to keep it?"

Tara looked at the bandage peeking out from under her b.u.t.toned cuff.

"The appointment or the arm?"

"Very funny." Caroline pulled a face and held up her notebook.

"Are we done with this?"

"Not unless you have something." Tara handed over a pile of correspondence to be typed.

"Messages and mail," Caroline said.

"Gary Blackwell still can't get his client to settle. You're going to start picking a jury as scheduled. Johnnie Rae's mother called. She wants to know why it's taking so long to get a trial date."

"Have her take that up with the court clerk," Tara responded quickly, immediately sorry she'd spoken so flippantly.

"No, don't tell her anything of the sort. I'll call her. Poor woman is beside herself.

Johnnie Rae's her only child. It's got to be hard for her."

"She is a sweet lady. She also started making noises about her bills."

Caroline bit her lip, hesitant to bring it up.

"Take care of that, too. We'll put her on a payment schedule. I'll let you know what we work out so you can adjust the records."