13

The pleasantness of the surroundings belied the seriousness of the events. From Thomas Herbert's suite, the sun streamed brightly through the undraped windows, which framed the White House. Beyond could be seen the Jefferson Memorial and the Washington Monument. Picture-postcard Washington, Fiona thought, wedding-cake perfect.

But when her gaze drifted from the view to Thomas Herbert's somber face and Gail Prentiss's dark intense expression, the pleasantness disintegrated.

"It's enough to bring him in for questioning, but not enough to hold him," Fiona said. For the past half-hour she was saying the same thing in different ways and Thomas Herbert was growing increasingly angry.

"He was there. He lied. He's undoubtedly guilty," Thomas Herbert said. He, too, had been saying the same thing repeatedly. "He needs to be sweated, skillfully interrogated."

"He will be," Fiona said.

"I want Officer Prentiss to do the questioning."

Fiona and Gail exchanged glances.

"Sergeant FitzGerald is very experienced, Mr. Herbert," Gail said.

Herbert must have realized he had put Gail in an awkward position and grunted something about commitment.

"We don't presume guilt, Mr. Herbert," Fiona said.

"I know my constitution, Sergeant. But the police have another agenda, to bring forward a convincing case. The man is clearly guilty."

"If he is, we'll make the case, Mr. Herbert," Fiona said, holding back her anger. In the face of this hard evidence, her own private theory was certainly under attack. Nevertheless, last night's confrontation with Farley Lipscomb had given it some additional credibility.

"No 'ifs,' FitzGerald. This man is a menace. He cannot be allowed to walk the streets preying on other young women."

It was the painful cry of every relative whose loved one has been the victim of a terrible crime. In emotional shorthand, it meant vengeance and Thomas Herbert was no shrinking violet in that respect.

"I want him put away forever."

"I can't blame you," Fiona said. "If he's guilty."

"That 'if' again," Herbert said angrily.

"We'll do our best, Mr. Herbert," Gail said. Her tone seemed to mollify him.

Herbert looked at his watch, then picked up the phone and punched in a number.

"This is Herbert." He listened as someone talked at the other end. "As soon as possible, you hear?"

He hung up, then glared at Fiona.

"You bungle this, there'll be hell to pay," he sneered. Fiona could understand his pain and her responses were as gentle as she could make them.

"We won't, Mr. Herbert," Fiona replied, trying to muster enthusiasm, but there must have been still something in her response that troubled him.

He glanced toward Gail, an obviously committed ally. She lowered her eyes. Fiona suspected that they had had extensive conversations on the subject.

The telephone rang suddenly. Herbert answered it.

"Send him up," he growled.

Fiona looked at Gail, who did not return her gaze, which seemed curious until the Eggplant strode into the room

"Good of you to come, Captain," Herbert said. The Eggplant nodded, looking uncomfortable as he sat down. They were grouped around the table. Herbert had provided coffee and Danish, which the Eggplant refused. Fiona knew him well enough to see that he was fuming underneath. Obviously, Herbert had leaned on him through his superiors. Fiona also knew that the fact that he had answered the summons made him seem subservient, a perception that infuriated him.

"We were discussing Phelps Barker," Herbert said. "His fingerprints prove conclusively that he was in that room the evening of my daughter's murder."

Herbert was, of course, technically incorrect, but the Eggplant held his peace. Fiona could tell it was not easy for him. Herbert's attitude was overbearing, superior, a master and servant thing, which the Eggplant's ego could not abide under any circumstances. She admired his discipline.

"Add to that his sexual history. I had to intervene on a rape accusation, which cost Mr. Barker's family a considerable sum."

"Yes," the Eggplant said. "I've been filled in on that."

"There will be more," Herbert said. "I have a private investigation ongoing in Illinois."

"I'm aware of that as well," the Eggplant said.

"We'll have the bastard dead to rights," Herbert said.

"Circumstantially," Fiona said, more as a reflex. She had not intended any comment. The Eggplant scowled at her, obviously wishing that she would keep her mouth shut.

"It would seem," Herbert said with unveiled sarcasm, "that Sergeant FitzGerald is less than enthusiastic about the course this case has taken." He turned to Fiona. "I think she is more inclined to believe that this man is innocent of the crime committed against my daughter."

"Please, Mr. Herbert, Sergeant FitzGerald is an experienced homicide detective with an outstanding record. Our people are instructed to doubt until they arrive at critical-mass evidence."

The Eggplant's remarks seemed to stoke Herbert's anger. He shot a glance to Gail.

"What do you think, Officer Prentiss? Or are you intimidated by your superior's statement?"

"I do not intimidate my people," the Eggplant snapped. Herbert was getting under his skin. The fact was that the Eggplant could be characterized as a master at intimidation, especially suspects, although occasionally underlings. It was, the staff knew, more bluff and noise than meanness. Mostly, they made excuses for this flaw in his management style.

Herbert's attitude triggered Fiona's police-bonding mechanism and her temper.

"Besides," Fiona said angrily, directing her remarks to Herbert, "we don't intimidate easily, whatever the source."

"I think we're getting offtrack," Gail said in an effort to defuse the situation.

"Way off," the Eggplant mumbled.

"We have Barker in the room, Chief," Gail said. "Under the surface, he's fragile. If he's our man, I feel certain that we can crack him."

"I'm sure we can, Officer Prentiss," the Eggplant said with surprising calm. It amazed Fiona how Gail Prentiss commanded respect from everyone around her. It was a rare gift, a special talent.

"And your view, Sergeant FitzGerald?" Herbert asked. He was back on that.

"It is clear that Barker lied when he denied being in Phyla's room. But..."

"There it is," Herbert exploded. "The but. He was there, woman. He forced her into this disgusting situation, raped her and killed her."

Fiona started to speak, but the Eggplant silenced her with a glance.

"There is no evidence of rape in the conventional sense," the Eggplant said. "And our pathologist says that she died of natural causes."

"Then the conventional sense is wrong, Captain. I know my daughter. She was exemplary in her conduct."

Herbert hesitated, on the verge of breaking down, trying valiantly to hold himself together.

Dr. Benson had reported in passing that the girl was apparently very experienced sexually, definitely not a virgin. A quick exchange of eye contact with the Eggplant told her to leave that one alone.

"She was penetrated with savage brutality and..." Herbert went on, somewhat recovered, although his lips trembled and his eyes had reddened. Pausing, he took deep breaths to get himself under further control. "And it is clear that she wouldn't have died if she had not been subjected to this ... this degrading infamy."

"I understand," the Eggplant began.

"No, you don't," Herbert interrupted.

"We will do our best to ascertain the truth," the Eggplant began again, keeping his voice modulated to a monotone.

Thankfully, he was interrupted by a telephone call. "Yes, it's on," Herbert said to the voice on the phone. "Good."

He hung up. As soon as he did so, a different kind of ring, indicative of a fax, began in the bedroom.

"I've asked my investigative team to come up with a preliminary report on Barker. It's coming through now. I can tell you that I've spared no expense. I already know some of what is coming. It is not a pretty picture."

He got up and went into the bedroom. As soon as he was gone, the Eggplant spoke.

"We bring him in for questioning as soon as we leave here," he said.

"He's at his office," Gail said. "I've already checked."

"And be careful," the Eggplant warned. "By the book."

"Of course," Fiona said. She hoped that she did not show any negativity. Barker had to be interrogated. There were also questions that had to be asked of Herbert, questions pertaining to his and his daughter's relationship with Farley Lipscomb. Somehow, she had to manage it without causing an explosion.

"Remember," the Eggplant said, lowering his voice, speaking quickly, "this has all the earmarks of a consensual beginning that got out of hand. Herbert wants nothing short of an indictment for murder. He can give us a fit." A nerve began to palpitate in the Eggplant's jaw. "He's already giving me a fit. He has powerful friends."

Herbert came back into the room, looking over a sheaf of faxed papers.

"He's our man. No question about it," Herbert muttered. "Listen to this. At Harvard he was reprimanded for participating in a drunken orgy in his fraternity house in which one woman insisted she was gang-banged by a group of men. Unfortunately, she was drunk herself at the time and later retracted her earlier testimony. Two women who dated him during his college days said he was too aggressive sexually for their tastes, although they did not accuse him of rape. The same is true of a woman he dated at Georgetown. In fact, there is a club of ladies who give him bad marks in that department, although they asked that their names not be used. Oh, and here's something." He paused to read the text. "While at Georgetown, a woman was treated for contusions about the face and breasts. She was living with Barker at the time, although she did not attribute the beating to him, preferring to say it happened at the hands of a burglar. Now, really. What we have here is a picture of a man who equates violence with sex."

"May I see that, Mr. Herbert?" Fiona asked.

Herbert handed over the papers and Fiona began to read. As she was doing so, the Eggplant rose.

"We'll be bringing him in for questioning as soon as Detectives FitzGerald and Prentiss get to him. I'm sure your investigation will be extremely helpful, Mr. Herbert."

"It's continuing, Captain. This is only a preliminary report."

"I want to assure you of our complete cooperation," the Eggplant said. "If Barker is the perpetrator, I promise you, he will be charged."

"No 'ifs,' Captain," Herbert said. "He is our man."

After the Eggplant left, Fiona finished reading the papers and handed them to Gail. Herbert's interpretation was remarkably accurate. According to the report, there was no question that Phelps Barker had an aggression problem when it came to women. Certainly, the evidence of his potential guilt was piling up. More than ever she needed to talk with Herbert privately. Unfortunately, now was not the time.

"This should be very helpful, Mr. Herbert," Fiona said. "Very."

"Are you willing to commit yourself to the idea with a bit more fervor, Sergeant?"

Fiona nodded. There was no sense showing less than full enthusiasm. She needed to reassure him, gain his confidence for what she must ask him.

"I'm very encouraged, Mr. Herbert," Gail said. "He'll never know what hit him."

When Barker was hit, he did, indeed, know it.

At his request, they had picked him up on the corner of Fourteenth and Constitution, a few blocks from the Justice Department. More routine questioning, he had been told, a follow-up to their earlier interviews. They gave him his option as to the site of this additional questioning. He said he preferred that it be held outside of the Justice Department.

Fiona suspected that Thomas Herbert had also put in his oar at Justice. If he had, Fiona considered such an action a travesty. Unlike the first few days of the investigation, where she had, in a sense, abdicated her seniority, she took charge this time. If Gail was miffed, she said nothing.

Fiona had made the call to Barker. She asked if he wanted a lawyer present. He declined, pointing out that he was innocent and did not see the need to escalate the situation.

Although Barker didn't ask, Fiona assured him that everything would be handled in confidence. His principal fear, it seemed, was of the media. This indicated to Fiona that he might be relying on his innocence to protect him, a reassuring reaction in terms of Fiona's hypothesis. He also seemed reassured that it was FitzGerald, not Prentiss, making the call.

They brought him into a private room off the squad room. He wasn't exactly happy about the choice of venue, but he seemed willing to endure it. He had also shed his earlier pose of fraternity-boy arrogance.

Entering the room, he took off his blue blazer and hung it on the back of a chair, then sat down at a battered table, opposite Fiona and Gail. He folded his hands, waiting for their questions.

Fiona found the atmosphere both disturbing and ironic. Gail had acknowledged that she thought he was guilty. Fiona was still unconvinced, her antennae still probing in the direction of Farley Lipscomb. Both were operating at the nether ends of competing agendas.

"We want to give you every opportunity to be straightforward, Mr. Barker," Fiona began. "All we ask is for your complete candor and honesty. On our part, we intend to be scrupulously fair. Do you understand?"

Gail Prentiss sat beside her, saying nothing, deferring to Fiona, who had no illusions about Gail's real role. She was Herbert's monitor.

"First, let me say that we know you were in Phyla Herbert's room on the night in question."

He seemed to have expected the allegation, making a gesture of resignation.

"The Pepsi can, right. I'm not exactly stupid." He turned to Gail. "I'd do the same. Problem is, I'm not the guilty party."

"We haven't made any accusations, Mr. Barker," Fiona said.

"You found them on the wooden arm of one of the chairs. I went over it in my mind for days. Am I right?"

"I believe so."

"Surely, it's obvious," Barker said brightly. "I made no attempt to remove my prints. She let me into the room. I came in. Sat down. We talked for about fifteen minutes. Then I left. The fact is, I had no reason to remove any prints, because I had no reason to cover up anything."

"Then why did you lie to us?"

"As I told you before, I'm not crazy. I had no desire to be implicated in this. Let's face it. Being implicated in something so awful is not exactly a career builder. I read the story in the paper and I wanted to distance myself. What I was hoping was that my fingerprints would have been rendered useless by the person who had obviously come after me."

"Nonsense, Barker," Gail said, unable to remain silent. "It was an oversight. You did a good job elsewhere. No one came in after you."

Fiona turned and gave Gail an unmistakable look of rebuke. This is mine now, was what she hoped her expression conveyed.

"Sorry," Gail shrugged.

"I was there no more than approximately fifteen minutes," Barker said. "I saw that by the clock behind the hotel desk when I passed it on the way out. It was eleven-fifteen. It was not quite eleven when I entered her suite."

"Did she invite you in?" Fiona asked.

"Not exactly. I pressed her. I admit it."

"For what reason?"

Barker sucked in a deep breath.

"I wanted to sleep with her."

"Considering all the history you provided us with, one would think that would be a monumental challenge."

"It was. But I could tell from the moment I was in the room that she was not interested in anything more than a polite brushoff. She made it clear she was not interested."

"You didn't press her?"

"Actually, she was standing in the middle of the room and I attempted to embrace her."

"And what did she do?"

"She pushed me into the chair."

"And you stayed there?"

"Yes. Then she explained that she was not the least bit interested in me, never had been, never would be."

"Did she say why?"

"No. Not directly."

"What does that mean?"

"I had the impression that she had another boyfriend."

"Did she say that?"

"Purely a feeling on my part. Like she had pledged fealty to someone."

"Someone?"

"Like a married man?"

Fiona sensed that Gail was studying her. When she turned she saw a very troubled expression on her face, as if she disapproved of the way Fiona was conducting the interrogation.

"Maybe. Somebody secret. Just a feeling, you understand. It was the way she explained it, that she had no interest in me in that way. Not that she ever had."

"People in my business would characterize that as a red herring," Fiona said, shooting a glance at Gail, knowing she was saying what Gail was thinking. "Shifting the emphasis to a dead end."

"I said it was just a feeling I had," Barker said.

Odd, Fiona thought, how his intuition fit in with her own theory.

"You make her sound very solicitous of your feelings," Fiona said.

"She was. We were childhood friends. Maybe she didn't want me to go home mad. As it turns out, going to her room has proved to be a major disaster for me." He held up his hand. "Of course, I'm a suspect, especially since I lied to you."

"You are and you did," Gail said. Again she had crossed the line. This time Fiona shot her a sharp look of rebuke. Then, from her pocketbook, Fiona took out the faxed sheets they had looked at earlier. She started to outline what the sheets contained. Barker stopped her.

"I admit it. I've not been a good boy. I told you what happened to me when I was sixteen," he said. "Believe me, that was the truth. As for my conduct later, I admit everything. I'm too aggressive sexually and I'm working on a more disciplined approach. In today's world I'm vulnerable. I know it. By today's standards, I'm a female harasser..."

"I have a question for you, Barker," Fiona interrupted. "Do you know anything about B and D or S and M?"

She felt Gail stir beside her. Peripherally, she could see that Gail was confused by the question.

"You mean whips and chains. Sadism and Masochism. B and D means what?"

"Bondage and Discipline."

"You mean tying up, spanking ... things like that?"

"Or variations thereof."

Barker looked puzzled. He shrugged.

"I may be a little aggressive, but when you get to stuff like inflicting pain and enjoying it, I'm way out of it ... way way out of that."

"May I see you privately for a moment, Fiona?" Gail asked suddenly. Fiona exchanged glances with her and saw by her expression that she was not pleased with the interrogation.

Outside in the deserted squad room, Gail said:

"He's having a joy ride. He's charming you with his openness and I think you're falling for it. I'm sorry, Fiona, but I think you're being much too gentle on him. You'll never break him this way."

"Maybe there's nothing to break," Fiona said.

"Well, I don't agree. You're even putting an alibi in his mouth. This business about a secret married lover."

"I didn't put it there, Gail," Fiona said.

"This is the man, Fiona. Why can't you see it?"

Fiona mulled over an idea, then gave herself permission to proceed.

"Barker could be our man. I won't argue that point at this time. But I'm still convinced this was consensual," she said. "Requiring no aggression ... at least when the episode was begun."

"I'll never buy that. Trussed up like that, blindfolded, gagged, her body written on, then abused. What woman would consent to that?"

"It's theater, Gail. It wasn't meant to go beyond that," Fiona said, watching Gail's expression of disbelief.

"With respect, Fiona, that's ridiculous," Gail said. "You're saying that the girl was a willing participant in her own humiliation."

"The humiliation part, yes. Not the business of the pain," Fiona replied, pausing. "Not what he did back there."

"That's sick," Gail said with disgust. "She was coerced, forced. Barker might have had a weapon, threatened her."

"I doubt that."

"Doubt that Barker did it?"

"Maybe that, too."

Gail shook her head vigorously.

"Why are you willing to whitewash him without first trying to break him? That's what I don't understand. An attempted rape at sixteen, a record of aggressive action against women. He's got the perfect MO for this, Fiona."

"But no real S and M or B and D background," Fiona said. "You saw the props."

"Props?"

"The ropes, the leather blindfold, the gags, the paddling evidence. Props."

"You seemed to know a great deal about that," Gail said. Fiona ignored the implication.

"The woman was theatrically posed for a B and D session. The knots were carefully tied, the blindfold carefully administered. Even the gag was put on with skill. None of this could be done without her absolute trust and consent."

"I don't believe this."

Fiona wasn't sure whether this was a personal manifestation of repugnance or an official denial. She had already determined that Gail Prentiss was morally rigid in her sexual standards. If she had provided any sexual favors, they had been, Fiona was certain, proferred reluctantly. There was a sense of repression about her, Fiona decided, responding to her own instincts based on a Catholic upbringing.

Gail's attitude about sex reminded her of her mother, whose inhibitions in that regard sent her father off to a string of mistresses to whose existence she cast a blind eye.

"People do it because it makes them feel good, Gail," Fiona explained.

"And the dildo that tore apart her anus. Did that make her feel good?"

"The work of a negative dominant. He got carried away. He harmed her. In this context, that is perversity. The perpetrator of that is guilty and, considering what the pathologist has found about the subject's cause of death, I doubt if we could get the kind of sentence that Herbert wants."

"Are you so sure Barker isn't into this D and B obscenity?" Gail asked, avoiding any follow-up reference to Herbert.

"B and D," Fiona corrected, quickly adding, "I can tell. He may not be ignorant of the practice but I suggest he's not very conversant with the rituals."

Gail looked deeply into Fiona's eyes as if searching for the hidden message.

"You should have let me interrogate him," she said.

"Think I've blown it, Gail?"

"I'm not sure."

"I don't want to see a miscarriage of justice."

The remark, Fiona knew, was open to different interpretations.

They studied each other through a long silence.

"I think you owe it to me to let me try," Gail said.

"Are you appealing to my sense of fairness?" Fiona countered, tamping down her irritation.

"Yes."

Fiona mulled the point. She concluded that, in the light of their diametrically opposing views as to Barker's guilt or innocence, she had better accede to Gail's demand. Gail, Fiona had learned, was a fiercely tenacious hunter who needed a shot at her prey.

"Alright, hotshot, do your thing," Fiona said with obvious reluctance, but without visible rancor. After all, she reasoned, Gail was unaware that she wasn't playing with a full deck.

"I will," Gail said through tight, unsmiling lips.

The conversation seemed ended and Fiona turned to go back into the room. She was recalled by Gail's voice.

"How do you know so much about this, Fiona?"

"This?"

"The bondage stuff."

It was to be expected, of course. It was one of those issues she had wrestled with last night. To tell or not to tell. Not yet, she decided, hopeful that she might find a solution long before such a confession was required, if ever.

"Lots of research," Fiona replied, which was partly true. Indeed, the subject was not as esoteric as it seemed. The sex squad regularly provided information on various sexual practices, but, as Fiona knew from personal experience, it was disbursed as a catalogue from a freak show, with the psychological factors glossed over and related only to the criminal aspects of the practices.

"I thought you forgot me," Phelps Barker said when the women had returned. From his sudden change of expression Fiona could tell he had sensed the changed dynamics in the room. Although they took the same chairs upon their return, Gail moved hers inches closer to Barker.

"I'm afraid you're still on our mind, Barker," Fiona said.

"Am I still a hot suspect?"

His attempt at recapturing his old wisecracking arrogance fell short.

"Yes," Gail said ominously. There was no mistaking her attitude. She paused for a moment, extracted a small notebook from her pocketbook and opened it. "I'd like to go back to your assertion about the young woman who accused you of rape when you were a teenager."

"I've explained that."

"Not to my satisfaction," Gail insisted. His forehead crinkled as he turned toward Fiona, who nodded slightly in what was meant to be a gesture of reassurance. Gail's questions were a gauntlet he had to go through. She hoped he was up to it.

"Why would you have needed a go-between to negotiate a settlement if you were innocent?"

"I've already explained that," Barker said calmly. "It was a conspiracy to get money from my father."

"And you did not rape her?"

"Absolutely not. She consented to the intercourse."

"She claimed you held her down, spraining her wrist, that you stuffed her panties in her mouth to stop her from screaming and that you threatened her with a knife, which you held to her neck after cutting her on the arm to show her you meant business."

The blood drained from his face and his lips began to tremble. Again, Gail had been privy to information that she had withheld from Fiona. Only this time Fiona did not accept it silently.

"Where did that come from?"

"Mr. Herbert."

"Why didn't you tell me this, Gail?"

"There is more to this than meets the eye, Fiona," Gail said firmly. "May I proceed?"

"We'll discuss this later," Fiona said. Experience had taught her that one must never display police dirty laundry in front of a suspect. On a level playing field, Fiona would have promptly taken her aside, chewed her out, threatened charges and put in for a partner change.

"Kiss and make up girls," Barker said, in another abortive effort to get his old élan back. His ashen face belied the attempt. Gail turned to him again.

"Are my facts wrong, Barker?"

"Her facts were wrong," Barker shot back. "She concocted the story. It was all a lie. She consented eagerly. I told you the truth." His voice became shrill, his entire face beet red.

"Truth? You don't know the meaning of that word. I talked to the woman herself."

"Probably on welfare with nine kids."

"She's an accountant, Barker," Gail said triumphantly.

"She signed her name to an agreement..."

"Cash for silence," Gail hissed.

"I'll sue her ass." His nostrils flared and flecks of saliva rolled down his chin.

"There was also another part of that original agreement," Gail said. Fiona turned quickly. Gail raised her hand as if to say "Don't interrupt. I know what I'm doing."

"I don't have to sit here and take this," Barker said.

"If you require, we could always make it more official," Gail replied.

"And I could have a lawyer present."

"You have one. Yourself." Gail said.

"Very funny."

"We were talking here of truth, Barker," Gail said. She had quickly changed modes, back to the soft gentle woman, a role she had so efficiently perfected. Who is the real Gail Prentiss, Fiona wondered.

"So far you haven't exactly been a paragon in the truth department, Barker," Gail continued. "Look, here are the facts and Mr. Herbert can easily corroborate them. Part of the deal was that you get yourself a therapist to deal with what was and perhaps still is a problem..."

"Now I see where you're headed," Barker said, jumping up. "You're going to use my past to frame me."

He was extremely agitated, but he made every effort to get himself under control.

"I did go to a therapist," Barker said. "And may I remind you that there is a confidentiality in that relationship..." He broke off in mid-sentence. Fiona remembered what Farley Lipscomb had implied about his own so-called self-therapy. Medical records, her experience told her, leaked like a sieve.

"Just relax, Barker," Gail said softly. "What we're trying to do is eliminate you as a suspect." She shook her head and shrugged. "Mr. Herbert believes you did his daughter. What we're trying to do here is absolve you from all suspicion. He is a very powerful man. He can hurt you. If you are innocent of this crime, convince us. You can only do that by telling us the truth. So far you've been evasive and, I must say, a bit too theatrical in your attitude. Tell it straight. That's all we ask."

Again she had changed roles. Now she was playing confidante, the good cop, wanting to save him from disaster. Fiona had to hand it to her. She was good.

Barker sucked in a deep breath, then sat down.

"Yes, I kept my part of the deal. But that didn't mean that the woman told the truth. She lied. I didn't rape her. She wanted it the hard way..."

He suddenly froze, obviously wishing he hadn't put it that way.

"She begged me to do it that way. It was like a game. I was only sixteen, for crying out loud."

"She was fourteen," Gail sighed.

"Going on forty. She was experienced. I wasn't."

"And the others?" Gail asked.

"What others?"

He seemed suddenly disoriented. Fiona had raised those episodes reported in the fax and he had admitted to them with some changes of emphasis. Was he now denying that? Or had he forgotten that he had offered a general confession to past misdeeds.

"The college women. The woman you once lived with. You admitted harassment, Barker. Remember?"

"Each of those incidents can be explained," he said, but it was obvious that even his own sense of conviction was running out.

"What are we to think, Barker?" Gail said. "You have a history of rough sex." She shot a glance at Fiona. "Or am I exaggerating?"

"Some women like that. Molly ... that's the lady I lived with when I was going to Georgetown. She was a glutton for it. I hated participating. I hated it."

"But you went along?"

"That's the way she got it off."

"Then one day it got out of hand..."

"Yes, it did. Molly pushed me for more. Then more. You can't imagine how horrible it was." His eyes seemed glazed as if he were looking deeply inside of himself, plumbing his memory. It struck Fiona that Gail's instincts about Barker were at least partially valid. He was prime suspect material. She sensed the first signs that her own theory was beginning to disintegrate.

Gail suddenly turned toward her and motioned with her head that they should again leave the room. When they were back in the squad room, Gail spoke:

"Still a nonbeliever?" Gail asked.

"I'm getting there," Fiona admitted.

"Let's lay it out for the Chief. Fiona, it adds up. We've got an MO. We've got prints."

"But no confession. And it's still circumstantial. The Chief will turn us down," Fiona protested lamely.

"Barker is the man," Gail said. "We could push him further."

"He's a lawyer in the Justice Department. We make a mistake on this, we're dead meat." Fiona was surprised at her own assertion of bureaucratic fear.

"We're close, Fiona."

"There's got to be more. Maybe a search of his apartment..."

"If we don't book him, Herbert will go through the roof."

"It's not his call. Frankly, Gail, I don't know why you keep deferring to him."

"He's a victim." She hesitated and, watching her, Fiona wondered if she was going to change her pose yet again. "I understand his pain."

For everything there is a reason, Fiona thought. There was something fundamental to this message that Gail was sending, something deeply embedded inside of her, obviously stemming from something ravaging in her past. Fiona allowed a long silence to ensue between them as if waiting for Gail to say something more. She didn't.

"Let's not rush to judgment on this, Gail," Fiona said gently. "Barker's not going anywhere. His apartment might just cough up enough to make the case."

"I don't agree. We have enough to make an arrest," Gail pressed.

"Let's call it insurance."

"How about delay?"

"Where's the harm? It's unlikely he'll skip."

Gail studied Fiona and rubbed her chin. What was she seeing? Fiona wondered, not without a tinge of guilt.

"What is it, Fiona?" Gail said suddenly.

"What is what?" Fiona replied defensively.

Their eyes met until, finally, Gail shook her head.

"I'm your partner, Fiona," Gail said. "Let me in on it."

"On what?" Fiona began, but she knew that Gail was on to her.

"Alright," Gail said gently. "I've deliberately held things back. Not out of malice or ambition. I hope you can see that. Frankly, I was trying to shake you up, force you to tell me what's really going on..."

She was having difficulty getting the words out with her usual smooth articulation. "I ... I know about those pictures, Fiona. The ones you passed around the hotel."

Fiona had, of course, expected that to surface, although she had never worked out the response in her own mind. She felt adrift now, spinning in an eddy of confusion.

"Do you know who they were?" she asked finally.

Gail paused and studied Fiona's face.

"I haven't seen the pictures," Gail replied. "But Harold Barton, the assistant manager, did some research on his own. He thinks they're members of the Supreme Court."

Framing a response was difficult, although Fiona did feel the urge to confide, to unburden herself. Could she trust Gail?

"Can we let it lie for a while, Gail?"

"We have," Gail said. "Maybe too long."

"I need time," Fiona whispered. Even to her own ears, the words sounded like an appeal. Finally, Gail nodded.

"Okay," she said with a shrug of resignation. "We'll put Barker on hold."

"Not for long," Fiona said. "I promise."

When they returned, they found Barker sitting there, abject, his head slightly bowed, all the arrogance wrung out. He lifted his head expectantly.

"If we need you again, Barker, we know where to find you."

He was obviously relieved and managed a thin smile. Inexplicably, he remained seated as if he could not find the energy to pull himself up.

"I've something to ask," he said. "A favor."

"Then ask," Fiona said.

"I ... I don't want to be destroyed by this. I've got a good record with the Justice Department, a good reputation. I'm a damned good lawyer, real aggressive helping people, fighting discrimination."

He looked toward Gail, playing to her race. To her, Fiona was sure, it was a blatant and rather transparent attempt at ingratiation, probably a turn-off. Fiona saw it as a genuine plea.

"If my superiors get wind of it ... worse, if it hits the media, it could bury me. Not only my job and future. My parents. My brothers. I mean, this could strike deep. I don't know if I can handle it."

"That's not our intention," Fiona said, exchanging glances with Gail, who remained silent.

"I didn't kill Phyla. I couldn't kill anyone."

Fiona had heard that before, sometimes from the most vicious murderers in the face of overwhelming evidence. She found herself wanting to believe him, wanting to keep her theory about Farley Lipscomb alive.

"As you can see, we're not going to hold you," Fiona said. "But I can't promise that we won't be talking with you again."

He nodded and stood up, looking at his watch.

"They're probably wondering where I am," he said, nodding awkwardly as he moved out of the room. When he was gone, Gail turned to her.

"There goes a guilty man," she said.

Fiona did not respond, although she felt almost ready to agree.