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  A voice barked into her ear at the other end. “City Prison. Palmer here.” Jesus. Now what? Okay, you called, so ask the man, dummy.

  “I … I was wondering if you have a … a Mr. Ian Clarke, Ian Powers Clarke, down there, Sergeant. On parking violations.”

  “What’s the spelling?” The desk sergeant was not amused. Parking violations were serious business.

  “Clarke. With an ‘E’ at the end. Ian. I-A-N C-L-A-R-K-E.” She took another drag on her cigarette while she waited, and Katsuko stuck her head in the door with an inquiry about lunch. Jessica shook her head vehemently and motioned to close the door. Her nerves had begun to fray hours ago, with the arrival of Inspector Houghton.

  The voice came back on the phone after an interminable pause.

  “Clarke. Yeah. We got him.” Well, bully for you. Jessica heaved a small sigh of relief. It was disagreeable, but not the end of the world. And at least now she knew, and she could have him out in half an hour. She wondered how many tickets he hadn’t paid this time. But this time she was going to let him have a piece of her mind. He had scared the shit out of her. And that was probably what Houghton had wanted to do. He had, too, by not admitting that the problem was parking violations. Bastard.

  “We booked him an hour ago. They’re talking to him now.”

  “About parking tickets?” How ridiculous. Enough was enough. And Jessica had had more than enough already.

  “No, lady. Not about parking tickets. About three counts of rape and a charge of assault.” Jessie thought she could feel the ceiling pressing down on her head as the walls rushed in to squeeze the breath out of her lungs.

  “What?”

  “Three counts of rape. And a charge of assault.”

  “My God. Can I talk to him?” Her hands shook so hard it took both of them to hold the phone, and she felt her breakfast rise in her throat.

  “No. He can talk to his lawyer, and you can see him tomorrow. Between eleven and two. Bail hasn’t been set. The arraignment’s on Thursday.” The desk sergeant hung up on her then, and she was holding the dead receiver in her hand, with a blank look in her eyes and tears beginning to stream down her face, when Katsuko opened the door and held out a sandwich. It took her a moment to absorb what she saw.

  “My God. What happened?” She stopped in her tracks and stared into the bedlam of Jessica’s eyes. Jessica never came apart, never cried, never wavered, never … At least they never saw that side of her at the shop.

  “I don’t know what happened. But there’s been this incredible, horrible, most ridiculous fucking mistake!” She was shouting and she picked up the sandwich Kat had brought in and threw it across the room. Three counts of rape. And one count of assault. What in hell was going on?

  Chapter 4

  “Jessie? Where are you going?”

  She brushed past Zina, returning from lunch, as she rushed out the door.

  “Just make believe I never got back from New York. I’m going home. But don’t call me.” She yanked open the door of her car and got in.

  “Are you sick?” Zina was calling from the top of the steps, but Jessica just shook her head, pulled the choke, turned on the ignition, and roared into reverse.

  Zina walked into the boutique bewildered, but Katsuko could tell her nothing more than what she had seen. Jessie was upset, but Kat didn’t know why. It had something to do with the policeman’s visit that morning. The two girls were worried, but she had told them not to call her at home, and the afternoon at the boutique was too busy for them to have time to speculate. Katsuko figured it had something to do with Ian, but she didn’t know what. Zina was left in the dark.

  When she got home, Jessica grabbed for the phone with one hand and then address book with the other. A cup half filled with coffee sat on the kitchen table. Ian had been in the middle of his breakfast when they’d taken him away, and something in Jessie’s heart told her that Houghton had been the one who had taken Ian away. She wondered if the neighbors had seen it.

  A stack of pages from the new book lay near the coffee. Nothing else. No note or message to her. He must have been shocked. And obviously it was an insane accusation. They had the wrong man. In a few hours the nightmare would be over, and he would be home. Her sanity had returned. Now all they needed was an attorney. She simply wouldn’t allow herself to panic.

  Her address book yielded the name she wanted, and she was in luck; he was free when she called, and not out to lunch as she’d feared he would be. He was a man she and Ian respected, an attorney with a good reputation, senior partner of his firm. Philip Wald.

  “But Jessica, I don’t do criminal work.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Quite a lot, I’m afraid. What you want is a good criminal defense attorney.”

  “But he didn’t do it, for Chrissake. We just need someone to straighten things out and get him out of this mess.”

  “Have you spoken to him?”

  “No, they wouldn’t let me. Look, Philip, please. Just go down there and talk to them. Talk to Ian. This whole thing is absurd.” At the other end of the phone, there was silence.

  “I can do that. But I can’t take the case. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you.”

  “What case? This is just a matter of misidentification.”

  “Do you know what it’s based on?”

  “Something to do with my car.”

  “Did they have your license plate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, yes, then they might have transposed the numbers or letters.” She didn’t say anything, but it was hard to transpose the spelling of “Jessie” and come up with the wrong name. That was the only thing that bothered her. The tie-in with her car. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll go down and see him, find out what’s going on, and I’ll give you some names of defense attorneys. Get in touch with them, and whoever you settle on, tell him I’ll give him a call later and fill him in on what I know. And tell them I told you to call.”

  She sighed deeply. “Thank you, Philip. That helps.”

  He gave her the names and promised to come by the house as soon as he’d seen Ian. And she settled down with Ian’s cold coffee to phone Philip’s friends. Criminal defense attorneys all. The calls were not cheering.

  The first one was out of town. The second one was in court for at least the next week and could not be disturbed with a new case. The third was too tied up to talk to her. The fourth was out. But the fifth spent some time with her on the phone. Jessie hated his voice.

  “Does he have a previous record?”

  “No. Of course not. Only parking violations.”

  “Drugs? Any problems with drugs?”

  “None.”

  “Is he a drinker?”

  “No, only wine at social occasions.” Christ, the man already thought Ian had done it. That much was clear.

  “Did he know this woman before … ah … was he previously acquainted with her?”

  “I don’t know anything about the woman. And I assume that this is all a mistake.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  Bastard. Jessie already hated him.

  “I know my husband.”

  “Did she identify him?”

  “I don’t know. Mr. Wald can tell you all that when he comes back from seeing Ian.” At the jail … oh Jesus … Ian was in jail and it was for real, and this goddam lawyer was asking her stupid questions about whether or not Ian knew the woman who was accusing him of rape. Who cared? She just wanted him home, dammit. Now. Didn’t anyone understand that? Her chest got tight and it was hard to breathe as she attempted to keep her voice calm to hide the rising panic pumping at her insides.

  “Well, young lady, I’ll tell you. You and your husband have a pile of trouble on your hands. But it’s an interesting case.” Oh, for Chrissake. “I’d be willing to handle the matter for you. But there is the question of my fee. Payable in advance.”

  “In advance?” She was shocked.

&n
bsp; “Yes. You’ll find that most of my colleagues, if not all, handle matters the same way. I really have to collect before I get into a case, because once I appear in Superior Court for your husband, I then became the attorney of record, and legally I’m locked into the case, whether you pay the fee or not. And if your husband goes to prison, you just may not pay up. Do you have any assets?”

  Ian go to prison? Fuck you, mister.

  “Yes, we have assets.” She could hardly unclench her teeth.

  “What kind of assets?”

  “I can assure you that I could manage your fee.”

  “Well, I like to be sure. My fee for this would be fifteen thousand dollars.”

  “What? In advance?”

  “I’d want half of that before the arraignment. I believe you said that’s on Thursday. And half immediately after.”

  “But there’s no way I could possibly turn my assets into cash in two days.”

  “Then I’m afraid there’s no way I could possibly handle the case.”

  “Thank you.” She wanted to tell him to get fucked. But by then she was beginning to panic again. Who in God’s name would help her?

  The sixth person whose name Philip had given her turned out to be human. His name was Martin Schwartz.

  “Sounds like you’ve got yourself one hell of a problem, or at least your husband does. Do you think he did it?” It was an interesting question, and she liked him for even assuming there was some doubt. She hesitated for only a moment. The man deserved a thoughtful answer.

  “No, I don’t. And not just because I’m his wife. I don’t believe he could do something like that. It isn’t in him, and he doesn’t need to.”

  “All right, I’ll accept that. But people do strange things, Mrs. Clarke. For your own sake, be prepared to accept that. Your husband may have a side to him you don’t even know.”

  It was possible. Anything was possible. But she didn’t believe it. She couldn’t.

  “I’d like to talk to Philip Wald after he sees him,” Schwartz went on.

  “I’d appreciate it if you would. There’s something called an arraignment scheduled for Thursday. We’re going to need legal counsel by then, and Philip doesn’t feel he’s qualified to take the case.” The case … the case … the case … she already hated the word.

  “Philip’s a good man.”

  “I know. Mr. Schwartz … I hate to bring this up, bit …”

  “My fee?”

  “Your fee.” She heaved a deep sigh and felt a knot tighten in her stomach.

  “We can discuss that. I’ll try to be reasonable.”

  “I’ll tell you frankly, the man I spoke to before you asked for fifteen thousand dollars by Thursday. I couldn’t even begin to swing that.”

  “Do you have any assets?” Oh Christ, not that again.

  “Yes, I have assets.” Her tone was suddenly disagreeable. “I have a business, a house, and a car. And my husband also has a car. But we can’t just sell the house, or my business, in two days.”

  It interested him the way she said “my business,” not “our.” He wondered what “his” business was, if any.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to liquidate your assets on the spot, Mrs. Clarke.” His tone was calm but firm. Something about him soothed her. “But I was thinking that you may need some collateral for the bail—if they make the charges stick, which remains to be seen. Bail can run pretty high. We’ll worry about that later. As for my fee, I think two thousand dollars up to trial would be reasonable. And if it goes to trial, an additional five thousand dollars. But that won’t be for a couple of months, and if you’re a friend of Philip’s, I won’t worry.” It struck her then that people who weren’t “friends of Philip’s” were in a world of trouble. She felt suddenly grateful. “How does that sound to you?”

  She nodded silently to herself, aghast but relieved. It was certainly better than the fee she had heard a few moments before. It would clean out her savings account, but at least she could manage the two thousand. They could worry about the other five later, if it came to that. She’d sell the Morgan if she had to, and without thinking twice. Ian’s ass was on the line, and she needed him one hell of a lot more than she needed the Morgan. And there was always her mother’s jewelry. But that was sacred. Even for Ian.

  “We can manage.”

  “Fine. When can I see you?”

  “Anytime you like.”

  “Then I’d like to see you tomorrow in my office. I’ll talk to Wald this afternoon, and get up to see Mr. Clarke in the morning. Can you be in my office at ten-thirty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll get the police reports and see what the score is there. All right?”

  “Wonderful. I suddenly feel as though a thousand-pound weight is off my back. I’ll tell you, I’ve been totally frantic. I’m way out of my league. Police, bail, counts of this and counts of that, arraignments … I don’t know what the hell is going on. I don’t even know what the hell happened.”

  “Well, we’re going to find out. So you just relax.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Schwartz. Thank you very much.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  They hung up and Jessica was suddenly in tears again. He had been nice to her. Finally someone had been decent to her in all this. From police inspectors who would tell her nothing, to desk sergeants who announced the charges and hung up in her ear, to attorneys who wanted fifteen thousand dollars in cash on their desks in forty-eight hours, to … Martin Schwartz, a human being. And according to Philip Wald, Schwartz was a competent lawyer. It had been an incredible day. And oh God, where was Ian? The tears burned a hot damp path down her face again. It felt as though they had been coming all day. And she had to pull herself together. Wald would be there soon.

  Philip Wald arrived at five-thirty. His face wore an expression of grave concern and his eyes were tired.

  “Did you see him?” Jessie could feel her eyes burn again and had to fight back the tears.

  “I did.”

  “How is he?”

  “He’s all right. Shaken, but all right. He was very concerned about how you are.”

  “Did you tell him I’m fine?” Her hands were shaking violently again and the coffee she’d been drinking all day had only made matters worse. She looked a far cry from “fine.”

  “I told him you were very upset, which is certainly natural, under the circumstances. Jessica, let’s sit down.” She didn’t like the way he said it, but maybe he was just tired. They’d all had a long day. An endless day.

  “I spoke to Martin Schwartz,” she said. “I think he’ll take the case. And he said he’d call you this afternoon.”

  “Good. I think you’ll both like him. He’s a very fine attorney, and also a very nice man.”

  Jessica led Philip into the living room, where he took a seat on the long white couch facing the view. Jessica chose a soft beige suede chair next to an old brass table she and Ian had found in Italy on their honeymoon. She took a deep breath, sighed, and let her feet slide into the rug. It was a warm, pleasant room that always gave her solace. A place she could come home to and unwind in … except now. Now she felt as though nothing would ever be all right again, and as though it had been years since she had known the comfort of Ian’s arms, or seen the light in his eyes.

  Almost instinctively, her eyes went to a small portrait of him that she had done years before. It hung over the fireplace and smiled at her gently. It was agonizing. Where was he? She was suddenly and painfully reminded of the feeling she had had looking at Jake’s high-school pictures when she’d gone through his things after they’d gotten the telegram from the Navy. That smile after it’s all over.

  “Jessica?” She glanced up with a shocked expression, and Philip looked pained. She seemed distraught, confused, as though her mind were wandering. He had seen her staring at the small oil portrait, and for a moment she had worn the bereft expression of a grieving widow … the face that simply does not underst
and, the eyes that are drowning in pain. What a ghastly business. He looked at the view for a moment, and then back at her, hoping she might have composed herself. But there was nothing to compose. Her manner was in total control; it was the expression in her eyes that told the rest of the story. He wasn’t at all sure how much she was ready to hear now, but he had to tell her. All of it.

  “Jessica, you’ve got trouble.” She smiled tiredly and brushed a stray tear away from her cheek.

  “That sounds like the understatement of the year. What else is new?” Philip ignored the feeble attempt at humor and went on. He wanted to get it over with.

  “I really don’t think he did it. But he admits to having slept with the woman yesterday afternoon. That is to say, he … he had intercourse with her.” He concentrated on his right knee, trying to run the distasteful words into one long unintelligible syllable.

  “I see.” But she didn’t really see. What was there to see? Ian had made love to someone. And the someone was accusing him of rape. Why couldn’t she feel something? There was this incredible numbness that just sat on her like a giant hat. No anger, no anything, just numb. And maybe pity for Ian. But why was she numb? Maybe because she had to hear it from Philip, a relative stranger. Her cigarette burned through the filter and went dead in her hand, and still she waited for him to go on.

  “He says that he had too much to drink yesterday at lunch, and you were due home last night. Something about your being away for several weeks, and his being a man—I’ll spare you that. He noticed this girl in the restaurant, and after a few drinks she didn’t look bad.”

  “He picked her up?” She felt as though someone else were speaking her words for her. She could hear them, but she couldn’t feel her mouth move. Nothing seemed to be functioning. Not her mind, not her heart, not her mouth. She almost laughed hysterically, wondering what would happen if she had to go to the bathroom; surely she would pee all over the suede chair and not even know she was doing it. She felt as if she had overdosed on Novocain.