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‘You think Jess hid her cell phone?” asked Eva.

Zig shrugged. “Who knows? Could be she had some information or pictures on the phone the intruder wanted.”

“But why wouldn't Jess pass on any troubling information to Marcie? Why the cloak and dagger?” asked Tom.

“Again, no idea.” responded Zig. “Marcie's still a little traumatized by the whole thing. After all, if she hadn't been with me, she could be dead. Maybe with time she'll remember something. The question is, why wouldn't Jess tell you her little secret over the phone? Or at least, where she was hiding the phone, if that's what it was?”

Now it was Tom's turn to shrug. Suddenly, he remembered
Jess' last words. “She did say, just before she hung up, she said if something happened to her, remember doo-wop.”

Eva appeared perplexed. “Doo-wop?”

“What the hell's that supposed to mean?” asked Zig.

“Got me. I assume it's some kind of code.”

“Maybe a location to whatever ‘they' were looking for,” said Zig. “If you find what she was hiding, it could lead cops to the real killer.”

“Why didn't she just tell me? Why the code?”

“It could be she was worried your phone was bugged. Or maybe she thought you were with somebody. Who knows?”

Tom shook his head. “Doo-wop's music from the late '50s, early '60s. I don't see a connection to anything.”

Eva turned to Zig. “I need to get into some attorney-client stuff here with Tom, so why don't you excuse us for a little bit, and then if he wants to see you later, he can call?”

Zig smiled. “If he calls to spend time with me instead of you, then he no longer has to worry about conviction, 'cause he'll have a slam-dunk insanity defense no jury could deny.”

Eva chuckled as Zig got up and moved to the door. “I think there's a compliment in there somewhere.”

“Hey—” Tom rose from the couch and embraced his friend. “Thank you.”

Zig slapped him on the back. “You'd do the same for me.” As he closed the door, he paused for a moment and turned back.

“And think about the doo-wop remark. Could be key.”

With Eva's help, Tom cleared the empty beer cans and food trash from the table.

“You're lucky to have a good friend like Zig,” she said.

“I know. I'm sure he's the one who pitched my case to Master-son. Still can't believe the firm posted a hundred grand for me.”

“To them, it's a rounding error. And not to diminish his good deed, but the firm had two choices—throw you under the bus, or indignantly proclaim your innocence and the gross injustice of your arrest. Luckily, and maybe it was Zig who tipped the balance, they opted for door number two.”

When he cleared the last unopened beer from the coffee table, he reached for the pop-top.

“Tom—” Eva eyed the beer. An uncomfortable silence. “Look, it's not my place to—” she purposely didn't finish the sentence.

Tom momentarily froze with embarrassment. His voice sounded weak. “Uh, you're right. Probably had enough.”

“I'm sorry, I have no right—”

“No, you're absolutely correct. I have to be careful.” He placed the unopened beer can in the fridge. He knew on occasion he probably drank too much, but he felt he was always under control. Fact was, he had no idea how long it would take for the priest to get back to him, but if it happened soon he'd need to have his wits about him. He doubted an exorcism would work if he'd been drinking. “I need to have a clear head to assist in my defense.”

In two steps she was in his arms. She kissed his neck and whispered, “I really care about you and don't want anything to happen to you.”

Her warm body pressed tight against him felt wonderful. Despite his attempts to stop it, her embrace loosened the last remaining bricks in the wall—the tears trickled at first, then flowed unabated. She squeezed him tighter as his body heaved; the emotions from the last two months spilled out and there was nothing he could do to stop them.

After a while he pulled back, grabbed a paper towel off the roll on the kitchen counter, and wiped his eyes. “Sorry about that.”

She kissed him. “Don't be. You okay?”

“For the moment. Just, you know, the whole thing, everything, seems surreal.”

He blew his nose into the paper towel with a honk loud enough to call a gaggle of geese. They both laughed much harder than the honking deserved.

Eva put on hot water for tea. “Look, on the drinking, my brother was a functioning alcoholic, and it ruined his life. As I said, I have no right to nag you, but maybe at some point if you decide you might need some help, I have a bunch of contacts.”

“Thank you. I mean it when I say I'll keep that in mind. But for now, what's the attorney-client stuff you mentioned?”

She readied two cups with a chamomile tea bag and a squirt of honey from the bear-shaped squeeze bottle. “We need to talk about the gun.”

“It was mine.”

“I assumed that. Why did you get it and who did you get it from?”

Tom paused as he struggled with how to respond. He didn't want to draw Chewy into this case. Also, how was he supposed to answer the “why” question? Tell the truth? That he needed the weapon to kill random citizens so his daughter would remain safe from two preppy demons from hell? The last thing he wanted to do was lie to Eva. He'd already done that once. Maybe his only path was to tell the truth about not being able to tell the truth.

“I promised you I would never lie to you, so I'm very sorry, but I can't answer either of those questions. I know what I tell you is protected, but my reasons go beyond my case, and I'm sure you're curious, and maybe a bit angry I'm not telling you everything, but please trust me that I have no choice.”

She held his gaze for a moment, then poured the boiling water into the cups.

He took hold of her arms and turned her around. “I will also repeat what I hope you already know—I had absolutely nothing to do with Jess' death.”

“I know, and I hate that you're keeping things from me, things that may help me keep your butt out of jail. I appreciate you not telling me something that isn't true, but—”

“Eva, I need, I really
really
need you to trust me.” He held her gaze and neither spoke for several moments.

“Okay,” she whispered. “But you have to promise you'll tell me all you can the moment you're able to.”

“Promise.”

He kissed her and his heart soared when she kissed him back. She pulled back, took a cup of tea, and returned to the table. Tom followed suit.

“I met with Percy Castro before I came over. He gave me full discovery and didn't seem displeased you were out of jail. My guess is, he knows the government's case against you is not overwhelming, and he's hoping you'll do something stupid to strengthen it. So be careful of everything you say. I doubt if your phone's tapped, but it's possible. And that, of course, also means your cell. When you and I talk on the phone, you must keep your comments very vague. The only time we can have a substantive discussion is when we're alone together like this.”

“Guess that means we'll have to be spending more time alone together.” He attempted a smile.

She didn't reciprocate. “I'm serious, and you need to take this seriously, unless you really took a liking to prison food.”

“Anything interesting come out of your meeting with Castro?”

“Yeah, noise. Or more precisely, the lack of it. All neighbors were interviewed and no one heard a shot. Given the sound made by that model of Glock, one, if not both, of Jess' neighbors should've heard the shot.”

“So?”

“So maybe the shooter used a silencer, and lucky for you, no silencer was found at the scene of your crash or in the search of your apartment.”

“Are the cops buying this silencer theory?”

“Castro was noncommittal. Key question. Was your gun threaded, you know, so a suppressor could be screwed onto the barrel?”

Tom thought for a moment. “I know I sound like an idiot, but I don't remember. Can't you make the cops show you the weapon?”

“Yeah, just trying to save time.”

“Is there a way for ballistics to tell if a silencer was used?”

“Depends. The new ones don't leave a trace, but older versions, going back to the Vietnam War, used baffles or wipes, inner chambers made of plastic, rubber, or foam to suppress the sound from the exploding gases as the bullet passed through. These wipes would often leave a mark on the bullet. And to answer your next question, yes, I have an appointment set up with the ballistic lab tech assigned to the case to see if there was any evidence of a wipe stain on the bullet that killed Jess.”

“Even if all this pans out, the cops'll just say I ditched the silencer.”

“Probably. But if you ditched the silencer, why not the gun? Remember, all we have to do is instill reasonable doubt in a single juror.”

He barely heard her words. He was consumed with a gun, but it wasn't the one in police custody. He needed a new weapon to take one more life, and he needed it now.

“Don't look so down,” said Eva. “You're out of jail, and while
it's an uphill battle, we have the time to plan a defense that'll keep it—are you with me here?”

“Sorry.” He looked at her across the table, so beautiful, so trusting, and he realized he needed his mind to blank out for a while. No more thoughts of demons and death, of jail and juries. He stood, walked around the table, bent down and kissed her.

She smiled. “We really need—”

He kissed her again, this time lingering longer. She stood, and they embraced, then she reached for the buttons of his shirt.

By noon the next day, Tom had called Father Matthew twice to check on the status, reminding the priest of the approaching deadline—emphasis on
dead
—just over four days away. After the second call, the priest told him to stop calling, he was moving as fast as he could.

The time seemed to drag on forever. Tom felt imprisoned in his own apartment. He couldn't go to work for either PDS or the firm. Because of his notoriety, he was reluctant to go out in public. Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons he arranged for Gayle to bring Janie over to see him for a couple of hours while she and Angie went shopping. He felt a need to spend every moment hugging his daughter, but he didn't want to creep her out. He helped her with her homework, and they watched TV and snacked on popcorn. Those few hours were some of the happiest in his life, and his heart cracked each time he heard Gayle knocking on the door to take Janie back to Arlington.

Eva and Zig came over with takeout Tuesday and Wednesday nights. For a couple of hours, Tom did his best to forget about his troubles. Wednesday, Zig brought Marcie, and the four of them watched a movie. But the monster—not the murder charge, but the
big
monster—always lurked in the back of Tom's mind.

After the movie, at Eva's prodding, the four of them discussed the case, which mostly consisted of Eva gently questioning Marcie about anything she may have forgotten about Jess, her missing
phone, her mood changes, her associates, and any secrets Jess may have confided that could've slipped Marcie's mind.

Marcie genuinely tried to help, but it became clear after a few sessions that she really knew nothing that would contribute. During these discussions, Tom struggled to appear interested—after all, he was charged with first-degree murder, and his friends were trying their best to assist him. But his mind was on one thing only—his exorcism to save Janie.

Several times, Eva caught Tom checking his phone and asked him about it. He couldn't tell her he was waiting for word from a priest on scheduling his exorcism, so he did what he promised her he would never do and lied, telling her he was expecting a call from his cousin Estin.

Wednesday night, Eva stayed over, although she complained that his nightmares—she reported in the middle of the night he'd shout out angrily to some guy named Chad—kept her from a good night's sleep.

Thursday morning he received a bit of good news. A city councilman had been discovered having secret affairs with young teenage girls. The politician got a big red stripe of his own and, Tom fervently hoped, the fickle public would forget about the Intern Killer.

Thursday night, he and Zig decided to test his hoped-for fall from celebrity, and went out to Napoleon's for a burger and beer. To Tom's delight, although a couple of patrons stared for a few seconds, nobody bothered him. When Zig brought up the case and the doo-wop reference, Tom cut him off.

“Let's not talk about the case for one night.”

“You're absolutely right. So let's talk about our favorite subject.”

“Sports?”

“Women. You and Eva look like maybe you might have something going there.”

“Don't know about her, but I really—”

Tom's phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked at the screen to see a text from Father Matthew:
Be at your apt in 1 hr
.