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Eva interrupted. “Mr. Booker would be more than willing to surrender his passport, Your Honor. Moreover, he'd agree to limit himself to the District, Maryland, and Northern Virginia, pending his next appearance, unless specifically permitted to go beyond those boundaries by the court.”

“An innocent young woman has been murdered,” countered Lutz. “The government believes it has accumulated more than sufficient evidence to convict defendant of this heinous crime, in which case he'll be facing the very real prospect of spending the rest of his life behind bars. That's powerful motivation to—”

“I've heard enough,” proclaimed Schnabel. “Bail will be set at three million dollars.”

Eva pleaded, “Your Honor, imposing three million dollars is the same as no bail. As I said earlier, Mr. Booker is not a wealthy—” She stopped mid-sentence upon seeing the judge, bailiff, court reporter, and clerk raise their heads and look to the back of the courtroom.

She and Tom turned to observe Bat Masterson himself striding up the aisle.

“Is this good or bad news?” Tom whispered to Eva.

“Masterson was the AG when Schnabel received his judicial appointment, so we'll see very shortly.”

Masterson's voice filled the room, and every reporter scribbled furiously. “Your Honor, might I impose upon the court's largesse to very briefly interrupt these proceedings to address the court on this matter?”

Schnabel smiled, and Tom saw the two men lock eyes, as if an unspoken message was being conveyed. “The court recognizes former Attorney General Masterson.”

“Your Honor, Mr. Booker has been and continues to be a very valuable associate at our firm. I can't for a moment conceive of him committing the crime of which he's charged, but that will be determined at future proceedings. With respect to the instant matter, I respectfully request the court reconsider its ruling. I will personally vouch for Mr. Booker, and assure you he'll be present for all proceedings in this court in order to fight these baseless allegations and clear his good name.”

Lutz sputtered in her attempt to respond to Masterson. “Your Honor—”

Like a maestro conducting an orchestra, the Fuhrer raised one hand, and Lutz stopped her counter in mid-sentence.

After a long pause, Schnabel responded. “This court has the highest respect for Mr. Masterson, but—”

“Damn,” whispered Tom.

“—releasing defendant on his own recognizance would be highly inappropriate, given the gravity of the offense. However, Mr. Masterson's support does highlight the points raised by counsel regarding defendant's community ties. Therefore, the court will modify the bail amount to one million dollars with a 10 percent bond.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Masterson. “And we think so highly of Mr. Booker, I will present a check for one hundred thousand dollars to the clerk immediately following this proceeding to assure this innocent man not have to remain incarcerated one more minute than necessary.”

The Fuhrer banged his gavel. “Next case.”

Tom drained half the can of Bud in one swallow as he drove north on Rock Creek Parkway toward Adams Morgan. The trees in the park were now mostly bare, and though a sunny day, their stark black trunks, lined up like faceless soldiers, appeared vaguely sinister. He shivered, then finished the Bud.

It had taken till midafternoon before he'd been released. Eva had arranged to have him exit the restricted entrance in the rear of the building to avoid the media jackals gathered on the front plaza. After a quick kiss, she promised to come by after cleaning up a few things on her desk. Zig offered a ride home, but if Tom was going to save his daughter, he needed wheels. He'd insisted Zig drop him off at a Hertz office downtown, where he'd picked up a small Ford, then made a quick stop at a liquor store.

Janie was the last target. He was now free to save her. No need to worry about getting caught. One life, any life. If he knew for certain his own would qualify, at the next curve he'd veer into the nearest tree without a second thought. With one hand and a practiced thumb, he popped another beer.

He attempted to pass a big black Mercedes in front of him. As he pulled even, the driver accelerated.
Some fat-cat jerk
, thought Tom. Can't stand that a little Ford Escort or Eclipse, or whatever
the hell he was driving, would pass his hotshot car. Tinted windows prevented Tom from seeing the driver's face, but he flipped the finger anyway.

The Mercedes accelerated.
One life, any life
. Why wait till the last minute? Won't have to think about an exorcism. Finish this right here, right now. Driver probably wasn't a killer, but no doubt had done some unsavory things in his life. Hell with it.
Hell with it
. Funny.

Tom saw the sharp left curve ahead. He stepped on the gas and accelerated past the Mercedes, then cut the wheel sharply to the right, attempting to force the Mercedes off the road into a huge oak hurtling toward them.

The driver slammed on his brakes. With tires squealing, the big black car spun in a full circle, out of control, heading straight for the oak. But at the last moment, the driver was able to bring it to a stop on the shoulder facing backwards.

Tom slowed and checked his rearview mirror. The driver got out.
No
. A young woman, early twenties. She opened the back door and pulled an infant from a car seat.

Oh, my God
.

His shoulders heaved as the tears came and continued all he way home. He wouldn't have stopped them even if he could.

Tom finished the Stella. He was in his apartment, sitting across his table from Zig.

“Now that you've washed the edge off, you want to walk down to Napoleon's for some real food?” asked Zig.

“I'm starving for anything that isn't white, limp, or damp, but given my new celebrity, not sure that's a great idea.” Tom got up and rummaged through his cupboard and in the back corner found a can of chicken noodle soup that had probably been there for over a year.

“Don't you dare,” said Zig. He pulled out his phone and
tapped a speed-dial number. “One large, no, make that two large, with sausage, mushrooms…” He looked to Tom.

“Peppers, double peppers.”

Zig finished the order, provided the address, and terminated the call.

Tom replaced the soup and returned to the table. “I know I already said this, but I can't thank you enough. And I never had a chance to thank Mr. Masterson.”

“You're welcome. What are your immediate plans?”

“Good question. I don't know how I can go back to PDS. Doubt any court would approve my appointment to represent an accused. Judge would be afraid if the man were found guilty, the conviction would be overturned because of the likelihood a juror who thought I killed Jess would convict the client by association. What about the firm?”

“It's not my call, but Bat said to tell you to lie low for a few days. You know, till things cool down. And you'll continue to be paid, of course.”

“Again, thank you.” Tom really did appreciate the firm's help—otherwise, he'd still be living in the D Street Hilton. But although socializing with Zig felt great, he couldn't keep his mind from the exorcism to rid his body—his soul?—of the demons inside him.

If
they were inside him. After the incident on the Parkway, Tom had resolved to put his faith in Father Sheran. As soon as he'd arrived at his apartment, he'd excused himself from Zig and gone into the bathroom to call the priest. Matthew explained he was working on setting up the ritual and promised to get back in touch soon. Tom resisted the strong impulse to press him further. In the meantime, he would try to act as normal as possible. Which meant engaging in discussions about his case with the people who cared about him.

Zig continued, “The free time will allow you and Eva to concentrate on your defense, and maybe even finding Jess' real killer.”

Tom's response was interrupted by a knock.

“Too soon for pizza,” said Zig.

Tom opened the door to greet Eva. She carried a six-pack of Bud and a bag surrounded by the seductive aroma of hot french fries. She set the beer and food on the table, then turned and embraced him.

“I never really thought you'd get out,” she said.

“A lack of confidence from my own attorney is not very comforting.” He smiled broadly and kissed her.

“Hey, you want I should leave?” asked Zig.

“No, no. Join us,” she responded. “There's an extra burger in there.”

“Already ordered pizza, but whatever's left over will keep,” said Tom. He kissed her again, then opened the bag, removed a large container of fries, and ate half of them in one bite.

“A couple days in the slammer and you eat like a pig,” said Eva.

Tom's voice was partially muffled by the butts of fries sprouting from his mouth. “And your point is—?”

They all laughed, and it was all Tom could do to keep from choking on the fries.

With Tom vacuuming in the food like a Hoover, they'd killed the burgers, the pizza, and most of the second six-pack. Tom heard Zig and Eva discussing his case, but their voices sounded like they were at the far end of a tunnel. His mind was consumed with the exorcism and the chance to rid his body, his life, of the threat to his daughter.

“Tom—Tom, are you even listening to us?” asked Eva.

“Yes, sure, of course.” He tried to focus on their conversation.

“Okay, the police believe the ransacking of Jess' place was a clumsy attempt to deflect suspicion from the fact that she knew the killer,” said Eva.

Zig, reclining in Tom's red chair, grabbed a beer from the lamp table next to him and tossed the two remaining cans to Tom and Eva sitting on the couch. “What do you think?” he asked.

Eva set her beer down on the coffee table unopened. “From
the discovery they've given me so far, they're probably right,” she responded. “There's no evidence of sexual assault. Nothing missing from the unit—money, jewelry, were all easily findable but nothing taken. It has all the earmarks of the killer trying to throw off the cops. But don't get me wrong. At trial, we'll definitely use the spooked, robbery-gone-bad theory to try to establish reasonable doubt.”

“Trial?” asked Tom.

Eva hastily stepped back. “Highly unlikely we'll get that far.”

“Guys, remember why Jess wanted me to come over,” said Tom. “She said she needed legal advice and was scared. You saw her at the party, she was highly agitated. Said ‘they' were looking for something, which fits in with the ransacking.”

“The problem is, you're the only witness to that conversation,” said Eva.

“Assuming it wasn't a burglary gone bad, anyone else who'd have a motive to take her life?” Zig asked.

“No idea,” replied Tom. “I mean, I hardly knew the girl. What does Marcie say? Anybody who would hate her enough to kill her? Any idea what she was hiding?”

“Clueless,” Zig responded. “Although after the medics took Jess' body away, Marcie said she looked for Jess' phone so she could find contact info for her family and friends, but couldn't locate it.”