Judge Stevens turned to Edward Monroe. “Is this true?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Edward Monroe opened his briefcase and pulled out a computer readout
The bailiff took it from Monroe and handed it to the judge. Judge Stevens glanced at it and his face became red.
He looked at Edward Monroe. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“No, sir.”
“The computer picked me as a possible suspect?” Judge Stevens asked.
“Yes, sir, it did.”
Jennifer explained, “The computer has no reasoning power, Your Honor. It can only respond to the information it is given. You and my client happen to be the same weight, height and age. You both drive green sedans, and you both come from the same state. That’s really as much evidence as the prosecuting attorney has. The only other factor is the way in which the crime was done. When Paul Richards committed that bank robbery ten years ago, millions of people read about it. Any one of them could have imitated his modus operandi. Someone did.” Jennifer indicated the piece of paper in Judge Stevens’ hand. “That shows you how flimsy the State’s case really is.”
Carter Gifford sputtered, “Your Honor—” and stopped. He did not know what to say.
Judge Stevens looked again at the computer readout in his hand and then at Jennifer.
“What would you have done,” he asked, “if the court had been a younger man, thinner than I, who drove a blue car?”
“The computer gave me ten other possible suspects,” Jennifer said. “My next choice would have been New York District Attorney Robert Di Silva.”
Jennifer was sitting in her office, reading the headlines, when Cynthia announced, “Mr. Paul Richards is here.”
“Send him in, Cynthia.”
He came into the office wearing a black raincoat and carrying a candy box tied with a red ribbon.
“I just wanted to tell you thanks.”
“You see? Sometimes justice does triumph.”
“I’m leaving town. I decided I need a little vacation.” He handed Jennifer the candy box. “A little token of my appreciation.”
“Thank you, Paul.”
He looked at her admiringly. “I think you’re terrific.”
And he was gone.
Jennifer looked at the box of candy on her desk and smiled. She had received less for handling most of Father Ryan’s friends. If she got fat, it would be Father Ryan’s fault.
Jennifer untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside was ten thousand dollars in used currency.
One afternoon as Jennifer was leaving the courthouse, she noticed a large, black, chauffeured Cadillac limousine at the curb. As she started to walk past it, Michael Moretti stepped out. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Close up, there was an electric vitality to the man that was almost overpowering.
“Get out of my way,” Jennifer said. Her face was flushed and angry, and she was even more beautiful than Michael Moretti had remembered.
“Hey,” he laughed, “cool down. All I want to do is talk to you. All you have to do is listen. I’ll pay you for your time.”
“You’ll never have enough money.”
She started to move past him. Michael Moretti put a conciliatory hand on her arm. Just touching her increased his excitement.
He turned on all of his charm. “Be reasonable. You won’t know what you’re turning down until you hear what I have to say. Ten minutes. That’s all I want. I’ll drop you off at your office. We can talk on the way.”
Jennifer studied him a moment and said, “I’ll go with you on one condition. I want the answer to a question.”
Michael nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“Whose idea was it to frame me with the dead canary?”
He answered without hesitation. “Mine.”
So now she knew. And she could have killed him. Grimly she stepped into the limousine and Michael Moretti moved in beside her. Jennifer noted that he gave the driver the address of her office building without asking.
As the limousine drove off, Michael Moretti said, “I’m glad about all the great things that are happening to you.”
Jennifer did not bother to reply.
“I really mean that.”
“You haven’t told me what it is you want.”
“I want to make you rich.”