Hit List

hair—medium brown with red highlights, shoulder length, worn back off her face—seemed okay to Keller, and she was wearing what looked to him like fairly standard women’s business attire, but Keller knew his limitations. When it came to looking at clothes and hairstyles, any heterosexual male was like a noncollector looking at a page full of stamps. He missed the fine points.
    “I wonder what they talk about during those benchconferences,” he said. “But I have a feeling we’re not even supposed to speculate.”
    “A couple of times I could almost make out what they were saying.”
    “Really?”
    “So I tried not to listen, and that’s like trying not to think of something, like a white rhinoceros.”
    “Huh?”
    “Go ahead,” she said. “Try not to think of one.”
    There were a lot of things they couldn’t talk about, but that left them the whole world outside of the courtroom. Keller told her how he’d been up late finishing the book, and she told him a story about one of the senior partners at her firm, who was having an affair with a client. They didn’t run out of conversation.
    At one-thirty they were back in the jury box. The assistant DA who was trying the case began presenting witnesses, and Keller concentrated on their testimony. It was close to five by the time the judge adjourned for the day.
    The next day, Friday, he was sorry he’d finished his book. Everybody told you to bring something to read while you waited to see if you drew a case. What they didn’t tell you was that you were just as much in need of diversion after you’d been impaneled. You couldn’t read during bench conferences—it wouldn’t look good if a juror whipped out a paperback the minute the judge and the lawyers got in a huddle—but there were plenty of other opportunities.
    “In my chambers,” the judge said around ten o’clock, and he and the two lawyers were gone for twenty minutes. A couple of the jurors closed their eyes during their absence, and one of them didn’t manage to open them after things got going again.
    “I think Mr. Bittner may have nodded off,” he said at lunch, and Gloria said the man was either sleeping or he’d mastered the art of wide-awake snoring.
    “But we’re probably not supposed to talk about it,” she said, and he agreed that they probably weren’t.
    During the afternoon there were a couple more bench conferences and one long break where the judge and the attorneys stayed in the courtroom but the jury had to leave. The bailiff escorted them to another room, where they all sat around a table as if to deliberate the verdict. But they had nothing to ponder, and they were under orders not to discuss the case, and they were seated too close together to have private conversations among themselves, so all they could do, really, was sit there. That was when a book would have come in handy.
    Around four-thirty the judge sent them home for the weekend. Keller, who’d packed a briefcase with a clean shirt and a change of socks and underwear, went straight to Penn Station.

Twenty-one
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    The previous weekend Keller had stayed at a hotel near the train station, but he’d come across a bed and breakfast in Fells Point that looked inviting and was certainly more convenient. He’d reserved a room the night before, and checked in a little after nine. It was almost midnight when he called White Plains from a pay phone around the corner.
    “I’m in Baltimore,” he said.
    “That’s nice,” she said. “Everybody’s got to be someplace. And, since you’ve got something to do in Baltimore—“
    “Not this weekend I don’t.”
    “Oh?”
    “Our friend left town. She’s on the Eastern Shore.”
    “Aren’t we all? Isn’t New York on the eastern shore, and Baltimore, and all points in between?”
    It was a section of Maryland, he explained, a sort of peninsula on the other side of Chesapeake Bay. And that’s where Irene Macnamara was, and would be until Monday morning.
    “At which time you’ll be in a stuffy old courtroom,” she said. “Unless you’re going to make old Aunt Dorothy very happy by telling her the trial’s all wrapped up.”
    “How could that happen? It didn’t even start until yesterday morning.”
    “There’s always the miracle of plea bargaining. Not this time, huh?”
    “No.”
    “Was it a purse snatcher, Keller? Are you going to make sure the little bastard gets what’s coming to him?”
    “I’m not supposed to talk about the