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； would be a late Sunday with a thick newspaper and strong coffee。 He would go to the office later in the afternoon。 His client had seventeen days。
Lee had finished a third beer after they arrived at the condo； then she'd gone to bed。 Adam had watched her carefully； half…expecting a wild binge or sudden slide into an alcoholic stupor。 But she'd been very quiet and posed； and he heard nothing from her during the night。
He finished his shower； didn't shave； and walked to the kitchen where the syrupy remains of the first pot of coffee awaited him。 Lee had been up for some time。 He called her name； then walked to her bedroom。 He quickly checked the patio； then roamed through the condo。 She was not there。 The Sunday paper was stacked neatly on the coffee table in the den。
He fixed fresh coffee and toast； and took his breakfast on the patio。 It was almost nine…thirty； and thankfully the sky was cloudy and the temperature was not suffocating。 It would be a good Sunday for office work。 He read the paper； starting with the front section。
Perhaps she'd run to the store or something。 Maybe she'd gone to church。 They hadn't yet reached the point of leaving notes for each other。 But there'd been no talk of Lee going anywhere this morning。
He'd eaten one piece of toast with strawberry jam when his appetite suddenly vanished。 The front page of the Metro section carried another story on Sam Cayhall； with the same picture from ten years ago。 It was a chatty little summary of the past week's developments； plete with a chronological chart giving the important dates in the history of the case。 A cute question mark was left dangling by the date of August 8； 。1990。 Would there be an execution then？ Evidently； Todd Marks had been given unlimited column inches by the editors because the story contained almost nothing new。 The disturbing part was a few quotes from a law professor at Ole Miss； an expert in constitutional matters who'd worked on many death penalty cases。 The learned professor was generous with his opinions； and his bottom line was that Sam's goose was pretty much cooked。 He'd studied the file at length； had followed it for many years in fact； and was of the opinion that there was basically nothing left for Sam to do。 He explained that in many death penalty cases； miracles can sometimes be performed at the last moment because usually the inmate has suffered from mediocre legal representation； even during his appeals。 In those cases； experts such as himself can often pull rabbits out of hats because they're just so damned brilliant； and thus able to create issues ignored by lesser legal minds。 But； regrettably； Sam's case was different because he had been petently represented by some very fine lawyers from Chicago。
Sam's appeals had been handled skillfully； and now the appeals had run their course。 The professor； evidently a gambling man； gave five to one odds the execution would take place on August 8。 And for all of this； the opinions and the odds； he got his picture in the paper。
Adam was suddenly nervous。 He'd read dozens of death cases in which lawyers at the last minute grabbed ropes they'd never grabbed before； and convinced judges to listen to new arguments。 The lore of capital litigation was full of stories about latent legal issues undiscovered and untapped until a different lawyer with a fresh eye entered the arena and captured a stay。 But the law professor was right。 Sam had been lucky。 Though Sam despised the lawyers at Kravitz & Bane； they had provided superb representation。 Now there was nothing left but a bunch of desperate motions； the gangplank appeals； as they were known。
He flung the paper on the wooden deck and went inside for more coffee。 The sliding door beeped； a new sound from a new security system installed last Friday after the old one malfunctioned and some keys mysteriously disappeared。 There was no evidence of a break…in。 Security was tight at the plex。
And Willis didn't really know how many sets of keys he kept for each unit。 The Memphis police decided the sliding door had been left unlocked and slipped open somehow。 Adam and Lee had not worried about it。
He inadvertently struck a glass tumbler next to the sink； and it shattered as it hit the floor。 Bits of glass bounced around his bare feet； and he tiptoed gingerly to the pantry to get a broom and dustpan。 He carefully swept the debris； without bloodshed； into a neat pile and dumped it into a wastebasket under the sink。 Something caught his attention。 He slowly reached into the black plastic garbage bag； and felt his way through warm coffee grounds and broken glass until he found a bottle and pulled it out。 It was an empty pint of vodka。
He raked the coffee grounds from it and studied the label。 The trash basket was small and normally emptied every other day； sometimes once a day。 It was now half…filled。 The bottle had not been there long。 He opened the refrigerator and looked for the remaining three bottles of beer from yesterday's six…pack。 She'd had two en route back to Memphis； then one at the condo。 He did not remember where they had been stored； but they were not in the refrigerator。 Nor in the trash in the kitchen； den； bathrooms； or bedrooms。 The more he searched the more determined he became to find the bottles。 He inspected the pantry； the broom closet； the linen closet； the kitchen cabinets。 He went through her closets and drawers； and felt like a thief and a cheat but pressed on because he was scared。
They were under her bed； empty of course； and carefully hidden in an old Nike shoe box。 Three empty bottles of Heineken stacked neatly together； as if they were to be shipped somewhere as a gift。 He sat on the floor and examined them。 They were fresh； with a few drops still rolling around the bottoms。
He guessed her weight to be around a hundred and thirty pounds； and her height at five feet six or seven。 She was slender but not too thin。 Her body couldn't handle much booze。 She'd gone to bed early； around nine； then at some point sneaked around the condo fetching beer and vodka。 Adam leaned against the wall； his mind racing wildly。 She'd given much thought to the hiding of the green bottles； but she knew she'd get caught。 She had to know Adam would look for them later。 Why hadn't she been more careful with the empty pint bottle？ Why was it hidden in the trash； and the beer bottles tucked away under her bed？
Then he realized he was attempting to track a rational mind； instead of a drunk one。 He closed his eyes and tapped the back of his head against the wall。 He'd taken her to Ford County； where they looked at graves and relived a nightmare； and where she'd worn sunglasses to hide her face。 For two weeks now； he'd been demanding family secrets and yesterday he'd been kicked in the face with a few。 He needed to know； he'd told himself。 He wasn't certain why； but he just felt as if he had to know the reasons his family was strange and violent and hateful。
And now； it occurred to him for the first time； perhaps this was much more plicated than the casual telling of family stories。 Perhaps this was painful for everyone involved。 Maybe his selfish interest in closeted skeletons wasn't as important