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〃To law school？〃
〃I don't think so。 The law has lost its allure。〃
〃Why'd you want to be a lawyer？〃
〃Idealism； and money。 I thought I could change the world and get paid for it。〃
〃But there are so damned many lawyers already。 Why do all these bright students keep flocking to law school？〃
〃Simple。 It's greed。 They want BMWs and gold credit cards。 If you go to a good law school； finish in the top ten percent； and get a job with a big firm； you'll be earning six figures in a few short years； and it only goes up。 It's guaranteed。 At the age of thirty…five； you'll be a partner raking in at least two hundred thousand a year。 Some earn much more。〃
〃What about the other ninety percent？〃
〃It's not such a good deal for them。 They get the leftovers。〃
〃Most lawyers I know hate it。 They'd rather be doing something else。〃
〃But they can't leave it because of the money。 Even a lousy lawyer in a small office can earn a hundred thousand a year after ten years of practice； and he may hate it； but where can he go and match the money？〃
〃I detest lawyers。〃
〃And I guess you think reporters are adored。〃
Good point。 Gray looked at his watch； then picked up the phone。 He dialed Keen's number。 Keen read him the obit； and the Post story about the senseless street killing of this young lawyer。 Gray took notes。
〃A couple of other things；〃 Keen said。 〃Feldman is very concerned about your safety。 He expected a briefing in his office today； and he was pissed when he didn't get one。 Make sure you report to him before noon tomorrow。 Understand？〃
〃I'll try。〃
〃Do more than try； Gray。 We're very nervous over here。〃
〃The Times is sucking wind； isn't it？〃
〃I'm not worried about the Times right now。 I'm much more concerned about you and the girl。〃
〃We're fine。 Everything's lovely。 What else have you got？〃
〃You have three messages in the past two hours from a man named Cleve。 Says he's a cop。 Do you know him？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃Well； he wants to talk tonight。 Says it's urgent。〃
〃I'll call him later。〃
〃Okay。 You guys be careful。 We'll be here till late； so check in。〃
Gray hung up and looked at his notes。 It was almost seven。 〃I'm going to see Mrs。 Morgan。 I want you to stay here。〃
She sat between the pillows and crossed her arms on her knees。 〃I'd rather go。〃
〃What if they're watching the house？〃 he asked。
〃Why would they watch the house？ He's dead。〃
〃Maybe they're suspicious now； because a mysterious client appeared today looking for him。 Even though he's dead； he's attracting attention。〃
She thought about this for a minute。 〃No。 I'm going。〃
〃It's too risky； Darby。〃
〃Don't talk to me about risks。 I've survived in the minefields for twelve days。 This is easy。〃
He waited on her by the door。 〃By the way； where am I staying tonight？〃
〃Jefferson Hotel。〃
〃Do you have the phone number？〃
〃What do you think？〃
〃Dumb question。〃
* * *
THE PRIVATE JET with Edwin Sneller aboard landed at National in Washington a few minutes after seven。 He was delighted to leave New York。 He'd spent six days there bouncing off the walls in his suite at the Plaza。 For almost a week； his men had checked hotels and watched airports and walked streets； and they knew damned well they were wasting their time； but orders were orders。 They were told to stay there until something broke and they could move on。 It was silly trying to find the girl in Manhattan； but they had to stay close in case she made a mistake like a phone call or a plastic transaction that could be traced； and suddenly they were needed。
She made no mistakes until two…thirty this afternoon when she needed money and went to the account。 They knew this would happen； especially if she planned to leave the country and was afraid to use plastic。 At some point； she would need cash； and she'd have to wire it since the bank was in New Orleans and she wasn't。 Sneller's client owned eight percent of the bank； not a lot； but a nice little twelve…million…dollar holding that could make things happen。 A few minutes after three； he'd received a call from Freeport。
They did not suspect her to be in Washington。 She was a smart girl who was running away from trouble； not to it。 And they certainly didn't expect her to link up with the reporter。 They had no idea； but now it seemed so logical。 And it was worse than critical。
Fifteen thousand went from her account to his； and suddenly Sneller was back in business。 He had two men with him。 Another private jet was en route from Miami。 He had asked for a dozen men immediately。 It would be a quick job； or no job at all。 There was not a second to spare。
Sneller was not hopeful。 With Khamel on the team； everything seemed possible。 He had killed Rosenberg and Jensen so cleanly； then disappeared without a trace。 Now he was dead； shot in the head because of one little innocent female law student。
* * *
THE MORGAN HOUSE was in a neat suburb in Alexandria。 The neighborhood was young and affluent； with bikes and tricycles in every yard。
Three cars were parked in the drive。 One had Ohio plates。 Gray rang the doorbell and watched the street。 Nothing suspicious。
An older man opened the door slightly。 〃Yes；〃 he said softly。
〃I'm Gray Grantham with the Washington Post； and this is my assistant； Sara Jacobs。〃 Darby forced a smile。We would like to speak with Mrs。 Morgan。〃
〃I don't think so。〃
〃Please。 It's very important。〃
He looked at them carefully。 〃Wait a minute。〃 He closed the door and disappeared。
The house had a narrow wooden porch with a small veranda over it。 They were in the darkness and could not be seen from the street。 A car passed slowly。
He opened the door again。 〃I'm Tom Kupcheck； her father； and she doesn't want to talk。〃
Gray nodded as if this was understandable。 〃We won't be five minutes。 I promise。〃
He walked onto the porch and closed the door behind him。 〃I guess you're hard of hearing。 I said she doesn't want to talk。〃
〃I heard you； Mr。 Kupcheck。 And I respect her privacy； and I know what she's been through。〃
〃Since when do you guys respect anyone's privacy？〃
Evidently； Mr。 Kupcheck had a short fuse。 It was about to blow。
Gray kept calm。 Darby backed away。 She'd been involved in enough altercations for one day。
〃Her husband called me three times before he died。 I talked to him on the phone； and I don't believe his death was a random killing by street punks。〃
〃He's dead。 My daughter is upset。 She doesn't want to talk。 Now get the hell out of here。〃
〃Mr。 Kupcheck；〃 Darby said warmly。 〃We have reason to believe your son…in…law was a witness to some highly organized criminal activity。〃
This calmed him a bit； and he glared