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big-ticket cases where drama
and stakes were high. Gracie the same. He wondered as he watched Filmore answer Gracie’s questions if it was really ethical to see a
client as a means to a career goal, as a way out of debt and on to
Court TV.

    Gracie disliked Filmore as much as he did, but she hid her feelings behind a cool authority. She listened to him, her gaze locked on
his, her expression impassive and clinical. In all things legal she was
implacably self-contained. And just as ambitious as me, David
thought. He liked that about her.
    The mystery of Gracie tantalized him. She was his best friend,
the person apart from Dana whom he trusted most. But friendship
and respect didn’t stop him from wondering about her body and
what she would be like in bed. Last year she had worn a backless
dress to Cabot and Klinger’s Christmas party, and for a couple of weeks
afterward David could not look at her without thinking of her gorgeous honey brown back, the shapely and muscular swale of her
spine. He wanted to put his hand on the small of it to know if it felt
as warm as it looked. He had caught a glimpse of a tattoo and fantasized about it, imagining something African, winged and tribal extending down the curve of her hip.
    Gracie asked Filmore, “Why didn’t you go to work that day?”
    “I told you, my wife didn’t feel well.”
    “Do you always stay home if your wife’s sick?”
    “When I can.” Circles of sweat ringed the sleeves of Filmore’s
cotton shirt, but he flashed the smile and beaming teeth. “Wouldn’t
you?”
    “The problem is,” Gracie said to Filmore, “your wife didn’t tell
anyone at work she was sick.”
    “She’s not a complainer; and, besides, we made a deal we wouldn’t
tell anyone about the baby until after the first trimester. We were
sort of superstitious-you can understand. If we said anything too soon and it didn’t work out …” He massaged his thick knuckles.
“We’d been trying a long time. Years. We’d begun to lose hope, and
then Marsha came up pregnant.” He looked at Gracie and flashed
the smile again. “It just seemed too good to be true.”

    None of this was new, though Filmore’s answers were getting
more detailed and emotionally nuanced. For now that was okay.
    Gracie said, “According to her coworkers she seemed perfectly
well.”
    “And she was. She ate a few crackers. That’s all it took to settle
her stomach. Sandra had a harder time.” A flicker of confusion
jerked across Filmore’s face. “I suppose poor Sandra Calhoun’s still
pregnant. Is she?”
    Gracie didn’t miss a beat. “Go on with your story, Frank.”
    “Oh. Well, in the morning-we were all early risers-Marsha and
Sandra Calhoun liked to hang over the fence, drink a cup of coffee.”
Again he grinned disarmingly. “They were never too sick for coffee.”
    “You said it was a secret, this pregnancy.”
    “Under the circumstances, two women, neighbors and both
pregnant, Marsha had to tell Sandra. They’d compare how crummy
they felt, and then they went on with their lives. At least Marsha did.
I worked at home that day, I have that kind of job.”
    “Did anybody see you at home that afternoon?”
    Filmore pursed his lips. “I’ve told you, I don’t like outside help
in the home.”
    A privacy nut with a twitchy eyebrow.
    “What about the mail or UPS?” Gracie asked.
    “I talked to my wife during the day. On the phone. I made some
business calls. Does that help?”
    David hoped phone company records would back this up, but
even if they did, it would not prove much. Frank Filmore had
plenty of time between calls to dart into the backyard of the house next door, snatch Lolly, and deposit her in the trunk of his 2002
Lexus sedan. Les Peluso would be sure to mention this. The good
news for the defense was the police had found no evidence of her
body anywhere in either the Lexus or the BMW Marsha Filmore
had driven to work that day. But they