Tyler looked down at her hands and he saw the tears fall and splash on her fingers. "I wasn't a perfect person before my problem, Mr. Karp. I had an affair outside of my marriage. It was meaningless and short-lived; nonetheless, the defense attorneys found out about it and tried to introduce it at my trial. They tried to say that it showed that I was promiscuous and that explained why I was running by myself on a beach in the morning and maybe didn't try as hard as I could have to avoid being gang-raped."
Karp noted the flash of anger. Good, he thought, she isn't completely beaten and will make a good witness…for somebody else.
"Pam and Robin stopped them with the shield laws, so at least I didn't have to put my husband through that twice, a second time in front of a jury and a full courtroom. But, of course, the motion hearing where the defense lawyers brought it up was open, and so the press had all sorts of fun with it anyway. Between the defense lawyers and the press, they wouldn't let the wounds close and heal. They just kept tearing and tearing until I didn't want to go forward with it. I wanted to drop the charges so that I could run away-find some hole, crawl in it, and pull the dirt back in over the top of me. But Robin and Pam wouldn't let me give up. I needed them to be strong for me. Now they need me."
Karp decided to play a little devil's advocate. "You told me that you don't remember the attack. What if the wrong men were convicted? What if the only one involved was Enrique Villalobos? Wouldn't you want those other men exonerated?"
Tyler leaned forward so that her face moved back into the light. She touched the side that had been crushed. "There was no mistake, Mr. Karp," she said. "The men who did this have now made a mockery of everything those police officers and detectives, and Robin and Pam, stand for. If you knew these people like I came to know them, you'd know that I'm telling you the truth. Mr. Villalobos might have been there, too, I truly do not know. But the right men were sent to prison."
Tyler stood up and walked over to where a small mirror hung on the wall. "I'm not asking you to do this so that I can have my life back or so I can 'move on.' That's not going to happen. I'm asking you to do this, Mr. Karp, because those other good people, who still have lives, need you."
Karp felt the wall crumbling. You can't do this, he told himself. "I'm sorry, Liz…"
Tyler turned away from the mirror and faced him. "Please, just read the files. Maybe you can just advise whoever takes the case. Please?"
"But there are other lawyers…"
"Yes, but it's your integrity that matters." As if someone had taken control of his body, Karp heard himself agreeing to read the files. Then he was shaking Liz Tyler's hand as she thanked him. Then he was out in the Lincoln sitting next to Murrow, who started peppering him with questions.
"What? What was that all about?" Murrow asked. "What did I miss? You didn't agree to do anything…dumb…I mean politically sensitive, did you? What's going on?"
Karp looked into the genuinely worried face of his aide-de-camp. "All in good time, Gilbert," he said.
"You've been saying that a lot lately," Murrow groused. "It's not nice to keep secrets from your adviser."
"Just for the moment," Karp replied. "I need to do something, but nothing to worry about. Now, let's move. We've got to run if I'm going to pick up the boys and get to class on time."
A half hour later, Fulton pulled the Lincoln up to the curb at Crosby outside the loft. Karp was disappointed to see Marlene emerge from the building, obviously headed for the Yellow Cab that was waiting across the street. He'd hoped to have a minute alone to talk to her before he had to leave with the twins, but now she was leaving first.
Karp felt drained by the long day and would just as soon have "left the office" back at 100 Centre Street and forgot about it for a few pleasant hours with his family. But he also felt compelled to warn his wife about getting involved in the Michalik case. The evidence looked pretty damning, and Rachman seemed pretty sure of winning a conviction despite Kipman's questions.
Of course, what he said wouldn't really matter; Marlene would make up her own mind. It was just that life around the loft had been so much better since she'd returned from New Mexico. Regardless of the little spat earlier, the uncomfortable, brooding feeling that had wedged itself between them over the past few years as their philosophies about the administration of justice took divergent paths had lifted. She seemed so much more at peace with herself than she had in ages. Even the near-death experience at the hands of Kane's men in Central Park, as well as Hans Lichner's attempted murder of their son, had not sent her spiraling back down. Still, he worried that some perceived injustice would set her off again as the avenging angel of the downtrodden. He liked the new Marlene and didn't want to let her go.
"Going out?" he asked as he got out of the Lincoln.
"Yeah, sorry, but there's spaghetti on the stove and a nice surprise waiting for you," she said. "The boys are already eating and ready to go to class."
"Where's the fire?" he said as he walked up to her.
"Ariadne called and asked me over for dinner," she said a little nervously. She was never quite sure how he would take hearing the reporter's name. "Apparently there's something very mysterious and very important she wants to talk about."
Karp's heart skipped a beat. As Marlene suspected, the mere mention of Ariadne Stupenagel was enough to make him tense. The two women had been friends since their days as college roommates at Smith, but Ariadne was trouble even when she was asleep. Attaching words to her name like mysterious and important was like throwing gasoline and dynamite on a fire. He happily accepted Marlene's good-bye kiss (pleased that she had initiated it after the chill of the morning). "Be careful," he said, opening the door of the cab for her.
Marlene sat down and looked up. "I will," she said. "My new middle name is Careful. Careful Ciampi, that's me."
Yeah, he thought as he closed the door and watched the cab pull away from the curb. The only problem is your old first name is Notvery.
"I'll be right out," he called to Fulton, who'd offered to drive him and the twins to the synagogue before he headed for home. Karp and the boys would catch a cab back later.
Karp hurried up to the loft where a surprise was, indeed, waiting for him. "Daddy!" Lucy squealed, springing off the couch where she'd been petting Gilgamesh, who bounded around like a 150-pound puppy at the unexpected party atmosphere. The sauce-mouthed twins jumped up from their plates of spaghetti and joined in the family hug.
With his arms around his daughter, Karp could feel that she'd gained weight and muscle. He held her away so that he could see her better. He'd always loved her and couldn't have cared less what she looked like, but this was the first time that he could recall thinking that Lucy had become a beautiful young woman. "Wow!" he said. "You're looking good, baby."
Lucy blushed and hugged him again. "It's all the tortillas and beans," she said with her head against his chest. At last she pushed off and said, "Come on, sit down and have a plate of spaghetti. You and Mom must have had a fight because she rushed to whip this up before leaving."
Karp looked longingly at the pot containing Marlene's famous spaghetti marinara, a recipe she'd learned from her mother, who'd learned from her mother and so on back through the generations apparently to the founding of Rome. But then he glanced at his watch and remembered Fulton was waiting.
"It will have to wait," he sighed. "We're going to be late to class."
"Ah, Dad, do we have to," Zak complained. "Lucy just got home and John's here…"
Karp looked puzzled. "John?" He about jumped out of his skin when a man spoke behind him. "Hi, there, chief. Remember me?"