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importantly, Inspector Meyer, who is totally pissed off by what she is doing, will press for a grand jury, and the whole question of perjury will come up. You don’t want to put her on the stand.”
    Abner thought about it for a few moments. There was a lot of truth in what Lefkowitz said. Lefkowitz smoked his cigar and studied Abner, and finally Abner said, “Let’s leave it up to her.”
    â€œAgreed.”
    They returned to Abner’s office. Barbara had turned on the television. An interview show was interrupted by an announcer who said, “This is a breaking story. Last night the police arrested an alleged thief who had in his possession jewelry to the value of one hundred thousand dollars. The police have ascertained to their satisfaction that the jewelry belonged to Barbara Lavette, daughter of Dan Lavette, and three years ago candidate for Congress on the Democratic ticket. Ms. Lavette denies that the jewelry was stolen, insisting that it was a gift to the alleged thief. We will follow up on this story on the six o’clock news. Stay tuned.”
    â€œSuch is fame,” Barbara remarked. “Who was it said that fame is the accumulation of evil deeds?”
    â€œDon’t put yourself down, Ms. Lavette,” Lefkowitz said. “This is salvation, not perjury.”
    â€œI wonder. Have you gentlemen settled your difficulties?”
    â€œJust about,” Abner replied without enthusiasm. “We don’t think there’ll be any prosecution of Jones. Harry here wants him to keep the jewelry. I want him to return it to you. We’ve decided to let you make the choice.”
    â€œCan he keep it?” Barbara asked, taken somewhat aback.
    â€œYou might have to say under oath that you gave it to him.”
    â€œI did.”
    â€œMy position, Ms. Lavette,” Lefkowitz put in, “is that this would give him a new life.”
    â€œHow much would you want as your fee?”
    â€œNothing. This is pro bono.”
    â€œThen I don’t see how we can change anything. I gave him the jewelry. I don’t want it back.”
    â€œBarbara—,” Abner began.
    â€œNo, Abner. I don’t want to discuss this, and I won’t change my mind. It’s a beautiful day outside. I want to walk home. I’m pleased that the man isn’t going to prison. It’s over.”

D URING THE PAST SIX MONTHS , perhaps, half a dozen times, Philip Carter, minister of the First Unitarian Society on Franklin Street, had noticed a tall white-haired woman at the Sunday service. He knew all the members of the congregation, but there were always a few new faces, friends of members and often people who came of their own accord, some out of need and some out of simple curiosity; and when it was possible, he tried to say a few words to the newcomers. But this particular woman usually arrived only minutes before the service began. She would take one of the rearmost seats, and she would leave as soon as the service concluded.
    He asked Reba Guthri about her. Reba was the assistant pastor, fiftyish, stout, encyclopedic in her knowledge of the congregation, and Carter’s barrier against total confusion.
    â€œHave you ever spoken to her, Reba?”
    â€œOnce, yes. No desire to become a member; curious-spectator species. I thought you would recognize her.”
    â€œShould I?”
    â€œShe’s rather notorious—no, no, that’s the wrong word. I don’t know what the right word is. She’s one of a kind. Her name’s Barbara Lavette. As a matter of fact, she was headlines last week, but of course you don’t read the interesting stuff. You recognize the name?”
    â€œDan Lavette’s daughter?”
    â€œThe same. I made a very gentle pitch to her.”
    â€œAnd what did she say?”
    â€œPerhaps—someday.”
    â€œInteresting,” Carter said. “When we have time, you must tell me about her.”
    â€œWe