Chapter 2 Chapter One

In downtown Manhattan, in Courtroom No. 37 of the Supreme Criminal Court Building at 180 Center Avenue, the trial of Anthony (Tony) Altieri is in progress.The majestic courtroom was full of reporters and spectators. In the dock sat Anthony Altieri, reclining in his wheelchair, his face pale, like a fat frog with its limbs drawn together.Only the eyes remained alive, and Diana Stevens could literally feel his hatred whenever he looked over at Diana Stevens on the witness stand. Beside Altieri sat Jack Rubenstein, Altieri's defense attorney.Rubenstein is known for two things: his client base consisted mainly of high-profile gangsters, and the fact that almost all of his clients were acquitted.

Rubenstein is short and dapper, with quick thinking and rich imagination.His behavior in court was never the same.Theatrical performances in court were his habit, and his skill was superb.He is gifted at anticipating his opponents, with a bestial instinct to spot their weaknesses.Sometimes Rubenstein imagines himself as a lion, stalking his unsuspecting prey, ready to pounce...or a cunning spider, weaving a web so that his opponent will eventually fall into a trap and be caught...sometimes He was a patient angler again, casting the hook gently into the water, moving slowly back and forth until the credulous witness took the bait.

The lawyer scrutinized the witnesses on the witness stand.Diana Stevens was in her early thirties.Elegant temperament.The facial features are well defined.The blonde hair is soft and flowing.green eyes.Delicate figure.Pure as the girl next door.Dress up in a tailored black suit.Jack Rubenstein knew she had made an excellent impression on the jury the day before.He had to think carefully about how to deal with her.Anglers, he decided. Rubenstein walked towards the witness stand calmly, and when he spoke, his voice was gentle: "Mrs. Stevens, yesterday you testified that on the day of the crime, October 14, you were driving on the Henry Hudson Park Road Driving south, you get a flat tire, and you leave the freeway at the 158th exit, onto a service road at Ford Washington Park?"

"Yes." Her voice was soft and bookish. "What made you stop in that particular spot?" "Because of the flat tire I knew I had to get off the main road and through the bushes I saw the roof of a small house. I thought there might be someone there who could help me. I didn't have a spare tire." "Are you a member of the Automobile Club?" "yes." "Do you have a phone in the car?" "Have." "Then why don't you call the Automobile Club?" "I'm afraid of wasting time." Rubenstein said sympathetically, "Of course. And the little house is there."

"right." "So, you went to the hut for help?" "right." "Is it still light outside?" "Yes. About five o'clock in the afternoon." "So you can see clearly?" "can." "What did you see, Mrs. Stevens?" "I saw Anthony Altieri—" "Oh. You've seen him before?" "No." "What made you so sure that it was Antoine Altieri?" "I've seen his picture in the paper, and—" "So, you've seen photographs in the papers of the accused?" "Well, then—"

"What did you see in the little room?" Diana Stevens drew a shuddering breath.She began to speak slowly, reconstructing the picture at that time in her mind. "There were four people in the room. One was sitting on a chair, bound. Mr. Altieri seemed to be questioning him, and the other two were standing beside him." Her voice trembled. "Mr. Altieri drew a gun and shot—shot the man in the back of the head." Jack Rubenstein takes a peek at the jury.They were immersed in her testimony. "What did you do, Mrs. Stevens?" "I ran back to the car and called 911 on my cell phone."

"and after?" "I drove away." "With a flat tire?" "right." Time to make ripples in the water. "Why didn't you wait for the police to come?" Diana glanced at the dock.Altieri glared at her fiercely. She looked away. "I can't stay there! Because I—I'm afraid those people will come out of the house and see me." "That's perfectly understandable." Rubenstein's voice hardened. "It's incomprehensible that when the police respond to your 911 call, they go into the house and not only find no one there, Mrs. was shot inside."

"I can't help it. I—" "You're a painter, aren't you?" She was surprised by the question: "Yes, I—" "Successful?" "I guess it's okay, but this—" Time to yank the hook. "A little extra publicity is never a bad thing, right? The whole country is watching you on the evening news, and the front page—" Diana looked at him, very angry. "I'm not doing this for hype. I would never send an innocent person to—" "The key word is innocence. Mrs. Stevens. I will prove to you and the ladies and gentlemen of the jury that Altieri is innocent. Thank you. You are done."

Diana Stevens ignored the pun.She stepped off the witness stand and returned to her seat, furious.She whispered to the prosecutor, "Can I go?" "Yes. I'll send someone to see you off." "That's not necessary. Thank you." She went straight out the gate and walked toward the parking lot, the words of the defense attorney ringing in her ears. You are a painter, aren't you? …earning a little more publicity is never a bad thing, right?What an insult.But, on the whole, she was satisfied with the testimony she provided.She told the jury what she had witnessed and they had no reason to doubt her.Anthony Altieri will be convicted and spend the rest of his life in prison.But Diana could not help thinking of the malicious look he had thrown her, and she shuddered.

She handed the receipt to the parking lot attendant, and the attendant drove the car over for her. Two minutes later, Diana was on the road, heading south, back to her apartment. A stop sign appears around the corner.As Diana slammed to the brakes, a stylishly dressed young man standing on the sidewalk approached her car. "Excuse me. I'm lost. Can you—?" Diana rolled down the window. "Can you tell me how to get to the Holland Tunnel?" he said with an Italian accent. "Okay. It's easy. Go all the way to the first—" The man raised his arm, holding a gun with a suppressor in his hand: "Get out of the car, lady. Quick!"

Diana's face turned pale: "Okay. Please don't—" She opened the door, and the man stepped back. Diana took the opportunity to slam on the accelerator, and the car rushed forward immediately.She heard the crack of the rear window, a bullet piercing it, and another pop as another bullet hit the back of the car.Her heart was beating violently, and it was difficult to even breathe. Diana Stevens has read about carjackings, but they're all out of reach and happened to other people.The man also tried to kill her.Do carjackers do that?Diana pulled out her cell phone and called 911.It took about two minutes for the operator to respond. "911. What emergency?" Diana described what had happened, knowing in her heart that it was useless.At this time, the man had disappeared. "I'll send a police officer to the scene. May I have your name, address and phone number?" Diana told her one by one.It's no use, she thought.She glanced back at the shattered car window and shivered.She wanted desperately to call Richard at work and tell him what had just happened, but she knew he was working on an urgent project.If you called him and told him he would be concerned for her safety and would be eager to come to her—she didn't want him to delay work.She was going to tell him when he got home. Suddenly a thought that made her heart skip a beat hit her heart.Did that man wait for her on purpose, or was it just a coincidence?She recalled a conversation with Richard at the beginning of the trial: I don't think you should testify, Diane.It can be dangerous. Don't worry, dear.Altieri will be convicted.They'll put him in jail forever. But he has friends, and— Richard, I have a bad conscience if I don't appear in court. What happened just now must be a coincidence, Diana decided.Altieri is not crazy enough to kill me, especially now, during his trial. Diana got off the freeway and headed west until she reached her apartment complex on East Seventy-fifth Street.Before pulling into the underground garage, she checked the rearview mirror.everything is normal. Her apartment is open and bright. It is a duplex structure on the ground floor. The living room is very large, the windows drop from the ceiling to the floor, and a huge marble fireplace is installed in the room.There are flowery upholstered sofas and easy chairs, built-in bookshelves and a large TV screen.The walls are bright and full of paintings.There were Childe Hassam's, Jules Paskin's, Thomas Birch's, George Hitchcock's, and in one area it was all Diana's own paintings. Upstairs are the master bedroom and its bathroom, another guest bedroom, and a light-filled studio where Diana painted.Several of her works hang on the wall.An unfinished portrait stands on an easel in the center of the room. Diana ran into the studio as soon as she got home.Remove the unfinished portrait from the easel and replace it with a blank canvas.She began to sketch the face of the man who was trying to kill her, but her hands were shaking so badly that she had to stop. Detective Inspector Earl Greenberg complained as he drove to Diana Stevens' apartment: "This is the part of my career that gives me the biggest headache." "It's better for us to tell them than to let them hear it themselves on the evening news," said Robert Pregiser. He looked at Greenberg. "You're going to tell her?" Earl Greenberg nodded reluctantly.He couldn't help thinking of a story about how a detective went to inform Mrs. Adams, the wife of a policeman, that her husband had been killed. She's sensitive, the supervisor warns the detective.You must be careful when you tell her the bad news. rest assured.I know how to do it. The detective knocked on the door of Adams' house, and Adams' wife opened the door. The detective asked, are you Adams' widow? Diana was startled by the doorbell.She walked over to the intercom. "Which one?" "Inspector Earl Greenberg. I want to speak to you, Mrs. Stevens." It must be something about the carjacking, Diana thought.The police came so fast. She pressed a button, and Greenberg entered the porch, toward her door. "Hello." "Mrs. Stevens?" "Yes. Thank you for coming so quickly. I've already begun to sketch the man's face, but I..." She took a deep breath, "He has a dark face, deep-set brown eyes, bright, cheeks There's a little mole on it. He's got a suppressor on his gun, and—" Greenberg looked at her inexplicably. "I'm sorry. I don't understand you—" "Carjacker. I called 911, and—" she saw the look on the detective's face, "it wasn't about carjacking, was it?" "No, ma'am, no." Greenberg paused. "May I come in?" "Please come in." Greenberg walked into the apartment. She looked at him and frowned: "what's the matter? Is there any bad news? " The words seemed to hold back, "Yes, I'm sorry. I'm afraid—I'm afraid there's bad news. It's about your husband." "What happened?" Her voice trembled. "He had an accident." Diana felt a sudden shudder. "What kind of accident?" Greenberg took a deep breath. "He was killed last night, Mrs. Stevens. We found his body this morning under a bridge over the East River." Diana stared at him for a long time, then shook her head slowly: "You have the wrong person, Inspector. My husband is at work, in the laboratory." It was more difficult than he had expected: "Mrs. Stevens, did your husband come back last night?" "No, but Richard often works all night. He's a scientist." She was getting more and more excited. "Mrs. Stevens, do you know that your husband is involved with the Mafia?" Diana was pale. "Mafia? Are you talking crazy?" "we discover--" Diana's breathing became rapid: "Let me see your ID." "Yes." Inspector Greenberg took out the ID and handed it to her. Diana glanced at it, handed it back, and then slapped Greenberg severely: "Is this city paying you to run around and terrorize honest citizens? My husband is not dead! He is in Go to work." She yelled. Greenberg looked into her eyes, saw the consternation and confusion in it: "Mrs. Stevens, would you like me to send someone to look after you and—?" "You're the one who needs someone else to take care of you. Get the hell out of here right now." "Mrs. Stevens—" "immediately!" Greenberg pulled out a business card and put it on the table: "Here's my phone number in case you need me." On the way out, Greenberg thought, Well, I've handled this wonderfully.Might as well say, "Are you Stevens' widow?" After Inspector Earl Greenberg left, Diana locked the door and took a shaky breath.idiot!Go to the wrong house to scare me.I should report him.She looks at her watch.Richard will be back soon.Time to make dinner.She plans to make paella, his favorite meal.She went into the kitchen and started working. Because of the highly confidential nature of Richard's work, Diana never bothered him when he was in the lab, and if he didn't call her she knew it meant he was going to be late.At eight o'clock, the paella was ready.She tasted it and smiled, satisfied.Just right, exactly Richard's taste.At ten o'clock, before he got home, Diana put the meal in the refrigerator and taped a little note on the door: My dear, dinner is in the refrigerator.Come up and wake me up.Richard must have been starving when he got back. Diana suddenly felt exhausted.She undresses, puts on her nightgown, brushes her teeth, and goes to bed.A few minutes later, she fell asleep. At three in the morning, she woke up screaming.