Brian paced the interview room angrily, kicking at the table leg and calling the police every nasty name he could think of. They were back in the 'Colour Your World' room, and the still flickering light made their respective moods as foul as the paint job. Gil had brought him up to date on their findings, a move he was seriously considering to be one of his worst since he began the case.

The decision not to inform the police about the attack on Jarlayne was mutual and came about after reconsidering their options; they didn't want to reveal the existence of the original tapes until they could prove their authenticity. No point loading the prosecutions gun for them. Jarlayne had made arrangements through her insurance company to have someone make temporary repairs until she could hire a contractor to do the finished work.

"The evidence is only good if we can corroborate it, Brian. In itself it is damning, yes, but we can hardly claim that the other tapes were faked if we can't prove these new ones to be legitimate. The crown will hammer us into the dirt."

"Jesus, Gil, all they have to do is listen! The voices, the wording...you say it's all there!" He sank into the chair and banged his fists on the table. "So find the guy and make him tell. Goddamit, Gil, I'm innocent of this!"

Gil leaned back in his chair, afraid to tell his client the next bit of news. "We found the guy we think did it, Brian, or at least the police did. He was dead. Someone shot him in the gut." Brian stared hard, his mouth working silently and tears building in the corners of his eyes. "His name was Davis Tubbs. We can prove he sent the copies to Jarlayne but without someone to actually say they saw or heard them being made the best we can do is provide a reasonable doubt and that won't get you off on the charge of killing Barton. It might not be murder, but the guy is still dead."

"But the voices, the words on the tape...they're not enough? Jesus H. Christ! Can't you find some link between Moira and this Tubbs guy?"

"We've been all over the phone records, the mail, everything. There is no record of any contact between them except the—"

"I know! I know, the tapes. Great. That's just great. Thanks, Gil, I might as well just confess and save everybody the trouble—"

"Stop it, Brian! I didn't say we were finished. I'm just trying to keep you in the loop. Next time I'll keep any news to myself until we're in court." He gathered up his papers and stuffed them in his briefcase.

"Wait- no. I'm sorry, Gil. I know you're trying. It's just so damn frustrating sitting here knowing that I didn't do this and nobody believes me." If I ever get out of here Moira, you will pay dearly.

"I do, partner. So hang in there."

•••

Moira lay on the sofa with her legs crossed at the ankles and one hand resting backwards on her forehead listening to Myles explain their predicament. Tillman had been unable to get the tapes before the private investigator had taken them to the lawyer and he had shown them to Brian but there was still a window of opportunity if the authorities hadn't yet seen them. The evidence is supposed to be shared but Brian's lawyer might not want to admit their existence until he's sure they'll help and not just add to the confusion. Myles said he would discretely check with his sources and see if they knew about them. If not, Tillman would move on the lawyer. He was trying to calm the distraught Moira with reasonable arguments for their challenged but still intact, security.

"It's an absolute disaster, Myles and you are a bloody fool."

"Be reasonable, Moira. How could I have prevented any of this? Let's not forget whose brilliant idea the whole thing was in the first place, okay?"

"Don't put this on my shoulders, Myles. You were more than happy to get on board when you were on board." Her jab at their bout of passion when he had panted his agreement to the plan, running his tongue over her hip, hit home and his mouth twitched in embarrassment as he started to answer.

"Yes, and you found these wonderful sources to get the job done, didn't you?" She interrupted the attempt and swung her legs down, sitting up and tugging the hem of her skirt over her knees. "I am not going to jail for any killing, Myles. I will turn myself in first and you will be the first one they jail."

"For God's sake, Moira don't be ridiculous! Nobody's going to jail except Brian Cathcart. Let's not lose sight of the fact that we have stayed arm's length from all this; we killed nobody."

"You'd better hope not, lover." She stood and walked to the window and leaned on the glass. "When can you find out about the tapes?"

"I'll call one of my cronies right now." He jumped at the chance to maintain command and keep their relationship tight. "When I find out what's happening what say we find a nice out of the way restaurant and have a relaxing dinner... get our minds off this for a while?"

"Depends what you find out." She watched her reflection in the window and immediately thought of Peter. In spite of their troubles she still felt a slight stirring at the prospect of a romantic evening. How bizarre, she mused, that the human libido could override even the direst of circumstances.

•••

Deborah set the tray of coffee and cookies on the end of Gil's desk and passed out chunks of paper towel for serviettes before hauling a chair up beside the desk and settling in.

"A little over the top, don't you think, for a simple meeting?" Jarlayne waved her piece of towel and placed it on her lap.

"Petchorik and Associates live exclusively off the cream." Deborah countered, dismissing the barb and pouring three mugs of coffee from the thermos.

"Speaking of which," Gil began, "we stand a good chance of getting creamed if we don't soon establish a link between Moira Weston, Davis Tubbs and or Brian."

"All we have are the two sets of tapes," Jarlayne said. "I've listened over and over and I'm telling you, that police tape is good—damn good. Maybe there is no provable link."

"There's nothing on the originals that tip anything off?" Deborah stirred a pinch of sugar into her coffee and twisted in the chair to allow for the crossing of her legs.

"Not that I can hear, sure the words and some of the phrases are there and I'll bet money they were the basis of the fakes but our friend Tubbs was a master, you can't prove it for sure." Jarlayne glanced at Deborah and crossed her own legs in a bit of a challenge. The two looked at one another calmly.

"But just the fact that he had these copies, isn't that enough?" Deborah asked, breaking eye contact first.

"It's good but it's just our word that we got them from Tubbs. I can make a reasonable case but even then, who's to say that's what was in the package. Tubbs might have sent us anything. Jarlayne was around there asking for samples. The prosecutor could say he sent her something along those lines."

"You've got the courier company."

"Oh yeah, the courier company. There's some news on that front too. Apparently the same guy that broke into Jarlayne's beat up the courier. He's in hospital with severe fractures to the face."

"Where did you get that?" Jarlayne asked, surprised.

"I phoned to see if they would verify the sender, the owner told me about it and also that he had contacted the police."

"So they do know we have it then?" Deborah stated.

"Only that Jarlayne received a delivery from Tubbs, not what was in it." Gil turned to Jarlayne. "The guy that smashed your door, you have no clue as to who he might have been?"

"Nada. I just called you and scrammed out of there. Didn't they get anything from the delivery boy?"

"Only that he was big and ugly... and white."

"Well that's a nice change," Jarlayne said, sarcastically.

Deborah tried another pose and chose a small cookie from the tray. "That call Brian says he took during the meeting—"

"We checked it out, according to the phone records it had nothing to do with Moira or Tubbs."

"Yes, but did we find out who it was from or if he actually made it? What else did Brian say?" She bit into the cookie and watched with dismay as crumbs showered her blouse front.

Jarlayne gave her sweet smile. "Careful dear, you're getting some—"

"Jarlayne!" Gil frowned at the byplay. Any other time he might enjoy the position of spectator but his thoughts were on Brian and his own frustration with the case. He pointed a warning finger. "Where is Brian's statement?" He shook his head at the two women and waited as Deborah finished dusting the crumbs off and retrieved the file folder.

Gil thumbed through the pages and lifted out a single sheet. "Here. Nothing else. He just swears it was Moira but we checked that out, she didn't make the call."

"Why would he lie?"

Gil stared at her and set his jaw. "I don't believe he did."

"But you just said—"

"I know what I said! I don't know, okay?"

"Well if you say Moira didn't make the call then who did? Didn't we even check that out?"

Jarlayne stopped with her mug half way to her lips, her eyes widening as she met Gil's dazed expression. "I didn't. I only checked it against Moira and then Tubbs, after you visited him."

He rifled through more pages and put the folder down. "There's nothing in the police report about them checking it either."

"That can't be true. The police wouldn't ignore something like that." Deborah tried another cookie with better results.

"They had their man cold. The calls on the tapes that pin pointed him were all they felt they needed." Gil jumped up from his seat and went to the file cabinet. "These are the phone dump logs from all the phones we checked." He sat back down and began searching for all those related directly to Brian's cell phone. "Here it is." He passed the page to Jarlayne. "Find out who owns that number, I'm prepared to bet you'll find Moira Weston's name somewhere in the records. How could we all have been so lax?"

"Give me the whole file and I'll give them all another look."

Deborah stood and smoothed her skirt, gathering up the tray and whisking it from the office. Not just a pretty face either, Pet, her demeanor stated. Jarlayne was a little slower off the mark and her departure was too hurried for her usual theatrics. Gil sighed, admiring his view of their retreating figures, wondering just how dangerous it might be to join their flirting game one day.