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was curious to see just how good, just how diplomatic Peterson was. He didn’t have to tell me anything; he didn’t have to say another word. If he did say more, it would be a mistake.
    Peterson said, “We have a witness who heard the girl implicate Dr. Lee.”
    “The girl arrived at the hospital in a state of shock, delirious and precomatose. Anything she said will constitute weak evidence.”
    “At the time she said it, she wasn’t in a state of shock. She said it much earlier.”
    “To whom?”
    “To her mother,” Peterson said, with a grin of satisfaction. “She told her mother that Lee did it. As they were leaving for the hospital. And her mother will swear to that.”

FOUR
    I TRIED TO PLAY IT PETERSON’S WAY . I tried to keep my face blank. Fortunately you have a lot of practice at that in medicine; you are trained to show no surprise if a patient tells you they make love ten times a night, or have dreams of stabbing their children, or drink a gallon of vodka daily. It is part of the mystique of the doctor that nothing surprises him. “I see,” I said.
    Peterson nodded. “A reliable witness,” he said. “A mature woman, stable, careful in her judgments. And very attractive. She will make an excellent impression on the jury.”
    “Perhaps.”
    “And now that I have been so frank,” Peterson said, “perhaps you would tell me your special interest in Dr. Lee.”
    “I have no special interest. He is my friend.”
    “He called you before he called his lawyer.”
    “He is allowed two telephone calls.”
    “Yes,” Peterson said, “but most people use them to call their lawyer and their wife.”
    “He wanted to talk to me.”
    “Yes,” he said. “But the question is why.”
    “I have had some legal training,” I said, “as well as my medical experience.”
    “You have an L.L.B.?”
    “No,” I said.
    Peterson ran his fingers across the edge of his desk. “I don’t think I understand.”
    “I’m not convinced,” I said, “that it is important that you do.”
    “Could it be you are involved in this business in some way?”
    “Anything is possible,” I said.
    “Does that mean yes?”
    “That means anything is possible.”
    He regarded me for a moment. “You take a very tough line, Dr. Berry.”
    “Skeptical.”
    “If you are so skeptical, why are you convinced Dr. Lee didn’t do it?”
    “I’m not the defense attorney.”
    “You know,” Peterson said, “anyone can make a mistake. Even a doctor.”
    WHEN I GOT OUTSIDE into the October drizzle, I decided this was a hell of a time to quit smoking. Peterson had unnerved me; I smoked two cigarettes as I walked to the drugstore to buy another pack. I had expected him to be stupid and pointlessly tough. He was neither of those things. If what he had said was true, then he had a case. It might not work, but it was strong enough to protect his job.
    Peterson was caught in a quandary. On the one hand, it was dangerous to arrest Dr. Lee; on the other, it was dangerous not to arrest him, if the case seemed strong enough. Peterson was forced into a decision, and he had made it. Now he would stick by it as long as he could. And he had an escape: if things began to go bad, he could blame it all on Mrs. Randall. He could use the familiar line so famous among surgeons and internists that it was abbreviated DHJ: doing his job. That meant that if the evidence was strong enough, you acted and did not care whether you were right or not; you were justified in acting on the evidence. 1 In that sense, Peterson’s position was strengthened. He was taking no gambles: if Art was convicted, Peterson would receive no accolades. But if Art was acquitted, Peterson was covered. Because he was doing his job.
    I went into the drugstore, bought two packs of cigarettes, and made some phone calls from a pay phone. First I called my lab and told them I’d be gone the rest of the day. Then I called Judith and asked her to go over to the Lees’ house and stay