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produced it. He idly wondered who the gunman was. He wouldn ’ t have touched him if he ’ d seemed like a professional hit man. But the kid knew that this was no pro. Oh he knew how to use a rifle all right, but that didn ’ t make him a pro. No pro would stand out there in the open assembling a rifle and then aiming it, even at dawn.
    Aside from the joggers, he would have known about the muggers and the cops staking out their decoys. Also it was obvious he wasn ’ t an Italian-American. Since when does an Italian American have red hair? It was obviously some one who knew his guns better than he knew the city, in other words: a foreigner.
    *     *
    Justine was blissfully unaware of how closely she had brushed with death. She was jogging in a secluded area of the park, hidden from public view by trees and shrubbery. Her pace was slackening now and she was sweating heavily, but still enjoying herself. It was only when she began to feel tired that she appreciated her strength and endurance.
    Whenever she started jogging she felt as if she were charged with energy like a fresh battery. It was this urge to unwind and break into a sprint that used to get the better of her when she first started jogging a few years ago. Now she could keep it in check and pace herself better. She always ran the first few hundred yards at a somewhat faster pace than a normal everyday jogger, but she had been running for some time now and the pain was beginning to make itself felt.
    Finally she slowed down to a halt, dropped to her knees and then sprawled out flat on her face across the soft grass. She rolled over onto her back, stretching her arms and legs like a frisky kitten, a combination of smile and yawn spreading from one end of her lips to the other.
    *     *
    Murphy was walking back from the phone box towards his car. He had given the warning and used the coded message to confirm its authenticity. But the warning had barely got there in time to justify the propaganda claim that they had given prior warning. As he opened the car door he noticed that the clouds had blocked off the sun again, as if the curtain had closed on the first act of the drama.

Chapter 4
    “Are you ready for the Levy Trial?”
    Daniel Abrams looked up, unfazed by this sudden intrusion. Jerry Wilkins, the Manhattan DA, had just barged into his office without knocking, as he reviewed the office ’ s case load. He was mildly annoyed. It was bad enough that he had to do the more mundane work while the DA made the public appearances. The least Jerry could do was let him do it without interruption. But Abrams knew that when Jerry got excited he couldn ’ t control himself, and he didn ’ t make an issue of it. That was the way they worked around here. They saved the formality for the courtroom.
    “She ’ s got that smart-ass black kid from the Legal Aid office that the judge appointed as standby. But she still gets to proceed pro se .”
    Jerry Wilkins, the DA , beamed a smile at him.
    “You worry too much. It ’ s just a case, like any other. And it ’ s rock solid. Don ’ t look so worried. She isn ’ t going to walk away this time from this one!”
    “Look I don ’ t think you realize how serious this is.”
    “The hell I don ’ t,” said the DA, still smiling. “I ’ ve just got too many cases to worry about. And so have you.”
    “Yeh, but this is political.”
    “It ’ s all political,” said the DA pulling up a chair.
    “Yeh, but this is headline news coast to coast,” said Abrams.
    “Maybe,” said Jerry, but this time it ’ s a winner. Whatever jury she gets, she ’ s sunk. Your people don ’ t cover for their own the way some people do. You ’ re too busy trying to appease the Gentile establishment. If anything, they ’ ll bend over backwards to convict, even if they have reasonable doubt.
    “But this black kid could be trouble. He ’ s young, he ’ d hot and he ’ s ambitious.”
    “Well that ’ s three strikes against