The Cessna 182 was owned by a retired doctor who flew it only in clear weather and never at night. He had known John McAvoy for over forty years and had flown him several times around the state for legal matters. Their little trips were as much pleasure as business, with John wearing a headset and taking the controls and thoroughly enjoying his time as the pilot. They always haggled over the rate. John wanted to pay more than just the fuel costs, and the doctor demanded less because flying was his hobby and he didn't need the money. Once they agreed on the cost of the trip, $250, they met at the York airport early on Tuesday morning and took off in perfect weather. Seventy-one minutes later they landed in Scranton. John rented a car, and the doctor left in the Cessna to drop in on his son in Williamsport.

The law office of Michelin Chiz was on the second floor of an old building on Spruce Street in downtown Scranton. John walked in promptly at 9:00 a.m. and was greeted coolly by a secretary. He had never met Ms. Chiz, never heard of her, but that was not unusual in a state with over sixty thousand lawyers. A Scranton lawyer he did know had told him that she ran an all-woman shop with a couple of associates, a couple of paralegals, and the usual assortment of secretaries and part-time help. No men need apply. Ms. Chiz specialized in divorce, custody, sexual harrassment, and employment discrimination, all from the female side, and had a busy practice. Her reputation was solid. She was a tough advocate for her clients, a good negotiator, and not afraid of the courtroom. Not bad looking either, the lawyer had informed John.

And he was right about that. Ms. Chiz was waiting in her office when John walked in and said good morning. She was wearing a black leather skirt, not too short, with a tight purple sweater and a pair of black and purple spiked-heeled platform sling backs that most hookers would shy away from. She was in her mid-forties, with, according to John's source, at least two divorces under her belt. She wore a lot of jewelry and makeup, far too much for John's taste, but he wasn't there to evaluate the talent.

For his part, he was wearing a boring gray wool suit and a plain red tie, nothing anyone would remember.

They settled around a small worktable in a room adjacent to her office, and the secretary was sent for coffee. They played a few minutes of who-do-you-know, kicking around the names of lawyers from Philadelphia to Erie. After the coffee was served and the door was closed, Ms. Chiz said, "Let's get down to business."

"Great idea," Mr. McAvoy said. "Please call me John."

"Sure, and I'm Mike. Don't know if that's the correct nickname for Michelin, but it stuck a long time ago."

"Mike it is." So far she had exuded nothing but charm and hospitality, but John could already tell that just behind the smile was a very tough lawyer. "Would you like to go first?" John asked.

"No. You called me. You traveled here. There's something you want, so let's have it."

"Very well. My client is my son, not the best arrangement in the world, but that's the way it is. As you know, he works for a law firm in New York. Law school at Yale, undergrad at Duquesne. I'm sure you know the details of the alleged rape."

"Indeed I do. Elaine works here part-time, and we're very close. She wants to go to law school someday."

"I hope she succeeds. As you know, the police in Pittsburgh closed the investigation not long after they opened it. Frankly, I knew nothing about it until very recently."

Her surprise was obvious, and John continued. "No, Kyle did not tell me when it happened. He was planning to, but the investigation was closed. This is upsetting because we are very close, but it's not important. I understand that you and Ms. Keenan met with Joey Bernardo here in Scranton a few weeks back, and the meeting did not go well, according to Joey's version. I also know that Baxter Tate contacted your client, and was evidently on his way here to talk to her when he was murdered."

"That's correct."

"They were planning to meet?"

"Yes."

"So, it appears, Mike, that the episode five and a half years ago will not go away. My client would like to resolve things, to close this matter. It's a dark cloud hanging over these kids, and I'm here to explore ways to get rid of it. I'm representing only my son. The others know nothing of this meeting. The Tate family, of course, has no clue, and you can imagine what they're going through right now. Joey has a child on the way and is about to get married. Alan Strock, as far as we know, has forgotten the episode."

Mike had yet to lift a pen. She listened intently as she softly tapped all ten fingertips together. Most fingers were adorned with rings, and both wrists were laden with inexpensive bangles. Her hard hazel eyes did not blink. "I'm sure you have something in mind," she said, content to listen.

"I'm not sure what your client wants. She might be thrilled if all three surviving roommates admitted there was a rape, got themselves convicted, and were sent off to prison. She might be satisfied with a quiet apology. Or she might entertain the idea of a financial settlement. Perhaps you could help me here."

Mike licked her lipstick and rattled some bracelets. "I've known Elaine for two years. She has a troubled past. She's frail, vulnerable, and at times subject to some very dark moods. It might be depression. She's been sober for almost a year, but she's fighting those demons. She has become almost like a daughter to me, and she has insisted from day one that she was raped. I believe her. She is convinced that the Tate family got involved, leaned on their friends, who leaned on the cops, who quickly backed off."

John was shaking his head. "That's not true. None of the four boys told their parents."

"Maybe, but we don't know that for sure. Regardless, many of Elaine's problems stem from that episode. She was a healthy, fun-loving, vibrant coed who loved college and had big plans. Shortly after the rape, she dropped out and has been struggling ever since."

"Have you seen her grades from Duquesne?"

"No."

"Her first semester, she flunked one course, dropped out of another, and made horrible grades in the other three."

"How did you gain access to her student records?"

"She improved slightly the second semester and made straight Cs. She took all four exams after the alleged rape, then went home and never returned to Duquesne."

Mike's eyebrows arched and her spine stiffened. "How did you gain access to her student records?" she snarled again. Ah, the woman had a temper after all.

"I didn't, and it's not important. How often do your clients tell you the entire truth?"

"Are you suggesting Elaine is lying?"

"The truth is a moving target here, Mike. But what's certain is that we'll never really know for sure what happened that night. These kids had been drinking and smoking pot for eight straight hours, and they were far more promiscuous than we'd like to believe. Your client was known to sleep around."

"They were all sleeping around. That's no excuse for rape."

"Of course not."

Money was in the air. There were a few other obstacles to clear, but both lawyers knew they would eventually discuss the possibility of a "financial settlement."

"What does your client say about the episode?" Mike asked, her tone cool again. The flash of anger was gone, but there was a lot more where that came from.

"They had been by the pool all afternoon, then the party moved indoors, into the apartment. There were about fifteen kids, more boys than girls, but Elaine was not in the group. Evidently, she was next door at a different party. Around eleven thirty, the cops showed up and the party ended. Nobody was arrested, the cops gave them a break."

Mike nodded patiently. This was all in the police report.

"After the cops left," John continued, "Elaine showed up. She and Baxter started making out on the sofa, and one thing led to another. My client was watching television in the same room, as was Alan Strock. My client was intoxicated, to say the least, and at some point he passed out. He is certain he did not have sex with Elaine that night, and at the time he was not certain if anyone else did either. He was too drunk to remember much the next morning, and, as you well know, no accusation was made by your client until four days later. The police investigated the matter. All four boys were on the verge of talking to their parents, but the investigators soon realized that they simply could not put together a case. In recent weeks, my client has talked to Baxter Tate and to Joey Bernardo, and both boys admitted to having sex with your client on the evening in question. Both are, were, adamant that it was consensual."

"Then why was Baxter so anxious to apologize?"

"I can't answer that. I don't speak for Baxter."

"Why did Joey apologize? He did so in my presence, you know?"

"Did Joey apologize for raping Elaine, or did he apologize for the misunderstanding?"

"He apologized. That's what's important."

"There's still no case, and his apology adds nothing to the evidence. There's no way to prove rape occurred. There was sex, sure, but you can't prove anything else."

She finally wrote something. Lavender legal pad, elegant strokes, noisy wrists. She took a deep breath and seemed to gaze out the window for a moment.

For Team McAvoy, it was time for the biggest gamble. They would never reveal every fact because successful negotiation does not hinge on full disclosure. But the one bomb that could wreck any deal had to be addressed.

"Have you talked to the detectives in Pittsburgh?" John asked.

"No, but I've read the entire file."

"Anything mentioned about a video?"

"Yes, there were notes in the file. But the cops couldn't find one. Elaine even heard the rumor."

"It's not a rumor. There is such a video."

She took this without the slightest flinch. Nothing in her eyes, hands, or body registered surprise. What a great poker face, John admitted quickly. She simply waited.

"I haven't seen it," he said. "But my client saw it in February of this year. Don't know where it is now and don't know how many others have seen it, probably very few. There's a chance it might surface, perhaps on the Internet, perhaps in your mailbox."

"And what would this video prove?"

"It would prove that your client was drunk and smoking pot when she sat down on the sofa with Baxter Tate and began kissing and groping. The angle of the camera does not allow a full picture of the two engaged in sex, but it's obvious from the knees down that they're having a fine time. Baxter is followed by Joey. At times Elaine is not active; at other times she's obviously engaged. My client thinks it proves that she was in and out of consciousness, but he's not certain. Nothing is certain, except that neither he nor Alan Strock had sex with her."

"Where is the video?"

"I do not know."

"Does your client?"

"No."

"Who has the video?"

"I do not know."

"Okay, who showed it to your client?"

"He does not know the person's real name. He had never met the person until the person showed him the video."

"Gotcha. I take it there's a complicated story behind this."

"Extremely complicated."

"A stranger pops up, shows your son the video, then disappears?"

"Right, except for the disappearance part. The stranger is still in contact."

"Extortion?"

"Something close."

"Is that why you're here? Your client is scared of the video? You wanna make peace with us so the extortion scheme goes away?"

"You're very astute." She still had not blinked. She seemed to be reading his mind at this point.

"Must be a helluva video," she said.

"My client found it troublesome, though he was not present during the sex portion of it. The video clearly shows your client happily getting involved in a good romp on a sofa. Whether she blacked out at some point is not clear, at least on the video."

"She is seen walking and talking and moving around?"

"Clearly. These boys didn't drag her in off the street, Mike. She had been in their apartment many times, drunk and sober."

"Poor thing," Mike said, her first false move.

"Poor thing was having a wonderful time. She carried a purse full of drugs, along with her collection of fake IDs, and she was always looking for a party."

Mike slowly stood and said, "Excuse me for a moment." She walked into her office, and John admired the black leather every step of the way. He heard her low voice, probably on the phone, and then she was back with a forced smile.

"We could debate this for hours," she said. "And not settle anything."

"I agree. Baxter was in New York three weeks ago today to see my client. In the course of a long discussion about what happened, he told my client that he believed that he had forced himself on Elaine. The guilt was heavy. Maybe there was a sexual assault."

"And the rapist is dead."

"Exactly. However, my client was there when it happened. It was his apartment, his friends, his party, and his booze. He wants this thing off his back, Mike."

"How much?"

John managed a nervous laugh. Such bluntness. She, however, did not crack a smile.

He made a note and asked, "Is it possible to reach a financial settlement and have your client release all civil claims and agree not to prosecute?"

"Yes, assuming the settlement is sufficient."

A pause as John made some more notes, then, "My client does not have a lot of money."

"I know how much your client earns. I've been practicing law for twenty years, and he earns more than me."

"And me, after thirty-five years. But he has student loans, and it's not cheap living in New York City. I'll probably need to chip in a little, and I'm not a wealthy man. I don't owe anything, but a busy street practice in downtown York is not the road to riches."

His honesty disarmed her for a moment, and she smiled and seemed to relax. They enjoyed a nice diversion swapping stories about the challenges of practicing law in small-town America. When the time was up, John said warmly, "Tell me about Elaine. Job, salary, finances, family, and so on."

"Well, as I said, she works part-time here for peanuts. She makes $24,000 a year as an assistant director of parks and rec for the city, not exactly a career job. She rents a modest apartment that she shares with her companion, Beverly, and drives a Nissan with a monthly note. Her family is from Erie, and I don't know how prosperous they once were, but things have taken a bad turn. She's on her own, twenty-three years old, surviving. She still has dreams of something beyond where she is now."

John made a few notes, then said, "Yesterday, I spoke with an attorney for the Tate family, big firm in Pittsburgh. Baxter had a trust that sent him six thousand a month, which was never enough. That sum would increase over time, but all the Tate trusts are now tightly controlled by an uncle who has a rather heavy hand. Baxter's trust folded when he died. There's very little in his estate, so any contribution from his family would fall under the category of charitable giving. These people are not known for their charity, and it's hard to imagine them entertaining notions of writing checks to Baxter's old girlfriends."

Mike was nodding in agreement. "What about Joey?" she asked.

"He's working hard, trying to provide for a growing family. He's probably strapped, and will be for the rest of his life. My client would like to keep both Joey and Alan Strock out of this."

"That's admirable."

"We propose two payments. One now, and one in seven years, when the statute of limitations expires on the rape charge. If your client puts this behind her, gives up the idea of pursuing these guys, then she gets a nice payment at the end. Twenty-five thousand now, and for the next seven years my client will add ten grand to an investment account that will render $100,000 when Elaine is thirty years old."

Same poker face. "Twenty-five up front is ridiculous," she said.

"He doesn't have twenty-five thousand. It'll come from me."

"We're not too concerned about where it comes from. We're much more interested in the amount."

"Well, right now you have zero, and if we don't reach an agreement, then it's very likely you'll stay at zero. Your chances of recovery are slim at best."

"Then why are you offering anything?"

"Peace of mind. Mike, come on, let's put this baby to sleep so these kids can get on with their lives. Kyle had almost forgotten the incident, hell, he's working a hundred hours a week, then Joey bumps into Elaine, then Baxter shows up all consumed with guilt because he remembers more now than he did before. This is crazy. They were just a bunch of drunk kids."

Yes, they were, and Mike couldn't argue the point. She recrossed her legs, and John was compelled to glance at the high heels, just a quick down and up, but she noticed it.

"Let me talk to Elaine, and we'll make a counteroffer," she said.

"Fine, but there's not much wiggle room here, Mike.

The upfront money will be a loan from me to my client, and he is obviously nervous about taking on a seven-year obligation. He's twenty-five and can't see three years down the road."

"I'll call Elaine, and she'll probably want to run over and discuss this face-to-face."

"I'm not leaving town until we have a deal. I'll just walk down to the coffee shop and kill some time."

AN HOUR LATER he was back. They took their same positions, picked up their pens, and continued the negotiations.

"I assume you're not taking our offer," John said.

"Yes and no. The seven-year scheme is okay, but Elaine needs more up front. She is two years away from her degree at the University of Scranton. Her dream is law school, and without some help it will be impossible."

"How much help?"

"A hundred thousand now."

Shock, disbelief, amazement, rejection. John grimaced and squirmed and allowed a lungful of air to whistle over his teeth. It was all an act, the long-practiced pretense of utter incredulity when the other side puts its first demand on the table. Exasperation, near defeat. "Look, Mike, we're trying to reach an agreement here. You guys are trying to rob a bank."

"In two years, Elaine will still be earning $24,000 a year. Your client, on the other hand, will be earning about $400,000, with guaranteed increases. This is not a stretch for him."

John stood as if he were leaving, end of negotiations. "I need to call him."

"Sure. I'll wait."

John walked outside the building, put a cell phone to his head, and called no one. The amount they would pay had less to do with what Elaine needed and much more to do with keeping her quiet. A hundred thousand dollars was a bargain, under the circumstances.

"We'll go seventy-five grand, and that's it," John said, back at the table.

Her right hand rattled pleasantly as it came across. "Deal," she said. They shook on their agreement, then spent two hours haggling over the paperwork. When it was finished, he offered to buy lunch and she readily accepted.

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