THERE ARE CRIMES that are brutal and inexcusable. Some-times they make me sick, but their motives are open. Now and then, I even understand. Then there are the hidden crimes. The ones you are never meant to see. The kind of cruelty that barely breaks the skin but crushes what's inside, the little voice that is human in all of us.

These are the ones that really make me wonder about what I do for a living.

After Jill told me what had been going on between her and Steve, after I wiped her tears and cried with her like a little sister, I drove home in a daze. A pall had clung to her face, a whitewash of shame I will never forget. Jill, my Jill.

My first instinct was to drive over there that night and slap a charge on Steve. All along, the slick, self-righteous prick had been bullying her, hitting her.

All I could think of was Jill, the face I saw on her, that of a little girl. Not the Chief Assistant D.A., top of her class at Stanford, who seemed to breeze through life. Who put mur-derers away with that icy stare. My friend.

I tossed and turned the whole night. The following morn-ing, it took all I had to focus on the case. Overnight the lab tests confirmed Claire's findings. It was ricin that had been ingested by George Bengosian.

I had never seen the Hall as tense as it was that morning, bustling with dark-suited Feds and media managers. I felt as if I was sneaking past security just to call Cindy and Claire.

"I need to see you guys," I told them. "It's important. I'll meet you at Susie's at noon."

By the time I arrived at the quiet counter caf?down Bryant, Cindy and Claire were squeezed into a corner booth. Both wore anxious looks.

"Where's Jill?" asked Cindy. "We figured she was coming with you."

"I didn't ask her," I said. I sat in the seat across from them. "This is about Jill."

"Okay..." Claire nodded, confused.

Piece by piece, I took them through my first suspicions about the marks I had seen on Jill while we were jogging. How I didn't like the looks of them and how maybe, in the aftermath of losing the baby, she had done them to herself.

"That's ancient history," Cindy shot in. "Isn't it?"

"You asked her?" asked Claire. Her gaze was deadly serious.

I nodded, my gaze fixed on her............