Dead Even

Chapter 9

EARLY MONDAY MORNING, SARA PACED UP AND DOWN the dark, tiled hallways on the ninth floor of One Hogan Place, trying her best to look calm. Outside the grand jury room, a small line of assistant district attorneys was forming, all of them waiting for a chance to present their cases. Since the waiting room couldn’t accommodate everyone, the hallway was also filled with dozens of witnesses, family members, and defense attorneys. Sara stared intently at the ever-growing group, hoping to take her mind off her anxieties.

Lawyers in the crowd were easy to identify, with their navy-blue or gray single-breasted suits and stark white shirts. Anyone who wasn’t wearing the uniform was, by default, a witness, a victim, a defendant, or a family member there for moral support. To separate the ADAs from the defense attorneys, Sara needed only to read body language. The defense attorneys were relaxed and at ease. Since they were not allowed to participate in grand jury proceedings, they had nothing to lose. By comparison, the ADAs were usually younger, with a slight but noticeable tinge of nervousness in their eyes. A hand anxiously arched on a hip, bitten fingernails, a few too many glances at a watch – that was all it took to identify the prosecutors. That and their unmistakable attempts to look as calm as possible. The moment she realized the pattern, Sara stopped pacing.

Behind her, a man in a gray suit said, “I was hoping we’d be first, but I hear we’re seventh and eighth.”

Turning around, Sara recognized the man from her first day’s orientation. “Seventh and eighth?”

“To appear in front of the grand jury,” the man said. “Of the seventeen other ADAs who started with us, six have already done it. All got indictments but one. That guy Andrew from Brooklyn tanked it something fierce. My bet is he’ll be the first one to go. And rumor says layoff decisions are being made today.”

Sara raised an eyebrow at the news. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” she asked.

“Charles, but people call me Chuck.”

“Charles, Chuck, the both of you – do me one small favor? Don’t talk to me right now.”

The grand jury was selected once a month in a manner Guff called “the criminal justice version of bingo.” But unlike a traditional jury, which made a guilt determination in only one case, the grand jury usually heard dozens of cases each day and decided only whether there were reasonable grounds for the DA’s office to prosecute the case. Since the jurors served for a full month, the first Monday of the term usually meant a new grand jury – and the worst day to present a case. In the beginning of the term, the jurors were cautious novices, trying carefully not to indict the wrong man. By the end, they were jaded veterans, realizing that an indictment was only the first step of the process. In the beginning, they were nice people trying to do the right thing. By the end, they were average New Yorkers, ready to believe the worst about anyone.

Another twenty minutes went by before Sara heard Guff’s voice from down the hallway say, “Look who I found.” Turning around, she saw Guff wheeling a small metal cart that contained all of her files on the case – she was determined to be prepared for everything. Behind him came Officer McCabe, Claire Doniger, and Patty Harrison. McCabe looked calm, Doniger looked annoyed, and Harrison looked terrified. As she approached her witnesses, Sara said, “I hope you understand why we had to-”

“Don’t treat me like a child,” Doniger blurted, her tinted salon-styled hair bouncing with a life of its own. With her Adolfo suit, bottled tan, obvious face-lift, and tiny purse, the fifty-four-year-old Doniger looked exactly as Sara had imagined. When Doniger walked right past her, Sara realized their conversation was over.

Turning toward Harrison, Sara lightly touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Harrison said unconvincingly.

“Do you want to tell me who threatened you?”

“Nobody threatened me,” Harrison insisted. Her jet-black hair was pulled back and clipped with a black velvet bow, and her ice-blue eyes danced as she spoke. “But I’m telling you one thing: I will not become a leper in my own neighborhood.”

“Who’s making you feel like a leper? Ms. Doniger? Kozlow?”

“I don’t even know who that man Kozlow is. I saw him that one night leaving Claire’s house. He looked shady, so I made a phone call. That’s all I know.”

“And that’s all I need you to say. Just tell the story.”

Harrison turned away. “No. I’m not doing it.”

“It’s your duty to do it.”

“I don’t have a duty to anyone except myself. My husband left me eight years ago for his big-haired personal assistant; my daughter moved out to San Francisco and I never hear from her, and the highlight of my week is flirting with the meat guy at the deli counter in the supermarket. It may be pathetic, but it’s my life, and I enjoy it. And I’m not giving it up for some mythical sense of duty.” When Harrison noticed some of the other people in the hallway staring at her, she turned to them and yelled, “Mind your own damn business, you nosy twits.”

Giving Harrison a moment to calm down, Sara waited silently. Finally, she said, “You’re right. It’s your neck on the line, not mine. But when your daughter is strolling around in that fresh California air one night and someone bashes her head in, I hope the person who sees that crime has more backbone than you do.”

Harrison stared straight at Sara. “Are you done?” she asked.

“I’ve said my piece,” Sara said, and walked away.

As she headed back down the hallway, Sara saw Jared arrive with Kozlow, who looked impressive in a pinstriped suit and stylish-but-sensible glasses. Typical Jared move, she thought. From her husband’s hand motions, it looked like he was telling Kozlow to wait at the other end of the hallway, away from Sara’s witnesses. Kozlow stayed behind and Jared came walking toward his wife.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, reading Sara’s body language.

“I’m fine,” she said. She took a deep breath.

“Are you sure?” Jared asked. He reached over to rub her arm.

Sara quickly pulled away. “Not here. Not now.”

“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean-”

“It’s not the time.”

“I understand,” Jared said, getting back to the point. “Have you thought about the dismiss and seal?”

“Of course I’ve thought about-”

“Sara!” Guff yelled down the hallway. “You’re on!”

“So?” Jared asked, looking into his wife’s eyes. “Do we have a deal?”

Sara paused and stared down at the floor.

“I have the paperwork right here,” Jared added. He had her. He could feel it.

She knew what this meant to him. And hurting him meant hurting herself. Looking up, Sara gave her answer. “I’m sorry. It’s not right.”

“But-”

“Please don’t ask me any more,” Sara said, walking toward the jury room. “You’re already hitting below the belt.”

Jared clenched his jaw and turned away.

Holding the door open for Sara, Guff said, “Good luck, boss.”

“Aren’t you coming?” she asked.

“No can do. If I’m not a witness or a member of the New York bar, I can’t come in. Lucky for me, I’m neither. Now go kick some heinie.”

As Sara stepped into the room, she could feel all eyes turn toward her. Sitting in two rows of benches were the twenty-three men and women of her first grand jury. They were a typical New York jury: mostly retired men and women, a few older mothers, a waiter, a manager of a retail store, a young editor, a mechanic, a graduate student, and so on.

Kozlow was being seated on the right side of the room, while Officer McCabe, Claire Doniger, and Patty Harrison were all waiting in the nearby witness room. As Sara surveyed her surroundings, Jared walked in and sat down next to his client. He looked at Sara with dismay and fought to get her attention.

Refusing to make eye contact with her husband, Sara knew she shouldn’t have agreed to let him in the room. She walked toward the empty table in front, put down her briefcase, and faced the grand jury. “How’s everybody doing today?”

No one said a word.

“Okay. Great,” Sara said, opening her briefcase. As a slight blush took her face, she looked up. “Excuse me for a moment.” She walked to the door, opened it, and stuck her head into the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” Guff asked, leaning against the wall.

“The files?”

“Oops,” Guff said, pushing the rolling cart toward Sara.

Rolling it into the room, Sara once again smiled at the jury. “Here we go. Are we ready to get started?”

When Officer McCabe finished testifying, Sara was feeling somewhat hopeful. He was hardly the world’s best witness, but he kept to the story and told it well.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Sara said, still refusing to make eye contact with Jared. Unlike regular “petit” jurors who heard and decided full cases without interacting with the parties involved, grand jurors were permitted to ask their own questions of each witness, which allowed them to flesh out the story for themselves. In Sara’s view, as long as they didn’t ask about why McCabe hadn’t fingerprinted the house or gotten a proper ID of the defendant, she was home free.

A juror in the second row raised his hand first.

“Hold on, let me get there,” Sara said as she approached the juror. She leaned over and the juror whispered his question in her ear. It was the ADA’s job to screen each question and make sure it was appropriate. If it was, the ADA had to pose the question to the witness. Hearing the juror’s question, Sara reacted exactly as Conrad had taught her. No change of expression whatsoever. She turned to McCabe. “The first question is, ‘Did you check to see if the defendant’s fingerprints were in the house?’”

“We don’t have the budget to do that,” McCabe replied.

The juror whispered another question to Sara.

“But isn’t that the best way to see if the defendant was there?” Sara repeated.

“Probably,” McCabe said indignantly. “But it can’t always be perfect.”

Sara turned her back to McCabe. It went downhill from there.

By the end of Doniger’s testimony, Sara was a wreck. Sitting at the witness table with an angry look on her face, Doniger was hostile and uncooperative – hardly the sympathetic victim Sara hoped for. Trying to turn things around, Sara opened the floor to questions.

Immediately, a female juror in the first row raised her hand and whispered a question. “So you never saw Mr. Kozlow in your house?” Sara said, passing it along.

“No, I didn’t,” Doniger said.

A follow-up question was whispered. “Then you really don’t know if he’s the thief,” Sara announced.

“I definitely don’t.”

As the questions continued, Sara eventually couldn’t help herself. Hesitantly, she glanced over at Jared. From the look in his eyes, she knew what he was thinking – it didn’t take a genius to see that Sara was drowning. Then Jared pushed a piece of paper to the corner of the defense table, signaling for Sara to read it. Casually, Sara strolled toward the table and leaned on the corner of it as Doniger answered the latest question. When she looked down, Sara read Jared’s message: “Ready for the dismiss and seal? You could use it.”

Looking back up at her husband, Sara was tempted to accept – to shut Doniger up and end it right there. Even if she got the indictment, what was she proving? With witnesses like Doniger and Harrison, the trial would be an even bigger disaster. Even Conrad agreed that dismissing it was better than losing. More important, Sara couldn’t stand facing off against Jared. Playing a few harmless mind games was one thing, but watching him get hurt by her actions was ripping her apart. Maybe he’s right, she thought as she walked back to the prosecution table.

When Doniger was done testifying, Sara knew it was time to make her decision. She could dismiss the case with Jared or barrel forward with Harrison. The question was difficult, but the answer, for Sara, was obvious.

“If you can bear with us for another second, I have one last witness,” Sara said, turning away from her husband. Responsibility had to come first. “I’d like to call Patricia Harrison.”

At twelve-thirty, Guff and Sara walked into Conrad’s office. “Victor, let me call you back,” Conrad said into his phone. “They’re just walking in now.” He hung up the phone and looked at his two expressionless colleagues. “Well? Did you get the indictment?” he asked.

“What do you think?” Guff shot back.

“I think you got it, and I think you’re playing it extra cool because you have some vain hope that you can actually surprise me.”

“We are!” Guff screamed. “We nuked those commie bastards back to the Stone Age!”

“All right!” Conrad said. He jumped up to give Sara a big hug, then quickly pulled away. She smiled weakly.

“You should’ve seen her,” Guff said, crouching into a fighting stance. “There she was, defenseless, with nothing but her wits and three bad witnesses to protect her. She eyed the jury and shot them a sneer – they knew she meant business. Then, just when they thought she was going to zig, she zagged. And when they expected a zag, she zigged. Zig! Zag! Zig! Zag! It was like my parents at an all-you-can-eat buffet – food was flying faster than the human eye could follow.”

“What’re you talking about?” Conrad asked.

“I’m using food as a metaphor for intense legal issues,” Guff said.

“So the intense legal issues were flying faster than the human eye could follow?”

“Exactly. And then, when she was on the ropes, her spirit almost gone, she rose, like a gleaming, legal-studying, precedent-setting phoenix, from the ashes of the grand jury room.”

“And you saw all this even though you weren’t in the room?” Conrad asked.

“Believe me, I had my ear to the door,” Guff said. “And if I were going to brag about any of my physical qualities, I would have to go with the excellence of my auditory abilities.”

“So if we take out the useless exaggerations, the true story is what?” Conrad asked.

“The true story is Patty Harrison saved the day,” Sara said, finally, putting her briefcase on the floor.

“The scared woman came through, huh?”

“She certainly did,” Sara said. “When she took the stand, I asked her one question: ‘Who was the person you saw coming out of Ms. Doniger’s house that night?’ There was this long pause. It felt like an eternity. Conrad, it was so quiet, I swear I could hear the earth rotating. And finally, she raised her hand, pointed right at Kozlow, and said, ‘It was him.’”

“Jared must’ve died.”

“He wasn’t happy. And Kozlow didn’t look too pleased either.”

“Did you see Doniger’s reaction?”

“I meant to look, but I forgot,” Sara said, her tone growing serious. “I was too busy staring at Jared.”

Conrad gave her a long look that was difficult to read. “He really got to you, didn’t he?”

“You can’t imagine what it’s like. He knows exactly where to hit.”

“Then you better prepare yourself. From this point on, it’s only getting worse,” Conrad said. “Now tell me more about Doniger. Any idea what her story is?”

“To be honest, at first I thought she was just pissed because I ruined her schedule – one less day that she’d be able to shop for the perfect hand towels. But she was purposely terrible up there. For whatever reason, she was taking a high-platform dive.”

“Well, now that you have the indictment, you can figure the rest of it out. That’s what your trial preparation should be about – filling in all the missing pieces. If I were you, I’d take the rest of the day to catch my breath and then get started on the case.”

“What about Victor?” Sara asked.

“What about him?”

“Why were you talking to him when we walked in?”

“He just called to see if you got the indictment.”

“Did he ask anything else?” Sara asked. “Did he ask about his files?”

Conrad pointed a warning finger at Sara. “I still don’t think you have any business accusing-”

“I’m not saying a word,” Sara interrupted. “At least not until we finish going through the files.”

“Then get on it,” Conrad said. “Your only goal now is to prepare for trial, dig for those answers…”

“And kick what’s left of your hubby’s scrawny behind,” Guff added.

“Speaking of which,” Conrad said, “did he say anything to you after the grand jury?”

“He didn’t say a word. He picked up his briefcase, walked to the door, and left. Trust me, though, I’ll hear all about it tonight. The Tate-Lynch match-up just hit round two.”

When Jared got back to the office, he threw his briefcase on his desk and loosened his tie. Instinctively, he looked up at the poster board map of the crime scene. Nothing new popped out. All he saw was how close Kozlow was to Doniger’s house when the officer found him. So close, he thought. So close, he was nearly there. “Damn!” he shouted, ripping the poster from the wall.

The instant he collapsed in his chair, Kathleen’s voice came through the intercom.

“I have Oscar Rafferty on the line,” she said.

“Don’t-”

Jared’s phone rang. Then it rang again. And again.

Sticking her head in the doorway, Kathleen said, “Did you hear me? That’s Mr. Rafferty calling for you.”

The phone continued to ring, but Jared still didn’t pick it up.

“Jared…”

“I can’t talk to him now,” Jared said, slumped in his seat.

Kathleen left the room and the phone stopped ringing. From his desk, Jared could hear Kathleen’s voice. “I’m sorry, but he must’ve stepped out. I’ll have him call you as soon as he gets back.” Returning to Jared’s office, Kathleen said, “What happened?”

“You know what happened – I lost. Sara got the indictment, and now we have to go to trial.”

“So why can’t you tell Rafferty that?”

“Because I can’t,” Jared snapped. “How many times do you need to hear that? I can’t do it right now.”

Surprised by the outburst, Kathleen moved toward Jared’s desk and took a seat. “Now do you want to tell me what’s really going on?”

Jared’s gaze dropped to the floor.

“C’mon, Jared, you can tell me. What’s happening with Rafferty?”

“It’s nothing,” Jared said, refusing to look up at his assistant.

“Don’t give me that.” She knew she was overstepping her bounds, but this was important. “What’d he do? Did he say something to Lubetsky? Did he say something about Sara?”

“Please drop it!” Jared insisted.

“What’d he say to Sara? Was it to her face or to you?”

“That’s enough, Kathleen.”

“Is he bothering her? Is he harassing her? Is he threatening her?” Jared was silent. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why he hired you: He wants you to beat Sara. And if you don’t, he’s going to-”

“Don’t let your imagination get the best of you,” Jared said dismissively. “You couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Kathleen crossed her arms and stared at her boss. “Do I look that dumb to you? I mean, do I look so stupid that I would actually believe that?” When Jared didn’t respond, Kathleen said, “Just tell me I’m right, so we can move on to the next step. There’s no reason that you have to keep this all to yourself. We can go to the authorities, or to Barrow, or to-”

“Kathleen, please – don’t do this.”

“Okay, that’s it. That’s all I need to hear.” She stood up and headed for the door. “I’m sorry, but it’s time to get some help. I’m going to call Lubetsky and explain-”

“Wait!” Jared said. She turned. He realized he had no choice. “If I tell anyone, they’ll kill her.”

Kathleen froze. “Pardon me?”

“You heard me. If I tell anyone, they’ll kill Sara.”

“Is that what he said?”

Again, Jared didn’t respond. He had promised himself that he’d keep the secret, but he had to admit it felt good to open up. Rafferty’s threat was starting to take its toll and, as long as Jared could keep things quiet, he could use another brain working on a solution. He took a long look at Kathleen. After all his years at the firm, there was no one else he trusted more. Finally, he said, “Here’s what happened.” After explaining the entire story, from the meeting at the club to the break-in at their apartment to the constant threats, Jared turned away from his assistant.

Kathleen let the information sink in. “So that’s why he was asking me all those questions about you and Sara this morning.”

“He asked you questions about us?”

“Tons of them. He called while you were in the grand jury – wanted to know everything. Your reputations, temperaments, work habits. Of course I didn’t give him anything, but he was trying to figure out how you tick and how you work.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.” She stood from her seat and added, “We have to do something about this.”

“I put Barrow on the case,” Jared said in a panic.

“That’s not enough – that just tells us if Rafferty’s a heavy hitter. Why don’t you tell Sara? She has a right to know.”

“I can’t tell her, Kathleen. You know how she’ll react. She’ll be after Rafferty before I can even finish the story.”

“That’s because she’s smart.”

“No, it’s because she’s a hothead. And in this case, confrontation isn’t the best solution.”

“But don’t you think-”

“Kathleen, I’ve thought of everything. This is my wife we’re talking about. My whole world. For the past week all I can think about is losing her. Do you know what that’s like?” Jared asked. “I go to sleep every night wondering if they’re going to take her away from me. And that’s the first question I ask myself every morning. Throughout the day, she’s all I can think about. Last night, I dreamt about what I would say at her funeral. Do you know how terrifying that is? She’s my life, Kathleen.”

Kathleen put her hand on Jared’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Jared wiped his eyes. “All week, I’ve been searching for the best solution. Should I go to the police, or should I stay quiet? Should I tell Sara, or is she safer not knowing? I’m dying to tell her. How can I not tell her? But I believe Rafferty when he says he’s watching my every move. I believe him when he says that if I tell anyone, he’ll go after her.”

“Then why’d you tell me?”

“You figured it out. Once you got that far, I knew the only way to keep you quiet was to fill you in on the consequences.”

“But-”

“There is no ‘but.’ If I tell Sara, she’ll flip. She’ll start hunting everyone involved, which’ll only make things worse. The best way to protect her is to make sure she never finds out. And since it’s my problem, that’s how I’m choosing to deal with it. If you disagree, you can call personnel and have them assign you to a new lawyer. Otherwise, I’m asking you to please do things my way. Regardless of what you think, I could really use the support.”

“So you’re just going to do what they say?”

“I’m supposed to do what they say – winning the case is my job, remember?”

“What if you don’t win?”

“Believe me, I’ll win,” Jared said. “No matter what I have to do, I’m winning this case. Now what do you say?”

Kathleen gave him a warm smile. “You already know the answer. If I didn’t like spending time in your trenches, I would’ve walked away years ago.”

“Thank you, Kathleen,” Jared said. “I pray you don’t regret it.”

Sara skipped lunch and spent the next hour at her desk catching up on her other cases. The first shoplifter and the drug possession both agreed to community service, so those were two out of the way. But the second shoplifter and the pickpocket were doing their best to stall. Experienced at manipulating the system, they knew it’d take months to schedule them for trial, and once Sara checked the impossibly long wait lists of the misdemeanor courts, she knew that they were right.

Frustrated, she turned her attention back to Kozlow’s burglary and continued her search through Victor’s old files. She couldn’t find a single link between Victor and Kozlow or Doniger. Kozlow had never been a witness for Victor or an informant for him. Neither had Doniger. Hoping for a breakthrough, Sara closed the last of the yellowing folders and pulled out a brand-new legal pad. Staring at the blank page, she asked herself: Why would Victor want this case? Silently brainstorming, she made a mental list of possible answers: because he knows Kozlow, because he hates Kozlow, because he wants to punish Kozlow, because he wants to help Kozlow, because he thinks it’s a good case. A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Come in,” she said, still staring down at the legal pad.

Absently, she heard the door open and someone step inside. It was Guff, she thought. He closed the door softly. Then she heard the metallic thunk of the lock falling into place.

She looked up. There he was right in front of her – that face, those sunken cheeks – the man who had knocked her over and stolen her wallet. “What do you think you’re doing?” Sara asked as she stood from her seat.

“Giving us some privacy,” the man said. He wore an inexpensive gray suit and his voice was low, with a hint of ridicule in it.

“You have about one second to open that door before I-”

“I can open the door, but I didn’t think you’d want everyone hearing us talk about the Kozlow case.”

Sara took another good look at her visitor. “Please. Sit.” As the stranger obliged, Sara added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it. I’m just a friend of the victim.”

“So you know Doniger?”

“I said the victim,” he replied. “And by the way, I heard about your performance in the grand jury today. I’m extremely disappointed in you.”

“Stop right there. Let me guess: Kozlow sent you to threaten me. He doesn’t want me to go forward with the case.”

“Actually, you have it backwards. I not only want you to go forward with the case, I want you to win the case. But after what happened this morning with your husband – well, in my opinion, you almost blew it today.”

“What’re you talking about?” Sara said. As she asked the question, she pulled her legal pad onto her lap.

“What’re you doing?” the man asked.

“Taking some notes,” Sara said. She kept the pad out of view as she discreetly sketched a picture of her visitor. “Now tell me how I almost blew it today. What’s the story there?”

“The story is about your husband and the way he tried to manipulate you.” Dropping his voice to a deeper tone, he said, “‘C’mon, Sara, do it for us. It’ll be great for both our careers. Dump this case, pick up a better one, and bring home a real victory.’”

Sara stopped sketching. “Where’d you hear that?”

“It’s amazing what you can hear in a crowded hallway. Let’s just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Now Sara was annoyed. “Let me tell you something: You keep using that tone with me, and I’ll charge you with menacing, coercion, and obstructing governmental administration.”

Showing no fear, the man replied, “I’m impressed. You finally know your statutes.”

Sara didn’t move.

“Sara, tell me if you recognize this story. There’s this little girl who’s afraid of nothing. Suddenly, she gets fired from her job, and that loss not only forces her to seek psychological help, but also reignites feelings about the death of her parents. Then, things get so bad, she has to start taking medication to deal with the depression. The crazy thing is, she’s so desperate to get a job, she never reports the medication on her employment application. And since it’s a government position, that omission is now a potential legal problem for her.”

“That application was submitted before I ever got the prescription.”

“But it’s your job to keep the application up to date. Even if you didn’t do it on purpose, seems like they’d be pissed about that.”

Slowly, Sara’s expression turned from hostile to distressed.

“Isn’t it frustrating when everyone knows your business?”

“What do you want?” Sara asked, in a slow, deliberate monotone.

“Not much. You see, I know you stole this case from Victor. So all I want is for you to live up to that responsibility. More importantly, I want you to know that if you truly love your husband, you’ll do everything you can to win this case.”

“What do you mean?” When the man didn’t reply, Sara said, “Answer me.”

“Don’t play stupid, Sara. You know exactly what I’m saying. He’s not hard to get ahold of. So keep your head down, keep an eye on your husband, and do your job.”

Before Sara could say a word, her phone started ringing. She didn’t pick it up.

“I wouldn’t ignore that,” he warned. “It could be an important call.”

The phone rang again. Sara stared coldly at her visitor.

“I’m serious,” he said.

As Sara reached across the desk to pick up the phone, the stranger grabbed the legal pad from her free hand. She tried to pull it back, but it was no use. He was too fast and his grip was too strong. Wresting it away from her, he ripped off the top sheet, which contained Sara’s sketch. “Nice picture,” he said, admiring the likeness. Then he crumpled it into a ball.

“ADA Tate,” Sara said into the phone. The man pulled out a lighter. With a quick flick, he set the ball of paper on fire and threw the small burning mass on Sara’s desk. Jumping from her seat, Sara grabbed her statute book and slammed it down on top of the paper, smothering the fire.

“Ms. Tate, are you there?” a voice squawked from the phone. “This is Arthur Monaghan.”

As soon as Sara heard the name of New York’s district attorney, her heart sank. Oh, God, she thought. Not now. “Hello, sir,” she stuttered. “How can I help you?” As she watched the stranger walk toward the door, she covered the mouthpiece on the phone and yelled, “Don’t go anywhere!”

“Are you talking to me?” Monaghan asked.

“No, not you, sir,” Sara said, turning back to the phone. Without a word, her visitor left the office. “I was just talking to my assistant. Now what can I do for you?”

“I have some personnel matters I’d like to discuss with you. I want you to come over to my office.”

“Right now, sir? Because I-”

“Yes,” Monaghan said. “Now.”

“Yes, sir,” Sara said. “I’ll be there right away.” Throwing down the phone, Sara ran into the hallway, hoping to catch the stranger. But he was gone. On her left, at the far end of the hallway, she saw Guff. “Have you seen an ugly-looking guy in a gray suit run by?” she called out.

“No. Why?” Guff asked.

Without giving an answer, Sara looked to her right and ran up the hallway. Maybe he went the long way around, she thought as she flew past Conrad’s office. “Has anyone seen a guy in a gray suit run by?” she yelled. Of the dozens of ADAs, police officers, and assistants scattered throughout the hallway, no one answered in the affirmative. By the time she reached the elevators at the end of the corridor, Sara realized he had disappeared. “Damn,” she said, catching her breath.

When Sara got back to her office, Guff was waiting. “What’s going on?” he asked, sniffing the air. “Smells like a campfire.”

“Come in, but don’t touch the doorknob,” Sara said as she stepped inside. After throwing away the charred remains of her sketch, she pulled her accordion file from her bookshelf and opened it to the letter G. Pulling out a pair of latex gloves, she added, “I assume these were put in here to handle evidence?”

“Yeah,” Guff said as Sara put on the gloves. “But what’re you…”

Sara gingerly took hold of both doorknobs and twisted them in opposite directions. Eventually the rusty knobs gave way and she was able to unscrew them from the door. “Give me the evidence bag from the travel kit,” she said to Guff.

Guff pulled out a plastic bag and opened it. Sara dumped the knobs in the bag and took off her gloves. “Take those over to Crime Scene. I want them dusted for fingerprints.”

“You think someone was in your office?”

“I know someone was in here. Now I want to know who it was.”

Five minutes later, Sara arrived on the eighth floor at One Hogan Place, the office of District Attorney Arthur Monaghan. After passing through security, she walked up the long hallway until she reached a visitor’s waiting area. Two other new ADAs from her orientation class were already there. As Sara remembered, the woman with the oval glasses had just graduated from NYU, while the blond man with pale freckles was a fellow Columbia grad. Both of them looked uncomfortable. When Sara got closer to her coworkers, she shot them a weak smile. “I take it we’re in trouble,” she said.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” the woman from NYU said. “This city is the worst-run organi-”

“Are you Sara Tate?” a woman’s voice asked from the far right side of the waiting area.

Turning, Sara saw the DA’s secretary, a thin woman with an outdated feathered hairstyle.

“Yes, I am.”

“Go right in,” the secretary said. “He’ll explain.”

“Good luck,” the man from Columbia called out.

Unnerved both by the ease of her entry and the looks on her colleagues’ faces, Sara slowly walked past the secretary. In her stomach, the butterflies were again swarming. As she stuck her head in the doorway of Monaghan’s office, she saw that the long room was centered on an enormous mahogany conference table. And although the rest of the office furniture was hardly top of the line, she also noticed it was clearly nicer than the government-issue wares of the ADAs: a shiny oak desk instead of an ugly metal one, a leather chair instead of a squeaky vinyl one, and new filing cabinets instead of the standard rusty ones.

“What took so long? All you had to do was cross the street,” Monaghan said, inviting her into the office. With a bright smile and an obvious toupee, District Attorney Monaghan looked like he was trying to please. But as office rumors suggested, he rarely achieved his goal.

“So how are you doing today, sir?” Sara asked as she took a seat in front of Monaghan’s desk.

“Every day’s a bear. Now let’s talk about these budget cuts. Got an opinion?”

“Looks like an election ploy to me,” she answered, forcing confidence into her voice even as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Of course they’re a ploy – but they work. And that’s exactly why the mayor loves them. These days, everyone loves gritty budget-cutting reality. Fuck moderation, let’s get back to the raw, real basics. The more it hurts, the more people think it’s good for them. We’ve become a city of masochists. Destroy welfare, lose the entitlements, cut it all. People see it as tough love. If something good is taken away, it must be because it wasn’t good for us – otherwise, the politicians wouldn’t be taking such risky stands. It’s the ultimate reverse psychology: We keep the things we don’t want and slash the things we love.”

“I guess, sir. Although I think-”

“Y’know what, though? None of that matters.” Laying his hands flat on his desk, he said, “Let’s talk about your future in this office.”

Sara’s hands filled with sweat. Without thinking, she blurted, “I have five cases, and I just got an indictment. I pled out two of them, but if you want, I can do extra work, or take another case-”

“Don’t take any more cases,” Monaghan interrupted. “If you leave, that’s another trial we’ll have to replace you on. Just stick with the ones you have and do your best work on them. In the next thirty days, you’re going to be judged against your peers, so if you can prove you’re worth having around, we might be able to keep you on board.”

“Does that mean I’m safe for the next month?”

“Safe is a nonsense word. But if I were you, and I were playing the odds, I’d start looking at other job options.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Sara walked back to her office in a daze, her mind still reeling from the afternoon’s one-two punch. The moment Guff saw her, he said, “You got fired, didn’t you?”

“Not yet,” Sara said. “But never fear. It’s coming soon to a theater near you.” Rather than sitting behind her desk, Sara sank to the floor and leaned against the wall. “Think Purchasing will deliver my new sofa within the next month?”

“Tell me what happened,” Guff said. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” she said unconvincingly.

After Sara had relayed Monaghan’s news, Guff said, “Well, at least you weren’t fired. Now what’s the story with the doorknob guy? What’d he do?”

“Ah, yes, Sunken Cheeks. First and foremost, he threatened me. Besides that, he really freaked me out. He had all this information about me, and he said if I don’t win my case, he’s going after Jared.”

“Do you think he’s serious?”

“I don’t know what to think. I was hoping that when his fingerprints came back, we’d know if he was dangerous or not.”

“Well, Crime Scene said they’d have them first thing tomorrow morning. They said if you can give them some more information – hair color, physical features, anything like that – it will speed up the ID.”

“Actually, can you hand me my legal pad and a pencil?” Sara asked. “I started sketching him, but he stole the sheet when I reached for the phone. That’s what he lit on fire.”

“Then what do you need this for?” Guff asked, handing her both items.

“You’ll see.” Lightly brushing the side of the pencil lead against the top sheet of the legal pad, Sara revealed the outlines of her original sketch.

“Holmes, you’re a genius,” Guff said.

“You have to pick your moments.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Not really. I just wish I knew who he was. Then I’d know if I was dealing with a blowhard or a real lunatic.” When Sara’s phone started ringing, Guff picked it up. After a few seconds, his face went white.

“What is it?” Sara asked.

“It’s Pop,” Guff said. “There’s been an accident.”