Dead Even

Chapter 5

“WHAT’D YOU THINK?” SARA ASKED.

“Are you kidding? It was incredible. That part when you were up on the countertop…”

“I’m talking about dinner, dreamboat.” Wearing only a T-shirt, Sara sat at the kitchen table across from Jared, who had put on a pair of sweatpants.

“Oh,” Jared said. He stared down at his empty plate. “It was great. Everything was great. Especially you.”

“Don’t give away all the compliments; you deserve half the credit,” Sara said, reaching across the table to hold his hand. “By the way, what time is it?”

“Why? You got a date?”

“Yeah. A date with Justice. I have to get back to the courthouse. My arraignment’s supposed to come up at around eleven.”

“Oh, God – your case,” Jared said. “I’m so sorry, I meant to ask you more about it. I’ve just been so caught up in-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sara said. “The case is fine. Well, maybe it’s fine. Actually, it probably isn’t fine, it’s a squeaker. I think it can definitely work out, though. Maybe. If I’m lucky.”

“Sounds like you can’t lose.”

“Don’t make fun. You know how I get under pressure: peaks and valleys, peaks and valleys. When I got the case, I was on top of the world; an hour later, I was out of my skin, terrified about my job; an hour after that, I was learning the ropes, obsessed, but somehow confident; and when I got home, I thought it was all going my way.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m back in the valley. Not only am I nervous about the case, I’m worried about how I got it. You should’ve seen me this afternoon. Staring at that stupid little folder, I was in a complete panic. And when that split second came when I had to decide whether I was going to take it – I felt like it was my only chance.” Pulling away from her husband, Sara stood up. “Tell me the truth. Was it wrong for me to take the case like that?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Jared said in his usual diplomatic tone. Deep down, Sara knew he was avoiding the question, but she wasn’t in the mood to hear his lecture. It’d be the same as always: When it came to work, her husband kept it on the straight and narrow. “All that matters is how you feel.”

“I feel terrible. Now that the adrenaline’s gone, I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like this gnawing ghost that’s floating around in my stomach. And the worst part is, I’m not sure why I’m upset: is it because I know it was wrong to take it, or simply because I got caught with it?”

“Listen, you can’t change the past. You saw it, you grabbed it, and now you have to live with it. Besides, the way you described it, it sounds like no one in the office even cared that you stole it.”

“Except for Victor. I haven’t seen him yet.”

“Speaking of which, have you told your assistant that it was Victor’s case in the first place?”

“Not yet. We were running around all afternoon, so there really wasn’t time. Besides, I don’t think I’m going to tell him just yet – I want to do a bit more digging before I put that relationship at risk.”

“You still think there might be something else at play?”

“I’m not sure,” Sara said, picking up her blue pantsuit from the floor. “But if this isn’t a Victor-level case, I have no idea how it’s going to save my job.”

When Sara was finished re-dressing for her late-night arraignment, she headed for the door.

“Good luck,” Jared called out. “Make ’em suffer.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Sara said. “The defense is in for some serious hurt.”

At precisely ten-thirty, Sara entered 100 Centre. At the courtroom that was reserved for arraignments, she was surprised to see Guff leaning against the courtroom door.

“What are you doing here?” Sara asked. “You didn’t have to come.”

“You’re my boss,” Guff said. “Where you go, I follow.”

“Well, thanks, Guff. I really appreciate the support. Now we just have to wait for-”

“ADA Tate! What are you charging him with?” a voice boomed from down the hallway.

“Burglary in the second degree,” Sara barked back while Conrad was still thirty feet away.

When the burly prosecutor reached his two colleagues, he asked, “And why’d you choose that?”

“Because burglary in the first degree requires a weapon, or a dangerous instrument, or a physical injury to a victim, and there’s no indication of any of those here.”

“Isn’t that also required for burglary in the second?” Conrad challenged.

“Not if the building is a dwelling,” Sara said, her voice gaining confidence. “And according to the definitions section, 201 East Eighty-second Street is definitely a dwelling. The victim sleeps there every night. I called her myself.”

Conrad smiled. “Good for you. Now what about criminal trespass? Why not charge him with that?”

“Because by taking the watch, the golf ball, and the four hundred dollars, the defendant committed a crime, making criminal trespass too light a charge.”

“What about robbery?”

“According to the cop, there was no force used. That ruled out robbery.”

“And what about breaking and entering?” Conrad asked.

“That’s where you were bullshitting me,” Sara said. “In New York, there’s no such thing as breaking and entering.”

“Are you sure?”

Sara stared him down. “Of course I’m sure. It took me an hour to figure that one out. Now can we go inside and get this sucker started?”

“You’re the boss,” Conrad said, gesturing toward the door.

Because of the late hour, Sara expected to find the courtroom mostly empty. But as she stepped inside, she was surprised to see it filled with prosecutors, police officers, court employees, defense attorneys, and recently arrested defendants. Prosecutors sat on the right side of the room, defense attorneys on the left. Defendants were held in a waiting room outside the courtroom until their case was about to be called, and in the center of the courtroom, the judge presided over each arraignment, which usually lasted four or five minutes. In that time, the charges were announced and bail was set.

As she stepped into the room, Sara knew whom she was looking for. From a legal perspective, she realized that arraignments were a vital guarantor of freedom and fairness. But from a strategic perspective, she knew that arraignments played a completely different role, not the least of which was allowing the opposing attorneys to get their first look at each other. A strong defense attorney meant a nightmare for a prosecutor, while a weak one might mean an easy victory. Either way, like football coaches who spy on the following week’s opponents, the prosecutors of the DA’s office loved to know who they’d be facing. Sara was no exception.

“Any idea which one he is?” she asked Conrad as they took a seat in the first row of wooden benches.

Conrad stared at the dozen defense attorneys who were currently sitting, writing, or filing last-minute papers on the left side of the room. “We won’t know until they call him.”

“Oh, no,” Sara said.

“What’s wrong?”

Sara pointed to a tall blond man across the room. He wore a finely tailored suit and carried a black Gucci briefcase. “That’s Lawrence Lake, a partner at my old law firm.”

“I think he’s the one you’re going up against,” Guff said.

“How do you know?” Conrad asked.

“Are you kidding? I can smell the enemy the moment he enters the room. It’s part of my untamed, feral side.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Oh, I’m definitely crazy,” Guff said, squinting his eyes to look fierce. “Crazy like a fox.”

“Or crazy like a psychopath,” Conrad said. Turning to Sara, he asked, “Did you find out anything else about Kozlow?”

“Just what’s in his file. He’s been arrested twice before: once for first-degree assault, the other for first-degree murder. In the assault, he used a switchblade; in the murder, he shoved a screwdriver into someone’s throat.”

“Jesus,” Guff said. “Someone has trouble playing with others.”

“Not according to the jurors. He got off both times.”

“So he’s a good liar,” Conrad said. “But if I were you, I’d look at the facts of those cases. Maybe he’s got a thing for creative violence.”

“I’ll check them tomorrow,” Sara said.

“Now are you all set on the bail amount?” Sara nodded. “What’s your perfect number?” Conrad asked.

“I want it to be at least ten thousand. That’s high enough that he shouldn’t be able to afford it. But I’m asking for fifteen because I know that judges always lower it a bit.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry,” Conrad said. “When the judges rotate into night arraignments, they’re usually so pissed off about their jobs, they tend to slap the defendants around just for fun.”

“Let’s hope so,” Sara said, glancing at Lawrence Lake’s Gucci briefcase.

Fifteen minutes later, when the court clerk called the case of State of New York v. Anthony Kozlow, Sara saw Lawrence Lake rise and head toward the defense table.

“Damn,” she whispered under her breath.

“Don’t cave in,” Conrad said.

As Sara walked briskly to the prosecutor’s table, Anthony Kozlow was escorted into the courtroom by one of the court officers. He was wearing a ratty black leather jacket and looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. Sara couldn’t help but wonder how an angry little scrub like him could afford a player like Lake. Approaching the defense table, Kozlow shook Lake’s hand as if the two were old friends.

Staring at Kozlow, Sara felt her forehead break out in sweat. This wasn’t like her old cases at the firm. She wasn’t fighting some faceless corporate entity. She was fighting Tony Kozlow – a man standing only ten feet away. She had never met him, and she didn’t know him, but she was going to do everything in her power to keep him in jail.

Without looking up, the judge read from the complaint form that Sara had prepared. He explained that Kozlow was being charged with second-degree burglary, and he checked that an attorney for Kozlow was present. After reading the rest of the complaint to himself, the judge looked up at Sara. “Are you asking for bail?”

“We’re asking that bail be set at fifteen thousand dollars,” Sara explained. “The defendant has a long history of violent criminal activity, and-”

“Two arrests are hardly a long history,” Lake interrupted.

“I’m sorry,” Sara said. “I thought I was in the middle of saying something.”

“I understand the prosecutor’s point,” the judge said. “And I can see Mr. Kozlow’s record. Now, Mr. Lake, let’s hear the other side.”

Lake smiled smugly at Sara. “My client was arrested twice. That’s clearly not a long history. To keep it short: Mr. Kozlow has ties to this community, he’s lived here almost continuously throughout his entire life, and there isn’t a single conviction on his record. There’s absolutely no reason why bail needs to be that high.”

The judge paused for a moment, then announced, “The 180.80 date is Friday. I’m setting bail at ten thousand.”

Relieved, Sara assumed that even if Kozlow could afford Lake, it’d still take at least a few days to raise that kind of money.

Without blinking, however, Lake said, “Your Honor, my client would like to post bail.”

“Please see the clerk about that,” the judge said. He banged his gavel, and the clerk called the next case. In and out in less than five minutes.

Without saying a word, Sara turned around and walked straight out of the courtroom into the hallway. Guff and Conrad followed. “Okay, so he posted bail,” Conrad said. “What’s the crisis?”

“The crisis is Lawrence Lake. That guy’s not a dial-a-lawyer. It costs about five hundred bucks an hour to talk to him.”

“So Kozlow has some money stashed away,” Conrad said. “Happens all the time.”

“I don’t know,” Sara said, tempted to tell them about Victor. “I have a bad feeling about this. Kozlow doesn’t seem like a kingpin – so where does he get the money and influence to talk to someone like Lake?”

“I have no idea,” Conrad said, looking at his watch. “But it’s way past my bedtime, and we’re not solving this tonight. We’ll talk about it tomorrow morning.”

Standing in the middle of the hallway, Sara couldn’t let it go. “What about-”

“Go home and get it out of your mind,” Conrad said. “The workday is done.”

Before Sara could argue, Kozlow stepped out of the courtroom and brushed past her. “Sorry, Sara,” he whispered. “See you on the streets.”

“What’d you say?” Sara asked.

Without answering, Kozlow headed up the hallway.

Unwilling to run in the early morning rain, Jared got to work at eight o’clock and headed straight to the firm’s private gymnasium and basketball court, hoping that a good workout would relieve the stress caused by the previous day’s events. Located on the seventy-first floor, the private facility had been installed at the request of Thomas Wayne, whose love of basketball outweighed his partners’ hopes for an expanded library. Among the lawyers of Wayne & Portnoy, the private facility was affectionately known as “the highest court in the city,” and its three plate-glass walls provided a stunning view of downtown Manhattan.

During his half-hour run on the treadmill, Jared replayed yesterday’s conversations in his head. First Lubetsky’s, then Rose’s, then Wayne’s. When the odometer read three miles, he showered and went down to his office.

“Feeling better today?” Kathleen asked as Jared walked past her desk.

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Yourself?”

“I’m great. I’m just worried about you.” Kathleen pulled a pencil from behind her ear and wagged it at her boss. “But if you want to put yourself in a better mood, why don’t you ask me what’s going on? It’ll be worth it.”

Jared crossed his arms. “Fine. What’s going on?”

“The usual,” she replied. “Lubetsky wants to see you, Rose wants to speak to you, and a brand-new client wants to hire you.”

“Someone wants to hire me?”

“He came in about ten minutes ago and asked specifically for you. He’s waiting in the conference room.”

“Wait a minute,” Jared said. “Is this some kind of practical joke to make me feel better?”

“No joke. You wanted new clients, you got ’em. He said you came recommended by a friend. If you’d like, I’ll bring him to your office.”

“That’d be great,” Jared said, his pulse racing. “In fact, that’d be downright fantastic.”

Two minutes later, Kathleen returned to Jared’s office with a tall, gaunt, dark-haired man in tow. “Jared, this is Mr. Kozlow,” she said as she stepped into the room.

“Call me Tony,” the man said, extending a hand to Jared.

“Like the cartoon tiger,” Jared joked.

“Exactly,” Kozlow smiled. “Just like the tiger.”

“You don’t think there’s anything fishy about Kozlow having such a high-paid attorney?” Sara asked Conrad when she stopped by his office in the early afternoon.

“Not at all,” Conrad said. “It happens all the time. These mutts have money stashed in a sock drawer for just this occasion.”

“And what about the fact that his lawyer was from my old law firm? I mean, there’re thousands of firms in this city. Don’t you think it’s a little more than a coincidence that they picked mine?”

“Sara, it’s time for you to take a breath and calm down. I know you have a lot of emotion invested in this case, but when that happens, you run the risk of losing perspective. Trust me, I know exactly what you’re going through: When I started here, I wanted every single one of my cases to be front-page material. But sometimes you have to admit that all you have is a footnote that would barely make the high school newspaper.”

“So you think I’m just imagining things?”

“All I’m saying is you should stop worrying about Kozlow’s wallet and start worrying about his case. You have a grand jury coming up next Monday.”

“Not to mention four other cases to deal with,” Sara added.

“Speaking of which, how’d they go this morning?”

“The arraignments? Like last night, but faster. The drug possession and one of the shoplifters were both first-time offenders, so they walked on their own recognizance. Then I got two thousand apiece for the pickpocket and the other shoplifter.”

“I take it they had histories?”

“Almost fifty arrests between them. And the pickpocket? If you can believe it, his name is Marion.”

“Don’t make fun of ‘Marion.’ That’s John Wayne’s real name.”

Tilting her head slightly, Sara studied Conrad. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Did you just make a joke?”

“John Wayne’s never a joke, ma’am.”

Sara laughed. “Okay, I’ll let you have one. That’s fair,” she said. “But according to his record, John Wayne the Pickpocket has twenty-three prior arrests, and he swears he didn’t do any of them – which I guess at least makes him consistent. The shoplifter’s not far behind.”

“Okay, so it sounds like you can plead out the first two. As far as the others, you’re going to have to see what their lawyers say. Don’t get too caught up in them, though. Your time’s better spent preparing Kozlow’s indictment.”

“Then can I ask you one last question? What’d the judge mean by a 180.80 day?”

Conrad paused, his brow furrowed. “Didn’t they teach you anything in that law firm?”

“All I did was civil work. Now cut me some slack.”

“Here’s your slack. A 180.80 day is shorthand for the day by which you have to indict the defendant if he’s locked up. But since Kozlow posted bail, you only have to worry about the grand jury, where-”

“I know what happens at a grand jury.”

“You sure?”

“You don’t let up, do you?” Sara asked with a grin. “At the grand jury, I’ll have to convince twelve average citizens to indict Kozlow on the burglary charge. If they indict, then the trial can take place. If they don’t-”

“If they don’t, then you’re not going anywhere with this case.”

Walking back to her office, Sara thought about Conrad’s advice. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was hoping too hard for front-page material. Maybe Kozlow had just stashed away some money. And maybe she was becoming a victim of her own imagination. But no matter how much she tried to downplay the facts, she kept coming back to one key piece of information: Kozlow’s case had originally been marked for Victor.

Nearing her office, she noticed that Guff wasn’t at his desk. She also noticed that her office door was ajar, even though she knew she had left it closed. She remembered Conrad’s advice about ADA offices: Lock everything – confidentiality is paramount, and eyes have a tendency to wander. Through the translucent glass of her door, she could see the fuzzy figure of someone sitting at her desk. She quickly looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was around. Since it was close to lunch, the hallways were relatively empty. Hesitantly, she opened the door. Victor was waiting for her.

“Can I help you?” she asked, unnerved.

“No,” Victor said. “Just wanted to see how your case was going.”

“How’d you get into my office?”

“It was open. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Actually, I do.”

“I’ll be more considerate next time. Now tell me how it’s going.”

“Why?” she asked defensively. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Sara.”

“Then why’re you sneaking in here and trying your best to intimidate me?” She hoped her bluntness would catch him off guard. It didn’t.

“That’s a pretty impressive imagination. You should be careful it doesn’t get the best of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sara asked.

“It means exactly what I said: Be careful. At this rate, you can’t afford any more mistakes.”

“Is that what you came to tell me?”

“Sara, the only reason I’m here is because you took a case while I was supervising. Now I don’t care how desperate you were, or how you got Conrad to kiss your ass, but if you ever do that again, I guarantee one thing: I’ll be all over you.”

She didn’t want to admit it, but of course he was right. “I’m sorry. I-”

“Save the crying. I don’t care.” Victor got up from his seat and walked to the door. “But if I were you, I’d watch my back. You never know when the ax will fall.”

As Victor left, Guff entered Sara’s office. “What was that about?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“He didn’t sound too happy on the way out.”

“He was thrilled. I could tell by the way he threatened me. Now, any other bad news before I head out to lunch?”

“Actually, yes,” Guff said, waving a two-page fax. “This just came through. It’s a notice of attorney. Apparently, Kozlow has retained a new lawyer.”

“So?”

“So, look at the new lawyer’s name and tell me if it’s familiar.”

She skimmed the memo, then jumped to the signature at the bottom. When she read her husband’s name, she sank into her chair. “I can’t believe it. Can he even do this?”

“I don’t know,” Guff said. “I’ve certainly never seen it before.”

“He has to drop the case,” Sara said. She picked up her phone and dialed Jared’s number. When Kathleen answered, Sara asked to speak to her husband.

“You just missed him. He said he was meeting you for lunch. Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine.” Sara hung up the phone and bolted out of the office.

Guff tailed behind, following her down the hall. “What do you want me to do while you’re gone?”

“Find out if this kind of thing is even allowed. The last person I want to face in this case is my husband.”

Twenty minutes later, Jared’s cab dropped him off in front of Forlini’s, which was not only the closest Italian restaurant to the courthouse, but also the most popular. He stuffed a ten-dollar bill in the driver’s hand and strode into the restaurant. “Hey, beautiful,” he said to Sara, excited to share the good news with his wife.

“Where the hell have you been?” Sara asked.

“Stuck in traffic.” Jared sat down at the table. “Is everything okay?”

“No, everything’s not okay.”

Jared touched Sara’s arm. “Tell me what’s-”

“I just don’t understand why you agreed to take the case – especially when you know my job is riding on it. I mean, you’re the one with the big firm job, and all I have is this-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jared interrupted. “Slow down a second. What case are you talking about?”

“My burglary case. Why’d you agree to take the other side?”

“Take the other side? I don’t know what you’re-”

“The Kozlow case. I just got your counsel notice.”

“Wait a minute,” Jared said. “That’s your case? You have Tony Kozlow’s case?”

“I told you that last night.”

“You never told me his name. You just said it was a burglary.”

“Well, didn’t you think it was odd when you got your own burglary today?”

“He didn’t say it was a burglary – all he said was it was a minor felony. And that they’d send me the file later.”

“What about the notice-of-counsel memo?”

“All we had was the docket number of the case. Kathleen typed up the memo and faxed it over to the DA’s office. They match up the number and forward it to the prosecutor. I swear, honey, I’d never do that to you on purpose.”

“So you’ll drop the case.”

“What?” Jared asked.

“I’m serious. Are you going to drop the case?”

“Why should I drop it?” Jared moaned. “This is a new client. It’s a big deal for me.”

“Jared, for you, it’s a client. For me-”

“No – you’re right. This is your job. You were there first. I’ll step down.”

“You will?” Sara asked.

He paused. “Of course I will.” Growing more confident, he added, “For you.”

Sara put her hand on one of his. “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown. I know how much-”

“Sara, you don’t have to say anything.”

“Yes, I do. And I want you to know that I’m sorry for putting you in this position. It’s just that this whole new job thing is reminding me of the-”

“The law firm was an isolated incident, and you shouldn’t judge yourself by it. No one’s supposed to make partner in a New York firm. It’s not expected.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m trying my best to beat the odds. And to cheer up my wife.”

“Well, you’re doing a pretty good job,” Sara said. Circling the top of her water glass with a finger, she added, “Let me ask you this: If we did have to face off against each other, who do you think would win?”

“You would,” Jared said with a smug smile.

Sara laughed. “You’re so full of yourself, y’know that?”

“What’d I say?”

“You don’t have to say anything. I can read you like a-”

“Like a coloring book?”

“Don’t play games, Lynch. I’m warning you.”

“Then what do you want me to say? You asked me who would win. Do you want the truth or do you want to be lied to? I’ll do whatever makes you feel better.”

Sara laughed again. “Do you even realize how conceited you are sometimes?”

“Wait a minute. Are you calling me conceited?”

“No, I’m calling you deaf.” Raising her voice, she announced, “You are so conceited!”

Jared tried to avoid the stares of the restaurant customers. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“That’s why you wouldn’t stand a chance. You’ve got too many buttons to push.”

“So that’s what you’d do? You’d bring the jury to a restaurant and yell like a maniac?”

“Whatever it takes. That’s my motto.”

“It’s a great motto, but it’s not going to get you far in court. Don’t forget, you’ve never even handled a criminal trial.”

“Sure, if you want to be formalistic. But we’re not talking about who knows more about the law. We’re talking about who would win the case. And if you’ve been paying attention, you’d know you wouldn’t have a chance against me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t?”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because while you may be Mr. Book-Smart Sophisticate, you have no idea how to fight.”

“And you do?”

“Boy, I’ve been whipping your ass for the past six years.”

Jared laughed out loud. “Is that another come-on?”

“I’m serious,” Sara said. “To win a fight, you have to know your opponent’s weaknesses. And I know all of yours”

“Name one.”

“You hate it when people say that everything’s been handed to you in life.”

Jared paused a moment. “Name another.”

“Oh, you’re so predictable.”

“Don’t pat yourself on the back so hard,” Jared said. “Now name another.”

“You don’t like seeing me hurt – which means you wouldn’t be effective in a fight against me.”

“Trust me, if I needed to, the kid gloves would come off.”

“You can’t stand it when everything isn’t perfect.”

“And you’re terrified of failure,” Jared countered. “Now let’s hear a real weakness.”

“You’re afraid of cats.”

“I’m not afraid of them. I just think they’re plotting against me.”

“When you were little, you read through an entire volume of encyclopedias.”

“Just the volumes J and Li to Lz. My initials.”

“You have a favorite columnist.”

“Most people do.”

Leaning into the table, Sara held up her pinkie and whispered, “Your penis – it’s teeny.”

“That is not funny,” Jared said, laughing. “Take it back.”

“Fine, fine, I take it back. But don’t tell me I don’t know how to push your buttons.”

“You definitely know how to push my buttons. But I can push yours just as well.”

“That’s why I don’t want to face you in court,” Sara said. “It’d be a bloodbath.”

“Well, lucky for both of us it’s not coming to that. I’m dropping the case as soon as I get back.”

“Glad to hear it,” Sara said. She reached across the table and took both of Jared’s hands in her own. “I just want you to know, I appreciate you looking out for me.”

“Sara, you don’t need me to look out for you. I only do it because I love the view.” He pulled her hands close and lightly kissed them. “I’d never do anything to hurt you,” he said. “Now let’s stop stressing about the case. For once, we’ve got the problem solved.”

When lunch was finished, Jared and Sara got up and stepped outside. The day was still pale gray and the clouds were again starting to hover. “More rain,” Sara said.

Jared nodded. “Do you want me to drop you off?”

“No, that’s the opposite direction for you. I can walk from here.”

He gave his wife a kiss good-bye and watched her head up the block. Sara had a slight bounce in her walk, and even though Jared loved to tease her about it, he also loved to watch her in motion. When she turned the corner, he stepped toward the cab that was stopped in front of the restaurant. As soon as he opened the door, he realized someone was already in the backseat. It was Kozlow.

“How’re you doing there, doc?” Kozlow asked. “Come on in.”

Jared hesitated a moment.

“Don’t worry,” Kozlow said. “It’s safe.”

Cautiously getting into the cab, Jared sat next to Kozlow. “What’s going on?” Jared asked. “What’re you doing here?”

“You’ll see.”

“What’re you talking about?” Jared asked as the driver pulled into traffic. “What do you-”

“Shut up already. We’ll be there soon enough.”

The cab pulled up to a landmark town house on East Fifty-eighth Street whose polished brass doorknobs and handrails sparkled even in the absence of sunlight. A uniformed attendant opened the door for Jared, who slowly stepped out of the cab. Kozlow didn’t follow. “You’re not coming?” Jared asked.

“Not my kind of place,” Kozlow said. “You’re on your own.” He slammed the door shut and the cab sped away.

“Mr. Lynch,” the attendant said. “This way, please.”

Jared hesitantly followed.

The attendant ushered Jared through a paneled hall with a magnificent antique mirror along one wall and down a broad, curving, carpeted stairway. Jared nervously ran his hand against the grain of his two o’clock shadow. Craning his neck in every direction, he tried his best to scout ahead. There were no other people in sight, but he was clearly in a club. At the foot of the stairs, a beautifully appointed bar stretched off to the left. Straight ahead was a large lounge decorated in an unusual mix of French antiques and African artifacts. Dark and intimidating, the room had wooden hand-painted tribal masks along the walls and clusters of wing chairs and Louis XV end tables. African music played softly from hidden speakers.

The uniformed man led Jared to an unmarked door in the back, which opened into a private room. Inside, centered around a marble fireplace, were a sofa and two antique chairs. In one of the chairs sat a tall, elegant man with an angular face, wearing a hand-tailored black blazer. His slightly graying blond hair was brushed back from his forehead, and although it was impossible to tell by looking at him, one of his legs was imperceptibly shorter than the other. The disproportion was caused by an old football injury that he wore as a badge of honor. Indeed, for him it wasn’t just a football injury. It was a Princeton football injury. And in his mind, that made all the difference.

Hearing them approach, he stood and extended a well-manicured hand. “So nice to finally meet you, Mr. Lynch,” he said.

“Do you mind telling me what this is about?” Jared asked.

The man ignored him. “My name is Oscar Rafferty. Won’t you please sit down?” He gestured to the sofa, then turned to the attendant. “That’ll be it, George, thank you.” The smooth graciousness of Rafferty’s voice suggested that he was a man who was accustomed to having things go his way.

Jared assumed the same when he noticed the signature gold B on the black buttons of Rafferty’s Brioni blazer. Even Thomas Wayne didn’t wear two-thousand-dollar Brioni jackets. So for Jared, Rafferty’s buttons meant one thing: This wasn’t going to be a typical client meeting.

Cautiously taking a seat on the sofa, Jared picked up a matchbook from a bowl on the coffee table between them.

“I understand you’re from Highland Park,” Rafferty said in an engaging tone. “Do you know the Pritchard family, Judge Henry Pritchard? Both his sons are clients of mine. One’s a playwright, the other’s a producer – which means he does much of nothing.”

Confused by Rafferty’s attempt to find common ground, Jared said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but is there something I can help you with, Mr. Rafferty?”

Suddenly, Rafferty’s expression changed. He didn’t like being cut short. “Actually, there is, Jared. And since I’m the one who’ll be paying Tony Kozlow’s legal fees, I thought we should get together. There are a few pieces of information you’re still missing.”

“Well, if it’s about the case, I want you to know that, regrettably, I have to withdraw as counsel. I just found out my wife is the prosecutor on the other side.”

“That’s all right. We don’t mind.”

“But I do,” Jared said. “That’s why I’m stepping down. If you want, though, I’m happy to recommend someone else at the firm to take over the case.”

Rafferty’s eyes grew dark as he looked disapprovingly at Jared. “I don’t think you understand,” he said. “You’re not stepping down. You’re our lawyer on this.”

“Oh, I am?”

“Yes. You are,” Rafferty said coldly. “Like it or not, Jared, we have to win this case. And while you’re obviously impressed with your own overinflated, career-climbing résumé, you really have only one thing to offer us – you’re married to the prosecutor. You therefore know how she thinks, how she approaches a problem, and most important, how to exploit her weaknesses. To be blunt, you know how to beat her.”

“But I’m not taking the case,” Jared insisted.

“Jared, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. Our friend Anthony Kozlow cannot be found guilty. And if you’re hoping to continue with your sexual exploits on the kitchen counter, you’ll make sure he’s not.”

“How do you know we-”

“Pay close attention,” Rafferty said calmly. “We’ll all be happier if you win the case.”

“All be happier? What the hell does that mean?”

Without answering, Rafferty handed Jared a large manila envelope. When Jared opened it, he saw a stack of two dozen black-and-white photographs. All of them of Sara.

“That’s Sara on her way to the office,” Rafferty said as Jared looked at a clear outdoor shot. “And that’s her coming home.” The photos showed most of the places that Sara had been in the past twenty-four hours. When Jared got to a shot of Sara waiting near the edge of the subway platform, Rafferty added, “That’s when she was coming home late after last night’s arraignment. I guess she was anxious to get home, because she kept sticking her head over the edge, looking to see if the train was coming. That’s not a safe thing to do, Jared. One little push is all it takes.”

Staring straight down at the pictures, Jared felt nauseated. The drumbeats of the African music seemed to be blaring from all directions. The photos of Sara blurred in a rush of dizziness. Closing his eyes, he struggled to pull himself together. Eventually he looked up at Rafferty. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I want you to win,” Rafferty said. “That’s all.”

“And if I don’t?” Jared asked.

Without saying a word, Rafferty picked up the photographs and put them back in the envelope.

“Answer me,” Jared insisted. “What if I don’t?”

Rafferty resealed the envelope. “Jared, I think you know the answer to that.” He let his words sink in. “Now listen to what I’m about to say, because I know what you’re thinking. If you go to the police, or any other law enforcement body, I promise you, you’ll be haunted by that decision for the rest of your life. Silence is golden – if you tell anyone, including your wife, we’ll kill her. The moment you open your mouth, she’s dead. I’ll have Kozlow standing on her throat faster than you can put down the telephone,” Rafferty warned. “Naturally, I know it won’t come to that – you’re an intelligent lawyer, Jared. For the next few weeks, all we ask is that you do your job. Prepare for trial, be the good defense attorney, and deliver a win. That’s what it has to be – no settlements allowed. Make it disappear or get me a win. You do that, and we’re out of your life. No headache, no trouble. Am I making myself clear?”

Slowly, Jared nodded, his eyes locked on the crimson tapestry that covered the floor.

“I’ll take that awkward silence as a yes,” Rafferty said. “Which means Kozlow will be at your office first thing tomorrow morning. Enjoy what’s left of your day.”

Rafferty stood up and escorted Jared to the front entrance of the club. Outside, a private car was waiting for him. As Jared got in the car, Rafferty said, “Good-bye, Jared.” Jared barely registered the remark. It wasn’t until the door slammed shut that the full weight of the moment hit him. Sitting alone in the back of the car, Jared replayed the scene in his head. He pictured Rafferty and the photo of Sara standing on the edge of the subway platform. And then he pictured Kozlow. Oh, God, Jared thought, undoing his tie and gasping for air. What the hell have I gotten us into?