Dead Even

Chapter 7

AT SEVEN THAT EVENING, SARA AND GUFF STOOD OUTSIDE the Second Avenue Deli, where the smell of kosher pickles and fried knishes drifted through the air. As a stream of East Siders followed their noses into the land of giant pastrami sandwiches and insulting waiters, Sara noticed the chilly air. “Winter’s on her way,” she said.

“You think?” Guff asked, blowing into his cupped hands and jogging in place to stay warm. “Now tell me again why your grandfather wants us standing out here when it’s nice and warm inside?”

“Guff, I told you ten times already – don’t call him my grandfather. He’s Pop. He likes being called Pop. That’s what we call him. And if we want to eat with him, we have to meet him outside. Otherwise, he thinks we’re not meeting him, and he’ll go home. Trust me, it sounds ridiculous, but it’s no joke. I’ve been stood up enough times to know.”

“He’s a real character, huh?”

“That’s why I invited you. He may be my closest surviving relative, but he’s a little overwhelming one-on-one. If you have two people against him, he’s easier on the senses.”

“Why didn’t Jared come?”

“Jared said he was busy, but I think it’s also because he and Pop don’t always see eye-to-eye.”

“Why?”

“When Jared and I first started going out, Pop said that Jared wasn’t the right type for me.”

“So?”

“So, he said it to Jared’s face – the night they first met.”

“I assume you disagreed.”

“Of course. Regardless of what my Pop says, Jared’s always been the one.”

“How’d you know?”

“What do you mean how’d I know? There’s no one reason. You just sort of… know.”

“Don’t give me that sentimental claptrap. There must be something you can point to – one incident that gave you some kind of sign.”

Thinking for a moment, Sara said, “Actually, there was this one thing. When I was little, around nine or ten, my dad started going on a ton of business trips – he was a salesman for a women’s clothing company. At the same time, I started having this recurring nightmare about being deaf. It was terrifying. Everyone would be talking, but I couldn’t hear anything. And then, even if I was screaming at the top of my lungs, no one could hear me. This went on for almost two years.”

“Because you missed your father.”

“Exactly. When my mom took me to a psychologist, he told her that the nightmare was based on my fear of being alone. Since I was an only child, and my parents were away from home a lot, it was a natural occurrence. With some help, I eventually got over my little prepubescent fears and moved on with my life. Then, twelve years later, my parents died. And the nightmare came back. The same terrible, haunting dream: I’m ten again, I’m deaf, and even though I’m screaming like a maniac, I can’t hear myself, and no one can hear me. This time, though, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how many psychobabble techniques I used, I couldn’t shake it. It was torturing me. But when I started going out with Jared, the dream suddenly disappeared. I haven’t had it since. And that’s at least one of the reasons I knew he was the one. Naturally, Pop disagrees, but that’s just his nature.”

“I don’t understand – how can one person be that bad?”

“You’ll see,” Sara warned with a smile. “And let me give you one last hint: When you’re stuck for something to say, don’t ask him about the garment industry.”

Expecting a crotchety old man, Guff was surprised when Pop finally turned the corner. With soft, alert eyes and a mild smile, the old man was far more sympathetic looking than Guff had imagined. As he got closer, Guff also realized how big he was. A former beat cop in Brooklyn, Pop was no longer a mass of muscle, but in his determined, lumbering strides, Guff could see hints of the man he used to be.

After giving Sara a kiss hello, Pop stared at Guff. After a moment he asked, “What’s wrong with your hair? Is it fake?”

“It’s real,” Guff said. “And I’m Guff. Nice to meet you, Pop.”

“Call me Pop,” Pop said as he shook Guff’s hand. “And I’m just kidding about the hair part. Just good fun and all that.” Guff shot a look at Sara as they followed Pop into the restaurant. “Where’s that suck-up husband of yours?”

“He’s working on a case,” Sara explained. “He said to send you his best.”

“Don’t lie to me, sister. I’ve been stood up by better than him.”

“I’m sure you have,” Sara said.

The hostess seated Guff, Sara, and Pop in a booth in the back of the restaurant. “So is this place any good?” Guff asked.

“Good?” Pop said. “This is the Second Avenue Deli! They’ve been putting out pastrami since Eisenhower first scratched his giant-sized forehead in the White House.”

“Eisenhower had a big forehead?” Guff asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Pop said. “Ike had a huge melon. So did Jack Kennedy. Only difference was, Kennedy had hair. Look at the pictures – it’s true.”

“I never knew that,” Guff said, fighting back a smile. “Who else had a big head?”

“My gosh, back then, everyone did. That’s why we all wore hats. Goldwater, Nixon, Milton Berle, even that fella de Gaulle from France – he had a giant one. It was like a secret code.”

“Secret code?”

“Oh, sure. Wearing a hat meant something. It’s like the letters in a deck of cards. Add them together and you get-”

“The number fifty-two!” Guff said, now excited. “I know that code!”

As Sara started laughing, so did Pop.

“What’s so funny?” Guff asked. The two struggled to catch their breath. “Wait a minute – you told him about my deck of cards thing, didn’t you?”

“And you fell for it!” Pop said.

“I’m sorry,” Sara added, “but when you got so excited, I couldn’t help myself.”

“That’s beautiful,” Guff said, picking up a menu and putting it in front of his face. “Just pick on the new guy. If it makes the Tate family feel good to be bully for the day, be my guest.”

Outside the deli, the man with the sunken cheeks leaned on a silver parked car. He was in his early thirties, but his stark features made his age hard to guess. From his vantage point he had a clear view of Sara, Guff, and Pop. For five minutes he stared at them, lingering over Pop’s features. There’s another chink in her armor, the man thought as he crossed his arms.

“So how are you enjoying your new job?” Pop asked as he picked up his pastrami and corned beef sandwich. “Fun or dreck?”

“Fun,” Sara said.

“And about to get even funner,” Guff said. “Tell him about the case.”

“What case?” Pop asked.

“Nothing…”

“Tell me,” Pop insisted. “Listen to your friend.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Sara said. “In my first case, Jared and I are going up against each other.”

“So that’s it,” Pop said. “No wonder he’s not here. You’re at each other’s throats?”

“No, not yet,” Sara said, picking at a potato pancake. “He’s just been working hard, which makes me-”

“It makes you nervous, doesn’t it?” Pop asked.

Sara put down her fork and pushed away her plate. “Not only is he a great lawyer, but he knows me better than anyone.”

“Well, you have nothing to worry about. When it comes to convincing a jury, you’re much more believable than he is – no matter how much preparation he does. He’s had it easy his entire life, and people notice those things.”

“Pop, please don’t say that. He’s worked very hard to get where he is – he hasn’t had it easy.”

“He has. He had it easy when I first met him, with his hotshot Yale cuff links, and he has it easy today. I love him like a son, but he doesn’t know what it’s like to struggle. He has no sense of appreciation.” Turning to Guff, Pop added, “First day I met him, we came right here, to my favorite deli, and he tries to pick up the check. Then he eats only half his sandwich, and I tell him to have it wrapped up so he can take it home. He says, ‘Why don’t you have it? It’ll just go to waste if I take it.’ Can you believe the gall?”

“I’m surprised you let him marry Sara at all,” Guff said.

“Guff, don’t encourage him,” Sara begged. “And Pop, please drop it.”

“Fine, fine, consider it dropped. But believe me, a jury won’t buy what he’s selling. They’ll be more impressed with you – you’re real people. Real, hardworking American people.”

“That’s great, Pop. Now if you could only tell that to my boss.”

At half past ten, Sara finally arrived at home. She hung up her coat in the closet and walked into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, she stared inside, looking for nothing in particular. Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her and felt a hand on her shoulder. She grabbed the neck of a bottle of wine. Spinning around, she swung it through the air, but stopped herself short. It was Jared.

“Don’t do that!” Sara said as she lowered the bottle. “You scared me!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Jared said, embracing his wife.

“What? Now you’re suddenly being nice to me?”

“I missed you. I was worried about you.”

“Then why were you such a jerk on the phone before?”

“I was just really busy,” Jared said. “You know how I get when I’m working.” As he continued to hug his wife, he added, “Do you know how much I love you?”

“Of course.”

“No, really,” Jared said, looking intently in Sara’s eyes. “Do you know how much I care about you? And how much I worry about you? Do you know I’d do anything for you?”

“Absolutely,” Sara said, wondering what had brought on this rush of emotion. “Jared, are you sure everything’s okay at work?”

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” She gave him a kiss. “I just don’t want to see this case come between us.”

“It won’t,” Jared said, holding his wife tight. Over her shoulder, he caught a glimpse of the six portraits that Sara had done of him. The broken glass was long swept away, but the pictures were now unprotected. Staring at the vulnerable images of himself, Jared pulled her closer. “Nothing’ll happen,” he whispered. “I promise.”

“Can you get Barrow on the line for me?” Jared asked Kathleen the moment he walked into the office the following morning. “It’s important.”

“He really has you scared, doesn’t he?” Kathleen asked.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Kozlow. That’s what you want from Barrow, isn’t it? You want him to take a deeper look at Kozlow?”

As always, Kathleen was on the mark. But that didn’t mean he was going to tell her the rest. That would only put her at risk. “Why would I want to investigate my own client?” he asked.

“C’mon, Jared, don’t treat me like an imbecile. You can’t hide the bags under your eyes – you haven’t slept well in days. Since the day you met him, you’ve been running yourself ragged. And you’re getting to work so early, you’re almost catching up with me. Besides, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the guy is bad news.”

Jared looked around the office. No one would hear. “What makes you think that?”

“Haven’t you read his old file yet?”

“I know he’s got two arrests, but I haven’t had a chance to get through the rest of it. I’ve been busy with everything else.”

“Or maybe you’ve been putting it off because you’re afraid of what you’ll find.”

His jaw shifted. “Just tell me what it says.”

Checking the hallway herself, Kathleen leaned forward on her elbows. “If I were you, I’d be careful with him. The guy’s a walking time bomb. Two years ago, he had a run-in with a Brooklyn lowlife named Joey Gluck. According to the file, Joey comes home from a night of heavy drinking, arm in arm with a local prostitute. They quickly get undressed, but what they don’t know is that Kozlow, the little maniac, is hiding under the bed. As Joey is about to jump in the sack, Kozlow takes a switchblade and nails Joey’s bare foot to the floor. Then he crawls out and pushes Joey backwards, just to make it hurt a bit more. The scary thing is that when the case goes to trial, Joey unexpectedly decides to change his testimony. Says he suddenly can’t remember anything.”

“What about the prostitute?”

“They found her body the night after the attack. Heroin overdose, if you believe the autopsy.”

“You think Kozlow killed her?”

“You tell me. Here’s case number two: A construction worker named Roger Hacker comes home after a long day of work, heads straight for the bathroom, and takes a seat on the toilet. Suddenly, Roger thinks he hears a noise in the shower. Before the poor guy can even stand up, the shower curtain flies open and Kozlow jumps out. From what they could piece together, Kozlow punches Roger in the Adam’s apple and sends him to the floor. Kozlow kicks him in the face, and the head, and then one final one right in Roger’s shoulder. Collarbone shattered. For Kozlow, the message has been sent. Then our boy Roger does something stupid. He climbs to his feet, grabs a screwdriver from his nearby tool belt, and lunges at Kozlow as he’s leaving the apartment. Poor Roger never knew what hit him. The next-door neighbor, who of course wound up changing his testimony at the trial, said it sounded like someone was torturing a cat. And when the police finally arrived, they found the screwdriver jammed straight into Roger’s throat, while his eyes-”

“I don’t want to hear any more,” Jared interrupted.

“Let me just finish the last part: When they did the autopsy on Roger, they found at least a dozen wounds that they identified as postmortem blows – which means that even after Roger was dead, Kozlow kept tearing him apart just for fun.”

“I said I don’t want to hear it.”

“Jared, I know it’s not the best news, but you’re dealing with a killer. You have to-”

“Please don’t tell me what I have to do. Just call Barrow and let him know I want two people checked out. The first one’s Kozlow; the second one’s Oscar Rafferty.”

“Who’s Oscar Rafferty?”

“That’s what I want to find out.”

“Then that’s what we’re doing,” Kathleen replied. “I’ll make sure we get everything: backgrounds, bank accounts, wives, club memberships, anything that’s revealing.”

“And tell him to keep it close to his chest. I don’t want Rafferty getting wind of it.”

She wasn’t used to seeing Jared so paranoid. “This really isn’t safe, is it?”

“Not if they find out.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Jared paused. “No. Not now.”

Kathleen stared at her boss. In the four years she’d known Jared, she had learned to tell the difference between when he was serious and when he wanted her to pry further. Today wasn’t a day to pry. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here,” she said. Down the hallway, Kathleen noticed Kozlow walking toward them, led by one of the firm’s receptionists. She motioned to Jared, and then, in a loud voice, announced, “…and after that, I’ll have them pull all the cases that deal with burglaries. You’ll have it by lunch.”

“Thanks,” Jared said, eyeing Kozlow.

Dressed in his standard three-quarter-length leather jacket, Kozlow strolled into Jared’s office. A small metal chain dangled from the front pocket of his faded jeans. “So what are we doing today? More legal stuff?”

“Yeah, more legal stuff.” Jared followed Kozlow into his office as Kathleen thanked the receptionist. “Now get in here so we can get started. Today, we work on your testimony.”

“I’m testifying? At the grand jury?”

“Without a doubt,” Jared said, taking a seat at his desk. “If we can get your story into a more believable form, we might be able to convince the grand jury not to indict. And if by some miracle they like you, chances are, they won’t vote against you.”

“Everyone likes me,” Kozlow insisted as he took a seat across from Jared’s desk. “Now what do I have to do?”

“First, I want you to get a good suit.”

“I have a good suit.”

“I’m sure you do, but I want you to have a business suit. Like mine.”

Kozlow looked at Jared’s pin-striped navy-blue suit. “Why would I want to dress like you?”

“There’s a good reason,” Jared said. He hit the intercom button on his phone. “Kathleen, can you come in here one second?” When Kathleen entered the room, Jared continued, “At about ten o’clock, I’d like you to take Mr. Kozlow shopping. He’ll need a conservative business suit, a nice understated tie, some loafers, and some wire-framed glasses. He needs to look believable.”

“I’m impressed – I haven’t been dressed that nice since the service,” Kozlow said.

“You were in the military?”

“Yeah, army for a bit. Now tell me who’s paying for all this.”

“It’s billed to Rafferty as an expense,” Jared said. “Nothing we do here is free. But if you want to convince people you’re innocent, the first step is looking the part.”

When Kathleen left, Jared pulled a legal pad from his briefcase. He was trying his best to treat this as if it were any other case, but he could feel his impatience growing. “Let’s go over your story. Tell me your version of it.”

“I was walking down the street, minding my own business, and some cop grabs me and tells me I’m under arrest,” Kozlow explained, his hands waving to accentuate his point. “Then he takes me to this woman’s house and says to her, ‘This is the guy that robbed your house, isn’t it?’”

“Is that the way he asked the question?” Jared asked as he made some notes. “Was it leading like that?”

“Oh, yeah. She couldn’t say anything but yes.”

That’ll work, Jared thought. “Now, where did you get the Ebel watch?”

“I found that on the street as I was walking.”

“And what about the silver golf ball?”

“I found that in the garbage. I thought it was my lucky night.”

Jared stared angrily at Kozlow. “You’re going to have to come up with some better answers than that. The grand jury isn’t that stupid.”

“How about this: He planted them both on me.”

“If the cop has a sketchy background, that may work. Now what about the four hundred and seventeen dollars?”

“That was my money,” Kozlow insisted. “It was even in my money clip when the cop pulled it from my pocket. Ask him – he’ll tell you.”

“Fine, I’ll ask him,” Jared said impatiently. “Now what about this: If you live in Brooklyn, what were you doing on the Upper East Side at three in the morning?”

Kozlow stopped. “That’s a pretty good question. I hadn’t thought of that before.”

Jared threw his pad on the desk. “Well, think now! We need a good answer. Without that, we’re going to get eaten alive in there.”

“Why? Rafferty said there’s no cross-examination in a grand jury. If that’s how it goes, then ask me all the softball questions.”

“There’s no cross-examination because only one lawyer is allowed to talk in a grand jury. And that lawyer is the assistant district attorney. Sara can ask you whatever she wants, and I can only sit there.”

“Then maybe I shouldn’t testify.”

Jared leapt from his seat and strode around the desk. “Listen carefully to what I’m saying. I’m the lawyer here. Not you. Now if you were any other client, I wouldn’t give a damn if you lost this case. But I’m going to do everything I can to win it, and I’m not letting some dumb monkey wreck it for me. So if you’re not serious about this, tell me and I’ll-”

Kozlow jumped up and shoved Jared, sending him crashing into the wall. Grabbing him by the lapels, Kozlow pressed his elbows into Jared’s rib cage. “What’d I tell you yesterday? I’m not an idiot, so stop treating me like one.”

As the adrenaline wore off, Jared knew he was in trouble. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“I know exactly what you meant,” Kozlow said, letting go of Jared. While Jared readjusted his shirt and tie, Kozlow silently stared out the window, pressing his head against the glass. He lightly tapped the window with his forehead. “If I testify, do we really have a better chance of winning?”

“If you testify and you’re believable, we can start learning the victory dance tonight. Misidentification cases are some of the easiest cases to confuse a jury on. Come up with a rational reason for why you were there, and the rest is easy. You know how many New Yorkers are running around in dark jeans and a dark leather coat?”

“Half a million?”

“At least,” Jared said. “Now let’s start over so we can get your story straight.”

“So Victor has never prosecuted Kozlow before?” Sara asked, leaning over Guff’s shoulder and staring at the computer screen.

“That’s what it says,” Guff replied. “Both of Kozlow’s cases were done by ADAs who no longer work here. But that doesn’t mean Victor and Kozlow don’t know each other. For all we know, Victor might’ve used Kozlow as a witness, or an informant, or for any other reason.”

“Can we check that through here?”

“Not really. AJIS is mostly an abridged database – just the main facts. There’s a section for witness lists, but most of them aren’t filled in. If we want to see every person involved, we have to go through the files manually.”

“Fine. Let’s do it.”

“Sara, Victor’s been in this office for almost fifteen years. We’re talking close to a thousand case files – each of them six inches thick. Just to pull the files will take at least a week.”

“I don’t care. I want those files.”

“But-”

“Guff, if there’s a connection between Victor and Kozlow, I’m going to find it. And I don’t care how long it takes me or how many pages I have to read.”

“It’s your eyesight.”

“Actually, it’s yours, too,” Sara pointed out. “Now we’ve got until one o’clock, when Doniger gets here. If you can get the most recent files, we can start now and work our way backwards.”

“So I shouldn’t get them all at once?”

“No – I don’t want Victor finding out about this. If he realizes what we’re doing, we’re dead. Order fifty of his cases, fifty of Conrad’s and fifty of some other hotshot’s. If anyone asks, tell them we’re studying how the best ADAs win in court.”

Guff smiled wide. “You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?”

“Damn right I am. For the first time since this started, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“What the hell am I doing?” Sara groaned four and a half hours later, her desk and most of her office submerged under piles of case folders and storage boxes. “This is absolutely hopeless.”

“I warned you,” Guff said. “But did you listen? No. Did you trust me? No. Did you go off on your own, and act all cocky, and think you were going to save the day with one simple idea? Yes, yes, and yes. And what do we have to show for it? Dust. Dust on our hands, dust on my tie, dust in my lap. I’m serious, missy, I’m not happy about this. Not happy one bit.”

“Guff, did anyone see you put in the request for these?”

“I don’t think so.”

“And is there any way to tell if someone else checked them out before us?”

“There should be, why?”

“I’m just trying to figure out if Victor knows what’s going on. I mean, maybe he already went in and altered some of the files.”

“Now you’re being neurotic. The sad truth is that there’s no mention of anyone. Not Kozlow, not Doniger, not Doniger’s neighbor, nobody.”

“Speaking of which, where is Doniger?” Sara asked, looking at her watch. “She was supposed to be here at one.”

“She’s only a half hour late,” Guff said. “Give it time. She’ll be here.”

“I don’t know,” Sara said, leafing through the file on her lap. “I have a bad feeling about this. This is just another thing that stinks.”

“Why? Just because your prime witness is late for her interview? Big deal. We can’t find the witness in the pickpocket case either.”

“Guff, you know it’s different.”

“Listen, we’re hunting through every file in this building. That’ll tell us if Victor has any other ties to Kozlow or Doniger. But until that happens, you can’t keep thinking everyone’s a boogeyman.”

“But what if everyone is a boogeyman?”

“Forget about the imaginary monsters and focus on the real ones. You still have four other misdemeanor cases to deal with, as well as this felony and its big bad grand jury. And since the misdemeanor courts are backlogged beyond capacity, this may be the only one where you’re going to get a chance to strut your stuff. So if you don’t get the grand jury to indict, you’re not getting to trial. And if you don’t get to trial, it doesn’t matter how suspicious everyone is acting.”

“I know, I know – you’re right – if I mess up this trial, there’s no way I’m saving my-” Sara’s thought was interrupted when her phone started ringing. “ADA Tate,” she answered.

“Sara, this is Claire Doniger.”

“Of course, Ms. Doniger,” Sara said. “Where are you? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, dear. I just wanted to have a word with you about this burglary case. I was thinking about it last night, and I realized that I really can’t spare the time that you require. For that reason, I’ve decided that I don’t want to press charges. Considering that I got all my belongings back, I’m willing to turn the other cheek.”

“Turn the other cheek?” Sara asked, stunned. “That doesn’t make any-”

“I know it’s short notice, but that’s how I feel,” Doniger interrupted. “So you can just call the case off.”

“Actually, it doesn’t work like that. Once we arrest someone, we’re the only ones who can decide to drop a case. And that’s our decision to make, not yours.”

“Well, then I guess you know exactly what you’re doing,” Doniger said, sounding insulted. “Hopefully, though, you’ll stop interfering with my life.”

“Ma’am, I never meant-”

“We don’t need to get into it. I’m busy enough as it is. Good-bye.”

As Sara hung up the phone, Guff asked, “What’s going on? She wants you to drop the case?”

“So she says.”

“Do you think she’ll still testify?”

“I’m not sure,” Sara said, reaching for the phone. “But just in case she doesn’t…”

“Who’re you calling?”

“Doniger’s next-door neighbor. If we can’t get the victim, I want to make sure we still have Patty Harrison. And truthfully, she’s our best witness – she’s the only person who saw Kozlow actually leaving Doniger’s house.” Sara quickly dialed Harrison’s number.

“Hello?” a voice answered.

“Ms. Harrison, this is Sara Tate from the district attorney’s office. I know we were supposed to meet this afternoon, but I was wondering if we could move your appointment to some time earlier today.”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry, Ms. Tate, but I can’t give that testimony anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t do it,” Harrison stuttered. “I’m far too busy – you’ll have to find someone else. I’m very sorry. Have a nice day.” With that, Harrison hung up.

Sara looked up at Guff. “What the hell is going on?” she asked.

“Don’t tell me she’s out, too.”

“If she is, we’re in serious trouble,” Sara said as she redialed Harrison’s number. The phone rang five times before Harrison picked up.

“Hello?” Harrison said, her voice soft and anxious.

“Ms. Harrison, this is Sara Tate calling again.”

“I’m sorry, but-”

“Listen to me, Ms. Harrison,” Sara interrupted. “I’m not sure who threatened you, but I want you to know that if you give us their names, you’ll never hear from them again.”

“No one threatened me,” Harrison shot back. “No one at all. Now please leave me alone.”

“Ms. Harrison, yesterday you said you’d be happy to testify. Today, I can’t keep you on the phone for thirty seconds. Now, I understand you’re scared, but if you don’t testify, you’re only encouraging this kind of behavior. If you truly want to feel safe, tell me who approached you, and I’ll have our officers pick them up within the hour. There’s no reason for you to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“How about if I come over there right now? That way we can talk and-”

“No!” Harrison insisted. “You can’t come over here. Now, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’ve made up my mind. Good-bye.”

As Sara put down the receiver, Guff said, “I can’t believe you just confronted her like that.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Sara said. “There’s no reason to tiptoe around. Kozlow’s done this two times before – there’s no way he’s not responsible now.” Hearing a knock on the door, she shouted, “Who is it?”

Victor opened the door and stepped inside. Sara and Guff simultaneously closed the folders they were holding and fell silent.

“Can I help you?” Sara asked, straightening a pile of files and trying her best to block Victor’s view of her desk.

“Just came to see how things were going,” Victor said. He looked around the office. “What’s with the old cases?”

“Extra research,” Sara stammered. “Trying to be as thorough as possible.”

“Whatever makes you feel secure. Just be sure you don’t lose track of the real problem.”

“Thanks for the advice. Now is there anything else? I’m incredibly swamped.”

“I think that’s it,” Victor said, tapping his knuckle against one of the file boxes. “Be careful, though. I know it’s a hard idea to swallow, but you’re not as smart as you think.” When Victor left the room, Sara waited until the door slammed behind him.

“What was that about?” Guff asked.

“He knows,” Sara said, collapsing in her seat.

“Knows what?”

“That we have his old files. That’s why he came in here – to tell us that he’s watching. He knows about the files, he knows about the case, and even though he’d deny it, he knows what happened to our witnesses.”

“What do you mean they’re not testifying?” Jared asked.

“Just what I said,” Rafferty answered, his voice sounding grainy as it came through the telephone. “They’re not testifying. For some reason, they’ve both had second thoughts.”

Looking up at Kozlow, who was riffling through a magazine in the back of the office, Jared felt suddenly light-headed. “Can you hold on a second?” he asked Rafferty. Before Rafferty could reply, Jared put down the phone and went out to Kathleen’s desk. “What time were you done shopping with Kozlow this morning?”

“About a quarter to twelve, why?”

“And then what’d you do?”

“He said he had some errands to run, so I went to pick out some ties,” Kathleen said hesitantly. “We met up about an hour later. Why? What’s wrong?”

“So he was alone for at least an hour?” Jared asked.

“He came back late, so it was actually almost an hour and fifteen min-”

“Jesus,” Jared said. He rushed back into his office and picked up the phone. “You shouldn’t have threatened them,” he said to Rafferty.

“Threaten them? I did no such thing,” Rafferty said. “That would be against the law.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Just be happy and enjoy the good news. It should make your case that much easier.”

As Rafferty hung up, there was a knock on Jared’s door. “Come in,” Jared said.

Sticking her head into the room, Kathleen said, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t-”

“Don’t worry – you couldn’t have known.” Noticing the pink message sheet in her hand, he added, “Did someone call?”

“Lubetsky wants to know if you’re finished with the AmeriTex motions.”

“Oh, shit,” Jared said, shuffling through the pile of papers that covered his desk. “Tell him he’ll have them first thing in the morning.”

“He said to remind you that it has to be filed by five o’clock this afternoon.”

Startled, Jared looked up at Kathleen. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not a chance.”

“Okay,” Jared said as he glanced at his watch. “That gives me three and a half hours.” Turning on his computer, he opened the AmeriTex file. “I’m going to need two paralegals to do some research and a third- or fourth-year associate for the procedural issue. Have them meet me in a conference room in a half hour.”

“Any associates in particular?” Kathleen asked.

“Anyone who’s good,” Jared said as Kathleen shut the door.

“I’m impressed,” Kozlow said. “But what makes you so sure everyone else is going to drop what they’re doing?”

“This is a big law firm,” Jared said. “With 168 partners, 346 associates, and a hundred-something paralegals, we can always find someone. That’s what you pay the big money for.”

“Is that why you do it? The big money?”

“That’s part of it.”

“And what’s the other part?”

Surprised by the interest in Kozlow’s voice, Jared took a second to respond. This was his chance to break through, he thought. If anger hadn’t worked this morning, maybe honesty would work now. “You want to know the real reason I keep doing defense work? It’s because I think there’s enough justice to go around,” Jared explained. “All I’m doing is distributing it to the side that sometimes gets shut out.”

“You sound like a Boy Scout.”

“That’s what Sara says,” Jared replied. Hoping to stay on topic, he added, “Speaking of which, why don’t you tell me what happened with Doniger and Harrison?”

Kozlow fell silent and shut his magazine. His eyes narrowed in anger. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“What?” Jared asked, taken aback.

“Don’t play fuckin’ stupid, Jared – I’m not going to be your little friend.”

“I just thought we were-”

“Shut the hell up!” Kozlow shouted, his voice booming through the office. “Shut up and do your job.”

“You must be kidding me,” Conrad said, leaning forward on the front of Sara’s desk.

“Not a bit,” Sara said. “He walked in right as I hung up with Harrison. The files were everywhere.”

“I knew I should’ve stopped you on this. There’s no reason for you to be investigating someone like Victor.”

“I’m not going after Victor – I’m just trying to figure out why he wanted the case.”

“Either way, you better be careful. He’s not someone you mess with. If he finds out what you’re doing-”

“I know. I’ve been thinking about that all afternoon. And even if I can handle Victor, I still don’t know what to do with Doniger and Harrison. Both of them said they won’t testify.”

“They’ll testify,” Conrad insisted, pushing himself away from the desk. “They just don’t know it yet.”

“Uh-oh – here he goes,” Guff said. “Make way for the testosterone parade.”

“I’m serious,” Conrad said. “They can cry and whine all they want, but they’ll be there Monday morning. Guff, have you prepared a travel kit for Sara?”

“Had it ready the day she got here,” Guff said proudly. He left the office, then returned with a brown accordion file that he placed in front of Sara.

“Open it,” Conrad said to Sara.

The file was divided by alphabetical tabs. “It’s under S,” Guff said.

She reached into the S section of the file and pulled out the small stack of papers.

“Know what those are?” Conrad asked.

“Blank subpoenas,” Sara answered.

“You got it, Clarence. When you completed your paperwork on your first day here, you gained the power of the pen, also known as subpoena power. Sign two of those, serve them on our witnesses, and by the order of the law of the state of New York, they’ll have to have their asses sitting in that grand jury on Monday. Terrified or not.”

“I don’t know,” Sara said. “Doniger was a bit rude, but Harrison really seemed scared. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to-”

“Don’t ever do that again,” Conrad interrupted, raising his voice.

“Do what?” Sara asked.

“Go on the defensive like that. You’re an assistant district attorney – you don’t back down to threats. Bringing them in is part of the job. I’d never want you to put a witness at risk, but giving up isn’t the solution.”

“Then what is?”

“You tell me. Solve the problem.”

“Conrad, enough with the lecturing-lawyer shtick.”

“Then you’d better come up with a real solution. Solve the problem.”

“You want me to solve it? Then this is what I’m doing: Instead of hitting her with the subpoena tonight, I’ll have a couple of officers serve it on her early Monday morning. That way, if there’s any trouble, the officers are there to protect her. And they’ll also be there to make sure she comes in.”

Conrad was silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “Good. That’s a nice start.”

“Then let’s discuss how this happened in the first place. I assume we all agree it was Kozlow?”

“Hey, boss,” Guff interrupted. “It’s two-thirty.”

“Are you serious?” Sara asked, looking at her watch. She stood up. “I’m sorry, but I really have to run. I have an appointment I can’t miss.”

“What about preparing for the grand jury?” Conrad asked. “You’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“Trust me, that’s my top priority,” Sara said, grabbing her jacket from the coatrack. “Grand jury means indictment, which means trial, which means win, which means happily ever after. There’s no way I’m losing in the first round – especially when there’s still so much to dig up.”

“That’s a wonderful use of the transitive property, but when are you actually going to prepare for this miraculous event?”

“We have tomorrow, and Guff said we could all meet this weekend.”

“Really?” Conrad asked, looking at Guff.

“What’s the big fuss?” Guff said. “You’re here every weekend.”

“I’m busy tomorrow, but I can do Saturday,” Conrad said. “Let’s not forget I have my own cases to deal with.”

“I know – and I really appreciate the help,” Sara said, dashing for the door. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Hold on,” Conrad said. “Don’t run out just yet. What’s so important that you have to leave right now?”

“I have a meeting with my little sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“Not a real sister,” Sara said. “I volunteer as a mentor through the Big Sisters program.”

“Really?” Conrad asked. “What do you do on the weekends? Donate blood or feed the homeless?”

“That’s original,” Sara said sarcastically.

“How long have you been doing it?”

“Since about a month after I got fired from my law firm. That was about how long it took for me to get sick of sitting around waiting for the phone to ring. I figured this was better for my psyche than paying for that extra session at the therapist – not to mention far more fun.”

“Well, I think it’s nice,” Guff said. “Good for you.”

“Thanks for the approval,” Sara said. “And while I’d love to recruit you both to the cause, I’ve really got to go. I’m late.”

“One last thing,” Conrad said. “When you get home tonight, talk to your husband about your witnesses. Tomorrow morning, we have to figure out what the hell is going on.”

“Consider it done,” Sara said as she ran to the door.

At twenty after three, Sara crossed 116th Street and ran up Amsterdam Avenue. On her right were the modern, state-of-the-art facilities of her alma mater, Columbia Law School, and on her left were the timeworn, regal buildings of Columbia University. As she headed north, however, the buildings became far less majestic, and in the span of one block, marble statues, Gothic architecture, and sculpted archways gave way to run-down storefronts, beat-up automobiles, and the worst of the city’s potholed streets. At 121st Street, Columbia University officially ended. And as Sara had learned during her first year at the law school, there was a clear line between the Ivy League and Harlem, New York.

When Sara reached Ralph Bunche Elementary School, the front entrance of the battered brick building was humming with hundreds of kids glad to be done with the school day. As she turned the corner and made her way through the crowd of students, Sara heard a voice yell, “You’re late.” Sitting on the trunk of a white car was Tiffany Hamilton, Sara’s little sister. Sara knew that Tiffany was tall for a seventh-grader, but her recent decision to start wearing lipstick made her look far older than thirteen. She had wide eyes, dark brown skin, and a long, immaculate braid that ran down her back. She also had an attitude that hit like a truck.

“I said, you’re late,” Tiffany repeated.

“I heard what you said,” Sara said as she reached the car. “I just chose not to respond.”

“Where were you?”

“At my job.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Tiffany said, hopping off the car. Her pink lipstick was shining in the afternoon sun. “I forgot you started. Can you arrest people yet? Do they give you a badge?”

“No, we don’t get a badge,” Sara said, laughing. “We just get a bucketful of lipstick. These days, that can be quite a weapon – blinding our opponents and all that.”

“Very funny,” Tiffany said, squeezing her lips together self-consciously. “So tell me more about work. Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. This case I’m working on is driving me a little bit crazy, though.”

“Really? Is it a murder? A shooting?”

“It’s a burglary. And guess who the defense attorney is?”

“Perry Mason.”

“How do you know who Perry Mason is?”

“I got a TV.”

“Well, you’re still wrong. Guess again.”

“Is he fatter or thinner than Perry Mason?”

“What makes you think it’s a man? Women can be lawyers.”

“Okay, fatter or thinner?”

“Thinner.”

“Uglier or better looking?”

“Better looking.”

“Taller or shorter?”

“I don’t know. Let’s say the same.”

“Now I know it’s a guy. More or less hair?”

“Less,” Sara laughed. “Especially in that one spot right on the back of his-”

“Jared?”

“The one and only.”

“Oh, my God! You’re going to wipe the floor with him! Can I come and watch?”

“We’ll see,” Sara said.

“What’s it like going up against him? Is it weird? Is he scared?”

“I don’t think he’s too scared,” Sara said as she thought about her two witnesses.

“That means he’s beating you, doesn’t it? How bad is it? Are you about to lose?”

“He’s not beating me,” Sara said. Hoping to change the subject, she added, “Now tell me about school. How’re you doing?”

“Great,” Tiffany said as they passed Columbia Law School. “So where’re we going today?”

“That depends. How’d you do on your math test?”

“Eighty-nine percent.”

“I don’t know – that’s still not an A.”

“C’mon, Sara, you said if I got it up to ninety-”

“I know what I said – and last I checked, eighty-nine is still lower than ninety.”

“Sara, please. I worked all last week to get that grade. And I’m only one tiny point away. One teeny, tiny point.”

“Fine, fine, fine. You’re breaking my heart. Name your poison.”

“Can we go back to the Metropolitan Museum of Art?”

“That’s great with me, but answer this: Do you actually want to go to the Met, or do you just want to sit on the stairs and play Count the Tortured Artists?”

“I want to play Count the Tortured Artists. With fifty extra points for black berets.”

“That’s what I thought,” Sara said. “Pick another poison.”

“How about we go bowling and then eat dinner at Sylvia’s?”

“I can’t do dinner tonight,” Sara said. “I have to prepare for – Hey!” Sara had the wind knocked out of her when someone walking in the opposite direction crashed into her. She lost her balance and fell back on the concrete. Caught up in the momentum, he stumbled over her.

Looking up, Sara saw a dark-haired man.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was completely my fault.”

“Don’t worry about it.” As Sara picked up her briefcase, she couldn’t help but notice how his sunken cheeks punctuated the edges of his face.

“I guess I was thinking about something else,” the man explained, taking a close look at Tiffany.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” Sara said. “No harm done.”

As she and Tiffany continued their walk toward the main part of campus, Tiffany said, “Freaky-looking guy, huh?”

“He was kind of weird,” Sara admitted. When she readjusted her purse on her shoulder, she realized something felt wrong. She looked down in her purse. “Son of a bitch!” she shouted, spinning around.

“What?” Tiffany asked.

“That guy just lifted my wallet.” Sara ran as fast as she could up Amsterdam Avenue and turned the corner on 117th Street. The stranger was gone.