"And called Ian?" I asked.

"Don't know yet. But Abe only got the call from Jack Averly's lawyer a few minutes ago-"

"So Ian got a lawyer for Averly about the same time he called a lawyer for himself."

"Way it looks to me."

Any doubts we may've had about that conclusion were resolved seconds later. My cell phone played "Dirty Work" by Steely Dan-the ringtone for my boss Eric's number. It was Melia.

"Hi, Rachel. Everything okay?"

The ridiculously cheery yet familiar tone was still jarring. I fervently hoped this would wear off soon. "Everything's great, Melia. What's up?"

"I've got a call from a lawyer in New York. Want me to patch him through?"

"Who is it?" Never before has Melia offered to put a call through to me when I'm in the field. Not unless it's Eric or Vanderhorn.

"Beldon Castleman."

It was a little depressing to know that Melia could really do the job when she wanted to. "Thanks, Melia. Put him through."

"Okay. Have a great day, Rachel."

With the next click, I was on with Beldon Castleman, Esquire. He explained in clipped, wannabe British tones that he was handling Jack Averly only as long as he was in New York, as a favor for Donald Wagmeister. "I don't know if you've crossed swords with Don before-"

"I know Don." Not because we'd "crossed swords" but because everyone knew Don. He was one of the most high-priced criminal lawyers in Los Angeles.

"We don't intend to fight extradition, and we'll be asking for the earliest court date available for arraignment when he gets back to Los Angeles."

"Not a problem, Beldon. But in the interest of fair notice, you might tell Don that if he intends to try and cop a fast plea to the receiving stolen property count, we'll be adding more charges by the time Averly gets back here."

A long-standing legal rule requires the prosecution to file all charges related to a single event at once if they have evidence to prove all the charges. The point being to prevent successive, harassing prosecutions. So if the DDA goofed and only filed the lesser charge, a defense attorney could run in, get his client to plead to the lesser crime, and preclude the prosecutor from ever bringing the heavier charges. I was telling Beldon not to plan on that happening here.

"Such as?"

I said nothing. No sense showing my hand before I was sure.

"That's fine, I'll let Don know. And in the meantime, I've left my number with your secretary if you should need to reach me for any reason."

When I ended the call, Bailey asked, "How'd he sound when you said you'd be adding charges?"

"Like he could care less." I paused. "He might've been bluffing."

"Maybe. But if he wasn't-"

"They've already got their strategy ready."

Bailey nodded. "What the hell are they cooking up?"

"Good question."

39.

When we got back to the station, Bailey called the evidence officer and asked what else they'd found so far.

"Anything good?" I asked when she hung up.

"A nine-millimeter Ruger. Bottom drawer of his nightstand."

"Registered?" I asked, hoping it wasn't. It was a puny charge, but at least it was solid.

"Yes. Which is more than I can say for you-"

"My guns are registered."

"Now. After I pounded on you repeatedly for months."

"I'd been busy. Did they get his toothbrush or anything we can use for DNA?"

"A toothbrush and a used condom."

"Great. And yuck." Gross, but great. "Have we checked out Averly's bank accounts?"

"You mean like for a deposit of at least half a million in cash?"

I nodded.

"Of course. I put in the request before we left for New York."

"And?"

"If the answer was yes, don't you think I'd have told you by now?"

Her phone rang and she answered it. "That was Numan's assistant," she said. "The particulates and plant debris on Averly's Mustang came from Boney Mountain. They look very similar to the samples that were taken from Brian's car."

"So Averly's car was up there too. Now the question is, can we put Ian in that car?"

"That's Dorian's problem," Bailey said. "We've got one of our own: like what are we going to do with Ian's laptop?"

I'd been thinking about that on the ride back to the station. "We could throw caution to the wind and just dig into it. Or we could go to court and ask to have a Special Master appointed to look through everything and make sure there aren't any privileged materials on it."

Usually the court appoints a Special Master-a lawyer well versed in legal privileges-to examine files only when they belong to a shrink or a lawyer. Getting one in this case was a bit of overkill, but I didn't want to risk losing something critical on the off chance we ran into something we weren't supposed to see.

"Doesn't it take a while to get a Special Master appointed?"

"It can. But it doesn't have to."

"What are you thinking?"

"I could probably get a judge to appoint Daniel Rose to do it right now."

"I repeat: what are you thinking?"

Daniel Rose was well recognized as both a legal scholar and a brilliant trial lawyer; his practice used to consist primarily of giving expert opinions on whether lawyers had rendered ineffective assistance-in legal parlance, a Strickland lawyer. Any judge would be happy to appoint him Special Master. Bailey's concern wasn't legal, it was personal. Daniel and I had been in a serious relationship a few years ago, until I'd hit an emotional bump and ended it. Last year, after I'd broken up with Graden, I ran into Daniel at Checkers, a restaurant in the downtown Hilton Hotel. He said he planned to move into a condo not far from the Biltmore, and a few months later, he made good on his word. Since then, he'd dropped some hints that he'd be interested in getting back together. Though I hadn't taken him up on his offer, I never really turned him down either. But I figured that the ever-active courthouse gossip mill would have clued him in about me and Graden by now, so there was no need to get all telenovela about it.

"I can just ask the judge to appoint him, and then you can let him check out the computer."

Bailey looked at me warily, but conceded that might work. "Which judge?"

"I think we stick with Judge Moss."

"Probably a good idea. Plus, it'll impress her that you're being so careful."

I smiled.

Bailey raised an eyebrow and pushed her desk phone over to me. "Here."

I dialed. Judge Moss approved. I hung up and told Bailey she'd be hearing from Daniel soon.

"And you probably don't need to run into him-especially not here," Bailey said.

Where Graden could walk by and see us, and think...the wrong thing. I nodded and started to leave, then turned back. "If Dorian says it's Ian hair in Jack Averly's Mustang, I'm going back to Judge Moss to get the GPS on Ian's cars."

"'Course."

Bailey's phone rang and I moved slowly, straining to hear who it was. I heard her say, "Just a sec.

"Do you need an escort, Counselor?" she called out to me, eyebrow raised.

I glared at her, then turned and headed for the elevator.

40.

So much had happened, it was hard to believe that it was still just early afternoon. I walked out of the station into yet another day of blazing heat; the sun beat down from a cloudless topaz sky, the light bouncing white and searing off the sidewalks. Even through my sunglasses I found myself squinting as I made my way up the street to my office. A bus belched out a cloud of exhaust just as I was about to climb the back stairs and I held my breath all the way into the lobby.

It was a good thing I got in a few deep breaths as I ran for the elevator, because the intense mix of perfume, body odor, and food in the densely packed crowd made me hold my breath again. I was lightheaded by the time I got back to my desk. As I dug through the work that'd piled up in my absence, my thoughts kept straying to the laptop, the bloodstain, the hair...everything I had to wait for. It was driving me nuts.

"How goes it?"

I looked up to see my boss, Eric, standing in my doorway. His wavy brown hair was unusually wild today, and in his rolled-up shirtsleeves and scuffed loafers, he presented the very picture of an "aw shucks" country boy lawyer. Which is why defense attorneys never saw him coming. And by the time they realized that he was the smoothest shark in the tank, it was too late.

"Yeah. We've got a lot of evidence cooking, but no results yet, so..."

"You're waiting, and loving it." Eric smiled. "Tell me what you've got."

I gave him the latest developments, ending with my decision to bring in Daniel Rose as a Special Master.

He nodded approvingly. "It's good to be cautious on this one." Not usually my strong suit, but a lot of unusual was about to come my way.

A week later, news of Brian's murder was finally announced, and it reinvigorated the press coverage, though we'd managed to keep a tight rein on the details. With no suspect in custody, media interest was a simmering cauldron-semi-contained, but ready to boil over at a moment's notice. And if we did arrest Ian Powers, the case would go nuclear.

Eric stopped by my office, looking as anxious as I felt. "I'll keep giving Vanderhorn the updates for now," he told me, "but you'll have to give me a major heads-up if it looks like Powers is getting arrested."

My expression must've shown what I thought of having to put Vanderhorn in the loop. "There's nothing he can do," Eric said. "He can't stop Bailey from making the arrest. But he does have to be prepared. The press will want a statement and-"

"The press will want it? Vanderhorn will trip over his own tie to get the press to take his statement."

Eric gave a wry smile. "And you should be there when he does."

Because he'd need someone around who actually knew something about the case when his good buddies in the fourth estate asked questions.

"What do you want to do with Jack Averly?" he asked.

"Unless we find proof that he's the killer, I'd let him plead out for testimony."

"Plead to what?"

"I can't say right now. I don't want to go there until I have something more on either him or Ian."

Eric stared out the window, momentarily silent. When he looked back at me, his expression was concerned. "Going after a big wheel like Powers is a dangerous thing, Rachel. If this goes to trial, Ian's defense will go after you with everything they've got. In every media outlet available. They'll make up stories to undermine your credibility and your integrity. And it'll all creep into the courtroom because they'll have the press at their beck and call. Forget about fact-checking or corroborating sources; it'll go straight out from the lying horse's mouth."

He spoke with a quiet intensity that told me this was no general warning. "Been there?"

Eric nodded. "Huge fraud case. The defendant owned several banks and he cost the customers millions."

"Do I know about this one?" It sounded familiar, but not recent.

"It was years ago. Just before I got transferred over here to head up Special Trials. It was the day before jury selection, and I was supposed to meet some friends at a bar near my old office in Norwalk. While I was waiting, this tipsy girl starts flirting with me. The next thing I know, she's sitting on my lap, unbuttoning my shirt-it was crazy. I pushed her off and eventually she gave up and left, but the next day, there was a story in one of the tabloids about the prosecutor having an affair with a teenager. The story got picked up by the local press and it almost cost me the case-and my job."

"But it didn't. And it obviously didn't hurt your career any."

"I was lucky, not smart. The bartender knew something was fishy and he was able to identify the person who took the picture as one of the defendant's buddies. The whole thing blew up in their faces, and the press was happy to carry that part of the story too. But a fraud case is nowhere near as sexy as this one, Rachel. It's a bad combination of heavy hitters, money, celebrity, and a glamorous world. The press will be crawling all over this the moment you file, and every eye in the country will be glued."