Over the next few days, I checked in with Bailey and talked to Declan about trial strategies in general. But otherwise, I kept my head down and worked.

By the day of the preliminary hearing, I was as prepared as I could possibly be. Clouds had moved in during the night, and the morning air was heavy with the promise of a summer shower. With no appetite for breakfast, I left early, hoping to beat the rain, and took an umbrella just to be on the safe side.

My phone started ringing as I crossed First Street and didn't stop the entire trip. This time I knew better than to answer. But I noticed no one left a message. Thank you, Graden. I ducked into the courthouse just as the first few drops of rain began to fall, and was early enough to avoid running into the press.

I don't usually like to wait in court, and whenever possible, I get the DDA who regularly works the calendar in that courtroom to give me a call when my case is almost up. But it's not a foolproof strategy, and I have found myself in the hot seat for being late more than once. So today I decided to take no chances. I was front and center when the bailiff opened the courtroom doors. Surprisingly, I was the only one. There wasn't a reporter in sight. Weird. The clerk, Manny Washburn, looked at me with surprise when I walked in.

"Rachel Knight, the first one in court?" He put his hand to his forehead. "I think I feel faint."

I walked over to his desk. "Must be all that Wite-Out you use on your minute orders. I'm here on the Averly case. Can I get first call?"

"No one's used Wite-Out since 1980, Rachel. And since you're the first one in, who else would I give first call to? My mother?" Clerks are often smartasses like this. It's the natural evolutionary adaptation to being around so many lawyers. "And I know what case you're here on. I've had about fifty calls from the press in the past hour."

"But I didn't see-"

"Because the judge banned 'em all. Said he wasn't going to have a circus in his courtroom. So no cameras." I let out an exasperated sigh. "Sorry, Rachel, but it's not like you're having that good a hair day."

I ignored the gibe and sat down at counsel table. I'd wanted the public to see the evidence so they'd know that, contrary to what they'd heard from the televised ass-kissers, this case was no sham. Just this once, press coverage would've been a good thing. We'd probably still get some print coverage-the judge couldn't keep the reporters out. But nothing gets the public's attention like television.

Terry strode in a few minutes later and, with a curt nod to me, started to unpack her briefcase. Lawyers, witnesses, and the friends and family of defendants and victims began to arrive after that, and within half an hour, the courtroom was full.

Judge Daglian took the bench and began to call his calendar. When he got to our case, Terry stood. "Your Honor, my client bailed out last night. As you requested, I gave his passport to your clerk this morning. But Mr. Averly had some matters to take care of before court and told me that he'd be just a few minutes late. If the court could please put us on second call."

"I will. But he'd better be here by second call or he's going right back into lockup."

Bailey came in, murder book in hand, and sat down next to me in the attorney section. "How much longer?" she asked.

I told her what Terry'd said. "Did your guys tell you he'd bailed out?"

"No. Be right back." She hurried out of court.

Twenty minutes later, the judge called our case again.

Terry stood, her expression stony. "Your Honor, I haven't heard from my client, but I can assure you he'll be here shortly."

"Have you tried to reach him, Counsel?"

"Yes, I've left several messages. I believe he must be on his way."

Bailey rushed back in and came over to me. "Ask for a sidebar," she whispered. "I'll go with you."

When we gathered at sidebar, I told the judge that Bailey had information for him. He motioned for her to speak and she leaned in.

"Your Honor, I had Mr. Averly under surveillance. I just found out that there was a triple homicide in the area last night, so the detail was pulled off to help secure the scene. Patrol officers went to his apartment just now and knocked on the door. They got no answer. So they contacted the manager and got him to check inside-"

"I object to any search-" Terry barked.

"Doesn't matter, Counsel," Bailey said. "There was nothing to see. The apartment's empty. He's gone."

55.

The judge turned to Terry. "Who posted his bail, Counsel?"

"I-don't know, Your Honor. All I know is that Mr. Averly called to tell me he'd bailed out. I didn't ask how."

Probably because she didn't want to know.

"Well, it should be easy enough to find out," the judge said. He motioned for his bailiff to come over.

"Your Honor, I think we should be putting all of this on the record in open court," I said. "I see no reason why this information should be kept under wraps."

I was plenty mad, but I wasn't about to miss the opportunity to give the defense a little bad press. If Averly was on the run, he looked guilty as hell, and that made our case look that much better-against both him and Ian Powers. Terry objected, but the judge agreed there was no reason why the public couldn't know that Averly had absconded. When he announced that Averly was at large, the entire spectator gallery erupted in gasps, and one reporter even yelled out loud, "You've gotta be kidding me!"

"Come to order!" the judge declared, fixing that reporter with an infuriated glare that would've melted a normal person. "You don't speak. You observe, with your mouth closed. Got it?" He turned to the bailiff. "I want to know who posted his bail. In the meantime, I'm issuing a bench warrant for the arrest of Jack Averly. Detective Keller, please give the information on him to the clerk. I guess for now, that's all on the matter of People v. Jack Averly. Next case."

As we packed up to make room for the next hearing, I studied Terry's face for any sign that she'd known this was coming. She might be one hell of an actress, but it didn't look like it to me. In fact, she looked pretty angry.

Bailey and I walked out to the elevators, trailed by reporters, all of whom were shouting questions: "What does this do to your case?" "Were you planning to make him an offer to testify against Powers?" "Who do you think bailed him out?" I brushed by them all with a "No comment" and left them to stampede Terry as she walked out of the courtroom. Over the ding of our elevator, I heard her say, "I have no doubt my client will return. Jack Averly wants his day in court and he knows the People have no case."

"I can't friggin' believe they dropped the ball like this," Bailey said when we got off on the eighteenth floor. Her face was white with anger.

I waited until we got to my office and closed the door. "Ian had to have been the one to bail him out-"

"Probably his money, but I doubt it was under his name-"

"I'm sure it wasn't," I said. Ian had a lot of friends-probably in both high and low places-who'd be glad to do him a favor. "But I don't see why Ian would help him run. He had to know that Averly turned down a deal to testify against him. Ian had nothing to worry about."

My office phone was ringing almost continuously. The press was in full feeding frenzy mode. I watched with a sense of vengeful satisfaction as Melia put each line on hold. She'd route them to Sandi in her own good time. Let those reporters get a taste of Melia's efficiency for a change.

"But Averly did. He knew you'd prove the accessory charges. So maybe he was freaked out about doing a few years in prison after all."

And maybe Ian knew better than to trust Averly's resolve once he found himself locked up with Bubba in a four-foot cell. I was frustrated, but there was nothing I could do now except hope that Averly stumbled and got caught. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed it was still raining-though it was more of a heavy mist with fine, thin drops. I watched them fall for a moment. "There is at least one bright side: it makes Averly look guilty as hell, and that spills over onto Ian as well."

"True. And you want another bright side? Terry Fisk is out of our hair."

I turned back to Bailey as the realization sank in. "Man, that is good news."

"We've got another week and a half before Ian's prelim, right?"

"Yeah, and all I have left to do is see what I can pull out of the coroner," I said. "If it's really juicy, I might save it for trial."

Bailey stood. "Look, I want to get into it with the unis who were supposed to be watching Averly, so-"

"Go. See you later." I didn't envy those patrol officers. Bailey can really blast when she's angry. And triple homicide or no, someone really should've stayed behind to keep an eye on that jerk.

With Averly out of the picture for now, I had time to work on my other cases. But first I searched my phone for the ringer control and turned it off. Better. But I could still see the blinking lights for my two lines. I covered the buttons with a file folder. Perfect. No more sound, no more fury. I put my head down and worked until almost seven o'clock. I packed up to leave and had just reached for my cell when it vibrated. I looked at the screen. The number was vaguely familiar, so, thinking it was one of my witnesses, I answered.

"Hello?"

"Rachel Knight, how are you this lovely evening?"

The now-familiar British accent told me it was my buddy from the National Inquisitor, Andrew Chatham. I cursed myself for not realizing why the number looked familiar. "I'm fine, Andrew. But you know I'm not going to tell you anything, so why waste your time?"

"Because you may change your mind and I'm the sort who's ever hopeful. I can be useful, you know."

My silence told him what I thought about the likelihood of that statement. Now listening only for a chance to end the call with a graceful exit line, I juggled my purse onto my shoulder and snapped my briefcase closed.

He resumed. "Proof of my worthiness: You have not seen the last of Terry Fisk."

I stopped and clutched the phone. "What do you mean?"

"She's joining Ian's team."

56.

I called Bailey and told her what I'd just heard.

"Damn," Bailey said. "Well, so much for our good news."

To put it mildly. My shoulder sagged under the weight of my purse, which now felt like it was loaded with bricks, and I could barely pick up my briefcase. I decided to leave it in the office for tonight. I was exhausted; there was no point in pretending I'd get any more work done. But tired as I was, a nervous ball of energy burned in my gut. Prosecuting someone who was not only a major Hollywood player but also one who'd been like an uncle to the victim-and one with a history of "giving back" to the mean streets where he'd been born-was a daunting task in itself. Adding a pit bull like Terry Fisk to the mix would make it an unending bloody battle to keep the evidence from getting buried under a morass of defense red herrings and a barrage of laurels for Ian Powers the Wonderful.

I was grateful to find the elevator empty and slumped back against the wall, eyes closed, as it hurtled down to the lobby. At this late hour the evening crowds were long gone, and I was nearly alone as I headed for the glass doors at the back of the building. I fished out my cell phone and turned on the ringer as I made my way out of the building.

I'd just turned onto Broadway when I heard pounding footsteps coming up behind me. Before I could turn to see what was going on, a batch of reporters closed in and shoved microphones in my face. Over their shoulders, the black lenses of video cameras glared at me.

"Ms. Knight, pundits are saying you had enough to go after Averly for murder-that you shouldn't have dropped the charges to accessory-so why did you really dismiss his murder charges?" And "Former city councilman Mel Berman says it's your fault Averly bailed out and ran! What do you have to say to that?"

A number of pungent responses crossed my mind-among them "Who cares what a former city councilman, and especially that idiot, thinks?" but I was just too damn beat. So fatigue alone was responsible for my giving the safest answer.

"As a prosecutor I'm ethically bound to proceed only with charges I believe a jury would find to be true beyond a reasonable doubt. That's all I have to say."

It was such a politically correct, neutral statement, I couldn't believe it'd come out of my mouth. This damn case might actually be altering my DNA. I pushed through the crowd and moved as fast as I could without breaking into a run. A few reporters chased me for a minute or so, yelling for my response to the pundits, but when they saw I wasn't going to give any more answers, they gave up and fell back. But I couldn't stop myself from looking over my shoulder the whole way home, wary of yet another ambush. I reluctantly admitted that from now on I'd better drive to work. I made a mental note to ask Eric to get me a parking space close to the building.

Winded and depressed, I dragged myself back to my room. It'd been a long, hard day...again. I treated myself to a glass of pinot gris with dinner and by the time I got into bed, I was so drained my eyes closed before my head even hit the pillow. But when I fell asleep, I dreamed that my legs were chained together and I was being chased by a pack of pit bulls. Zombie pit bulls. Go figure.

I didn't need to rush into the office the next day. I had no court appearances, and there were no witness interviews scheduled. I called Eric to tell him what had happened with the reporters when I'd left yesterday evening, and he got me secure parking under the courthouse. No one would be able to get to me now-at least not outside the courtroom. I'd given Declan the day off. He had to take care of a root canal. I told him that would ensure he'd still feel as though he'd spent the day in court. I got to work early, just because I needed to get busy, doing...something. It was good that I did, because at eight forty-five, I got a call from Judge Daglian's clerk.

"We just got notice that Wagmeister wants to come in and advance the case," she said.

Meaning he wanted the case moved up to an earlier date. "Did he say why?"

"No. But he said he'd be here at ten o'clock. Can you make it?"

I wanted to say no, but I'd only be delaying the inevitable. "Yeah."

I called Bailey and asked if we could push the coroner meeting.

"I'll check. So you think this is it, Terry's joining in today?"

"I do."

"Okay. We still have over a week before Powers's prelim, right?"

"Right. We've got time."

Wrong. We didn't.

This time a phalanx of waiting reporters surged toward me as I stepped off the elevator, and cameras clicked and flashed in wave after wave as I "No commented" my way down the hallway. Obviously, Judge Daglian's distaste for the media had been short-lived.

As expected, Terry was standing next to Don Wagmeister at the defense table. Ian Powers was dressed in one of his many multi-thousand-dollar suits. He looked a little tired-no doubt because the sheriff's deputies got him up before five a.m., standard wake-up time so they could get prisoners on the bus to court. But otherwise, Powers was impeccably groomed and looking very calm. A young law clerk was dispatched to hand me the written motion giving notice that Terry Fisk would be joining the defense team for Ian Powers. Usually, adding an attorney is not a big deal, and no formal motion is either required or given. The lead counsel stands up in court and says so-and-so is joining the defense team. This formal, written motion was an obvious grandstand play. Until now, Don hadn't made a lot of noise in the press. And as long as he didn't engage, I didn't have to push back to counter his spin. But I had a nasty feeling those relatively genteel days were over.

Wagmeister, wearing an unusually sedate tie, waxed unusually eloquent for the occasion. I'm sure it was just a coincidence that the cameras and recorders were all pointed his way. "I would like to advise the court that I will be joined in the defense of this case by my most esteemed colleague Ms. Terry Fisk."

Judge Daglian thanked him for the notice. "Why does this require a formal appearance, Mr. Wagmeister? As long as the fees are coming out of your client's pocket, he can have twenty attorneys as far as I'm concerned."

And he probably will before this is over, I thought, even if they don't all get paid. You'd be surprised how many lawyers are willing to donate a little pro bono time when it means an appearance on the five o'clock news.

"Yes, Your Honor, I understand, and I would not have taken up this court's time if that were the only matter. I'll defer to Ms. Fisk to present our next motion."

I watched as Terry moved to the podium between the defense and prosecution counsel tables. A wave of camera clickings followed her every step, and when she got to the podium, she took her time adjusting the microphone down to her height, giving the photographers a chance to get their shots. And they'd be the best she'd ever had, because she looked terrific. Freshly styled hair, minimalist makeup, sharp suit-it was all working for her.

"Your Honor, at this time the defense will be requesting to reset the preliminary hearing for an earlier date."

"And what date do you propose?"

"The day after tomorrow."

What? I held my breath and prayed that the judge would say he couldn't do it, that his calendar was full.

"People?" the judge asked. "Is that acceptable?"

I took my time as I rose to respond. "I have all my witnesses scheduled for the following week solely because Mr. Wagmeister chose that date-"