"If you're unable to proceed on an earlier date, that's fine, Ms. Knight. The court understands you relied upon counsel's prior representation."

Terry interrupted. "Excuse me, if I may, Your Honor. I have a suggestion. One that might alleviate the People's problem. If the People can't be ready, the defense will waive the preliminary hearing."

Ian Powers wore a little smile as he shot his cuffs and straightened his jacket. The few reporters who understood what Terry had just said began to buzz, and those who didn't know were nudging them for explanations. The buzz grew to a loud hum.

The judge banged his gavel. When the hum died down, he spoke sternly. "I've allowed all this press because I believe in the public's right to know, but I will not have the courtroom disrupted. If you have something to say that just can't wait until recess, say it outside." Two of the reporters rushed out of the courtroom, but the rest stayed put.

The offer to waive prelim was a clever move. The burden of proof at a preliminary hearing is very low. All we have to show is that there's "probable cause" to believe a defendant committed the crimes charged. When there are civilian witnesses, especially eyewitnesses, the chance for the defense to grill them early on and explore weaknesses-not to mention get statements on the record they can later use at trial to show inconsistencies-can be critical.

But in this case, Terry wasn't giving up much, if anything, by waiving. And there was a big bonus in it for the defense: if there was no hearing, the evidence of Ian's guilt wouldn't come out until the trial. That would keep a lot of bad press off Ian Powers. Some of the evidence would dribble out through pretrial motions, but it would probably only be covered by print reporters. There wouldn't be the kind of widespread publicity we badly needed to swing public opinion-or, more to the point, the jury pool-our way.

If I objected to Terry's waiver, it'd either look like I wanted the public airing-which, though true, wasn't cool, because it was an obvious effort to sway the jury pool-or look as though I wanted our evidence to be challenged, as though I didn't really believe in my case. I had to decide quickly. Was it worth getting slammed for wanting to publicize our evidence? If I let the defense waive prelim, it'd be at least two months before I had the chance to put the evidence out there in any cogent way. I decided I couldn't lose this critical opportunity. The battle for the hearts and minds of the jury pool had begun and it was time I joined it.

"As much as I appreciate the defense's kind offer, the People must regretfully decline. We would like to proceed with the preliminary hearing. If I could have a moment to check with my investigating officer about witness availability, I'll be able to tell the court whether I can make the requested date."

"Go ahead, Ms. Knight," the judge said. "I'll give you second call."

I moved to the end of the empty jury box, as far from the highly tuned ears of reporters as I could get, and called Bailey. When I told her what had happened, she erupted.

"Why the hell is the judge letting them do this?"

"He's not, Bailey," I whispered, my hand covering my mouth. "If we can't get it together, he'll deny the motion and give us more time. But it'd look a lot better if we do it without the extra time." It was all about not showing any weakness. With the press breathing down our necks, every single move would be scrutinized and every talking head would give his or her own interpretation. A request for more time would play like we had a weak case and were scrambling to shore it up.

"Well, they're almost all criminalists and techs, so it should be doable. Stand by. I'll make sure."

I stayed at the end of the jury box, my back to the rest of the courtroom, and pretended I was still on my cell so no one would talk to me. A few minutes later, Bailey called back.

"All clear. Only problem might be the coroner. But since they're being so amenable about waiving prelim-" she said.

"Yeah. They should be willing to stipulate to the coroner's testimony."

I passed the defense on my way to the clerk's desk and deliberately said nothing to either lawyer. Wagmeister put out a hand to get my attention, but I ignored him.

When the judge called the case, I said that we could be ready with all witnesses except the coroner. So if the defense would agree to stipulate to that testimony- Terry jumped up. "The defense will be glad to stipulate. We don't intend to contest the fact that someone murdered these victims."

"Very well, then I'll see all parties back in this court the day after tomorrow, eight thirty sharp."

As I turned to go, I saw a reporter lean over the rail that separated the lawyers from the spectators and ask Terry for a comment.

If I got lucky, some channel would have a talking head who'd explain why I had to refuse the waiver. But I couldn't worry about that now. I had a day and a half to get ready for a hearing that would be carried on nearly every station in the country from coast to coast.

57.

The day of the preliminary hearing dawned hazy and blistering. Even at seven thirty, I had to take off my jacket as I headed up Broadway. I'd needed to walk to calm my nerves, and I was pretty sure I wouldn't get ambushed by the press today. They'd be too busy lining up to get seats in the courtroom. As usual, my perennially ringing cell phone kept me company all the way. Maybe I'd miss it when the case was over...but I doubted it.

The courthouse was surrounded by satellite trucks, and as I reached the back door, I saw that there was a line of people waiting to get in and a huge crowd clustered on the front steps of the building. One young ponytailed woman held up a poster with an enlarged photograph of Ian Powers. Underneath his picture was the caption FRAMED. Another woman, who was wearing a beret, carried a poster titled NOT GUILTY. A beret? In this heat? Who could take someone like that seriously? As I entered the lobby, I heard chanting, but I couldn't make out the words-and didn't want to. A throng of reporters with cameramen filled the elevator waiting area, so I opted for the stairs. Already hot and tired, after two flights in the concrete and metal staircase, I emerged on the third floor wringing wet and out of breath. I had to find time to get to the gym. If only so I could outrun reporters.

I really wanted to keep climbing so I could avoid any run-ins with the press, but I couldn't face even one more flight of stairs, let alone make it up to the eighteenth floor. I punched the "Up" button and crossed my fingers. When I heard the ding of an arriving elevator on the far-right side, I ran to catch it. But as the doors opened, I saw that it was packed to the ceiling with reporters. One of them pulled up his camera, but I quickly stepped back and moved to the left, out of their field of vision. The next elevator that came was equally packed, but I didn't notice any cameras. Not much better, but I had to get to the office at some point. I slid in and tried to squeeze myself into a corner where I could face away from everyone. Just as the car bounced to a stop on the fifth floor, one of the reporters said, "Hey, aren't you-"

I scrunched back into a corner and, luckily, the push of the crowd forced him out before he could try again. By the time I got to the eighteenth floor, I was a nervous wreck. I dragged myself to Toni's office. Please, oh, please be there, I prayed. Her door was closed, not a good sign. Ever the optimist, I knocked. "Hey, Tone, you there?"

Two seconds later Toni opened the door, holding an eyelash curler up to one eye. She quickly pulled me in and closed the door.

She released her eyelashes and looked me over. "Did you hitchhike from Iowa? What happened to you?"

I told her of my short but eventful trip to the office. "Jeez, Rachel. Why don't you have a key to the freight elevator?"

Good question. The freight elevator had no public access. I should've thought of that long ago. Eric would be glad to get me a key. "I forgot, I'll-"

"Never mind. I'll take care of it for you." Toni shook her head and walked to the mirror she kept on the wall behind her desk. She put on her mascara as she spoke. "You need a blowout and some real makeup. The light in that courtroom will make you look like Morticia." I admitted I didn't know that. "How do you not know that?" she asked. I shrugged. "Okay, what do you have with you? You obviously can't use my base or concealer."

I showed her what I had. A compact and lip gloss. "I've got foundation at home, but I don't usually use it-"

Toni shook her head. "Well, you're going to use it now. It's not just a vanity thing, Rache. Looks and credibility go hand in hand, especially for women. And your prospective jurors are watching. I'll do what I can now, but we're going to have a little hair, makeup, and wardrobe session this weekend. And you're going to buy extras to keep in your office, okay? And one other thing: stop perspiring."

I nodded obediently and Toni went to work. Within fifteen minutes, she had me looking more polished than I'd ever have managed on my own. At eight twenty I called Declan and told him it was time to rock and roll.

"Wow, you look great," he said.

"I can't take any credit. It was all Toni." He looked pretty great himself, in a single-breasted navy blue Hugo Boss suit and red-and-blue-striped tie. But his cheek was twitching and he was shifting from foot to foot. I started to warn him about the press, but he held up a hand to stop me. "I saw the picketers out front. I recognized the girl holding the NOT GUILTY sign from one of my dad's films."

I looked at Declan with renewed appreciation. Not that I hadn't already been impressed with his intelligence and hard work, but his unique insider knowledge was invaluable. "It helps to hear that."

"We're playing the Hollywood game now, and that's a game I've watched since birth. Nothing is real-and everything is real. What's that line? 'King Kong was only four feet tall-'"

"'But he still scared the crap out of everyone.'"

"Only because they didn't know. Once you know, it's all over. So now you're going to show them-"

"That Ian is only four feet tall?"

"Yes, exactly."

When we walked down the hallway, I was grateful to see that the reporters were confined to a roped-off area, so we couldn't be cornered or chased. The anchors and talking heads thrust out their microphones and shouted out questions: "What do you expect to happen today?" and "Who are your witnesses?" and "Have you heard any news on Jack Averly's whereabouts?" I ignored them all.

Every seat in the courtroom was taken, every bench filled to bursting with civilians and reporters who were squeezed together like human sardines. Raynie was in the back row of the middle section. She nodded, but seemed distracted and uninterested in talking. I'd spoken to her on the telephone a few times since Ian's arrest, and although she'd been polite, her voice was controlled, her manner distant. But I understood. Ian had been like a member of the family for many years. In fact, I'd learned that he was closer to them than Hayley's real uncle-Sheldon, who was Raynie's brother. Like Russell, Raynie couldn't believe Ian had killed her daughter, but unlike Russell, she didn't seem to want to ignore the truth-if that's what it was. She just wasn't sure. I hoped that after today, she would be.

Front and center on the defendant's side of the courtroom sat Dani, Russell, and Ian's girlfriend, Sacha. Dani looked sad and stressed, but Russell sat with a stiff-necked defiance that announced he was here to support his unjustly accused friend. They were surrounded by many others, who looked like Ian fans. The air was thick with the tension that builds before a prizefight. Terry and Don were conferring on their side of counsel table, and two young law clerks were nervously standing behind them. All of them moved with the self-conscious awareness of actors on a stage.

Bailey came in carrying poster board exhibits, blowups of the relevant phone records, and, most important, the texts between Hayley and Brian, and their killer-Ian. None of this would normally be done for a preliminary hearing. But I had a public to impress, and I needed to make my evidence dramatic enough to entice the news into spinning something for our side.

"Do you have the DVD?" I asked.

Bailey pulled it out of her pocket. "Good to go."

The bailiff escorted Ian out of the lockup, and he emerged looking like he'd stepped out of a magazine. Expensive dark navy suit and tasteful tie, hair perfectly combed, he smiled and waved to Dani and Russell, Sacha, and his many supporters.

"We've got to persuade Janice to show up for trial," I whispered to Bailey. "Someone has to be here to remind everyone that Brian was a real human being before this asshole slit his throat."

"She'll be here. This was just a little too last-minute for her to pull it off."

Something about the way Bailey said it made me do a double take. "Is something up with her?"

Bailey looked around, then carefully turned her back to the spectators and whispered, "When I was trying to get hold of her so we could meet in New York, I spoke to her agent. He didn't come right out and say it, but I think he was trying to tell me she's agoraphobic."

I pulled up the memory of Janice at the St. Regis-her strange reaction when I'd mentioned flying out here for the trial. Now it all made sense. It was probably hard enough for her to make it to Manhattan. But traveling to an airport, taking a flight to unfamiliar territory, and on top of that having to deal with the stress of coming to court-it would all be far too much. I fought the sinking feeling that even the few supporters we had would never show up.

At exactly eight thirty Judge Daglian took the bench. He called the case and asked us all to state our appearances for the record. After we'd given our names and the party we represented-Declan cleared his throat nervously before he was able to choke out his name-the judge got down to business.

"Other than the stipulation to the coroner's testimony, will the rest of the testimony be from live witnesses?"

"It will, Your Honor," I said.

"You may call your first witness."

I started with Bailey, who interpreted the cell phone records. She pointed out the thirty-second call from one of Russell's lesser-used cell phones to Ian Powers's unlisted number just minutes after Russell got the first kidnap message from Hayley's phone. I also had Bailey mention Powers's call to Russell a couple of hours after the ransom note was sent, though I knew the defense would try to play it as evidence of his innocence: Why would Powers call to find out what was going on if he was the killer? But it could also play as Powers's effort to look innocent. Especially since he hadn't called sooner. I was hoping the defense would make the mistake of opening that door, so I could point that out.

But they didn't. Wagmeister played it safe and had Bailey concede that we had no proof of what Russell said when he called Ian. That there was no proof he told Ian about the kidnapping text. That since Russell was so paranoid he wouldn't call the cops, it was very likely he was afraid to tell Ian. Bailey tersely conceded all that was possible. I countered on redirect by having Bailey repeat that Russell's call showed there was a way for Ian to have known about the kidnapping early on.

Next up was Dorian, who described the evidence she'd collected, and gave her opinion that the hairs on the passenger seat of Averly's car came from Ian Powers.

Wagmeister did what little cross there was to do: just routine questions about how the evidence was collected and preserved. The defense didn't want to tip their hand just yet, and tangling with a strong, highly respected witness like Dorian would only make them look bad.

My fingerprint expert, Leo Relinsky, said he'd found Ian's print on the trunk of Brian's car and inside Averly's car, and Averly's prints inside Brian's car. This time Terry walked to the lectern.

"Now, Mr. Relinsky, you can't say when prints are left on an object, can you?"

"No."

"So those prints you found could've been left days, weeks, even months or years before you collected them?"

"Correct."

"And you've heard of cases in which prints were planted, haven't you?"

Leo frowned and pursed his lips. "I have heard of the very rare, bizarre case in which someone was able to lift a fingerprint with tape and place it somewhere. Mostly on television shows, but...yes."

"So your answer is yes."

He exhaled sharply. "Yes."

"Nothing further."

I didn't think Terry would really go for something as cheesy as planting fingerprints, but the press loved that kind of conspiracy junk, so it would likely get her plenty of ink and airtime. When Terry returned to counsel table, Ian favored her with a superior, congratulatory smile. The more I saw this guy, the more I hated him. I hadn't thought that was possible.

I decided not to call my soil expert, Sterling Numan. I didn't need it for the prelim and it'd just give the defense more to play with. I wanted to keep my case high and tight. So I cut straight to the chase and called Timothy Gelfer to give his conclusions about the blood on the trunk.

"I compared the evidence blood found on the trunk of the car to the sample removed from Hayley Antonovich at autopsy and found her DNA profile present. But I also found another profile in the evidence blood, which indicated it was a mix. I received samples of blood from Jack Averly and Ian Powers-"

"Not from Hayley's mother or father?" I asked, though I knew the answer.

"No. Because the profile did not share the requisite number of alleles with Hayley's sample to have come from a parent."

"Whose profile did match the blood on the trunk of Brian's car?"

Random coughs and shuffling had been a constant undercurrent during the testimony up till now. Suddenly, a hush fell over the courtroom.

"I determined that the other profile matched that of the defendant, Ian Powers."

"Nothing further."

Several reporters scurried out of the courtroom. Good. Chew on that.

Terry stood again.

"Mr. Gelfer, you can't tell when the blood was placed on the trunk, can you?"

"No."

"And you cannot say that Hayley's blood was placed on the trunk at the same time as Mr. Powers's blood, can you?"

"No."

"In fact, Hayley's blood could've been on that car for a month before Ian Powers's blood landed there, correct?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"Or vice versa: Ian Powers's blood could have gotten there before-maybe a month before-Hayley's fell there. Correct?"

"Yes, that is correct. Though I think it would be very-"

"Objection!" Terry said. "The witness has answered the question. Nonresponsive."

Gelfer had been about to hit a nerve. Terry didn't want logic getting in the way of her theory.

"Sustained. The question has been answered. Anything further, Counsel?"

Terry asked the judge for a moment, then leaned down to whisper something to Wagmeister. I suspected this was just a delaying tactic to let her point sink in with the spectators. Ian watched his attorneys, his expression detached, as though they were tailors debating his trouser length.

Finally, Terry straightened and said, "No, nothing further."