"Whoa! Are you sure you came to the right office?" I asked.

"Rachel Knight? That's your nameplate next to the door?"

"Yeah."

"Then I've got the right place."

The man set the basket down on my desk and it was so huge, I couldn't see over it. "Uh, I don't think this is going to work." But my voice was muffled by the foliage.

"What?" the man asked.

I stood up. "Would you mind putting it over here?" I gestured to the table on my right, then saw that it was covered with files and books. I quickly stacked them on top of each other to make room. He moved the basket. "Thanks."

"Not done yet," he said. He brought another arrangement, this time in a metal bowl. Then another one in a large vase. By the time he was through, my office looked like a funeral parlor. And I couldn't see out my window.

Declan pulled a card off one of the arrangements and read, "'We know your sister is out there somewhere and we're praying for her.'" He started to smile, then saw my sour expression and pulled a straight face. "Sorry, you're right. This is terrible."

I shook my head.

He smiled. "It's very sweet, and it's very good news for us, so stop being such a..."

"Yes?"

"Just stop."

The press was out in full force this morning, the roped-off area packed so tightly there was no visible space between the bodies. As we passed them on the way to the courtroom, the cameramen almost fell over the rope trying to take my picture.

The courtroom was packed too, but not with friends or family. Nothing of real substance was scheduled to happen today. The people crowding the spectator gallery were just here to see the stars of the show.

We'd drawn Judge Osterman for the trial. He was relatively new to the downtown bench, so I didn't know him. J.D. took himself out of the running because we were personal friends and he didn't want any questions raised in a case this big, but I'd hoped we might get Judge Lavinia Moss. Unfortunately, the presiding judge had felt that since Judge Moss had signed the search warrant, it'd be wiser to give the case to someone else. I'd asked Toni and J.D. what they thought of Osterman, but they hadn't had any information for me either. He was too new.

Judge Osterman had a runner's lean build and a spare, ascetic look, enhanced by his habit of pursing his lips. His blue eyes bulged slightly and he combed his thin hair straight back. Overall, he gave the appearance of someone who was cerebral and maybe a little compulsive. One look at his chambers confirmed it. His desk was immaculate, all books were ordered properly in the bookcases, and all pens and pencils were tucked neatly into a leather holder that matched his desk pad. I saw no family photographs of any kind. Ordinarily I'd assume that was because he hadn't had a chance to fully move in, but in Osterman's case, I had a feeling this was fully moved in. I should set him and Dorian up on a date.

When I got to court, he'd already taken the bench.

"Ms. Knight, I'm aware that I came out a few minutes early, but that doesn't excuse you for being ten minutes late."

"I'm very sorry, Your Honor. We had an unexpected...arrival at the office that delayed us. It won't happen again." I wasn't about to tell him we were held up by a bunch of flowers.

"See that it doesn't. And that goes for all of you. I won't hesitate to impose fines. I will not have my staff or the jury waiting for attorneys. Now, speaking of juries, we should set the date for the start of jury selection. Tricia, what's the sixty-day date?"

Terry moved quickly to the lectern. "Excuse me, Your Honor, but the defense is requesting a start date within the next three weeks."

"Ms. Fisk, this is a life without parole case. There is a great deal of evidence, based on what I've seen thus far, and the juror questionnaires will take at least a week to read. Are you sure you can be ready in so short a time?"

"Absolutely, Your Honor."

"People?" he asked.

Damn her. It's always easier for the defense to give an early start date, because they don't have to go first, and they don't have to present any evidence at all. I would've preferred a little lead time, if only to make sure there was nothing more that could be done, but that was a luxury I'd have to forgo.

"We can do it, Your Honor. But we're still testing evidence that was seized from the houses and cars of Mr. Averly and Mr. Powers, and we won't have all our results in before trial starts. So as long as the defense is willing to go without having all the results, I'm fine with it."

"She's right, Ms. Fisk," the judge said. "You won't be heard to complain about not having enough time to retest or prepare for evidence that comes in during the trial if you insist on going that soon."

"Understood," Terry said.

"And, Your Honor, the People have filed a discovery request on the defense," I said. "We haven't received anything as of today."

"Defense?" the judge asked. "You have an obligation to turn over your witness list and any evidence you intend to introduce."

Terry stepped away and gave Wagmeister the lectern. "We're working on it, Your Honor," Wagmeister said. "As of this moment, we don't know who our witnesses will be and there is no evidence to turn over."

Defense 101. They get around the rule that requires them to turn over a witness list by not making one, and they avoid turning over witness statements by never putting anything in writing. So much for reciprocal discovery.

Terry moved back to the lectern. "I'd like to be heard on another matter."

The judge nodded. "Proceed."

"I'm not asking for a gag order, but I do think it's inappropriate for the prosecution to be telling their life stories to tabloid magazines to garner sympathy with the public, and, of course, the jury pool."

It was a sleazy low blow. But if it had to be done at all, it should be in chambers, not out in open court, where the press could eat it up.

I should've kept my cool, but I was too furious. "That is absolutely outrageous, Your Honor! No one on the prosecution side has spoken to any tabloid reporter. Nor would any of us tell personal stories of any kind to anyone, for any reason!"

Terry squared her shoulders and jutted her chin out. "I wonder what Andrew Chatham would say to that?"

"Enough," the judge declared. "I will not have exchanges between the lawyers like this. Ms. Fisk, if any prosecutor makes comments about the case or any of the lawyers, you have reason to bring it to my attention. But I will not waste court time listening to complaints about the publication of someone's life story. If Ms. Knight saw fit to share that with a reporter, it will be her problem to deal with. Not mine." The judge fixed each of us with a stern glare. "Now, do we have any legal business to address?"

We both said there was nothing further. The judge set a pretrial date to discuss jury questionnaires and set the trial date three weeks out.

I said nothing until Declan and I were back in my office with the door closed.

"That friggin' sleaze!" I said as I swatted a flower out of the way and sat down. "And that nasty little shit Chatham!"

"You said he didn't write the article about you, though."

"His name wasn't on it, but he must've told Terry he 'talked' to me-"

"But all you said was 'No comment.'"

"He didn't have to tell her that-"

A knock on the door interrupted my flow.

"Rachel? You need to come out here."

It was Melia. I nodded to Declan and he opened the door.

"What is it, Melia?"

"You need to see this." She gestured for us to follow and ran back down the hall toward Eric's office.

She turned on the television. "I recorded it," Melia said. She replayed the footage for us.

Terry was standing on the courthouse steps, encircled by reporters. "Of course the prosecution leaked that story to the Inquisitor. They know the public thinks they have no case, so they're trying to win everyone over. This is a completely transparent ploy."

A reporter asked excitedly, "Then you think she made the story up? That it's all a lie?"

"No. But putting out a story like this only shows that Rachel Knight's desperate, and she'll stop at nothing to win this case."

"Are you going to ask that Ms. Knight be recused?" said another reporter.

"I don't want to waste the time. Mr. Powers is anxious for his day in court. He's an innocent victim of an unscrupulous frame-up, and we are going to prove it!"

The news cut away to a health insurance commercial and Melia turned off the television. "That's all there was," she said.

It was enough.

60.

The moment my office door swung closed, Declan exploded. "That woman is a classless, lying menace! Just because she'd sell stories to the tabs, she thinks everyone else is as tacky as she is. We've got to call a press conference. We've got to tell them it's not true-"

"No." I was just as steamed as he was, but I had experience with this kind of trash talk and knew better. "That's just what she wants. The minute we answer this garbage, we give her exactly what she's looking for: a sideshow that discredits the prosecution and deflects attention from her guilty client."

"But won't Andrew Chatham back you?"

"Who knows? And even if he did, it'll just look like he's protecting his source: me."

Bright spots lit up Declan's cheeks as he set his jaw. "I want to beat the crap out of her." He looked at me with consternation. "I don't know how you can be so calm about this, Rachel." He sat down heavily and stared at the floor.

I smiled. "Truth? The first few times I got knocked around by the defense, it made me insane. Matter of fact, I once got so mad at a defense attorney, I offered to dismiss the case against his client if he'd do the time."

"Back when you were a baby DA in Misdemeanors, right?"

"Try three years ago on a double homicide."

Declan shook his head and we both laughed.

My cell phone played "Killer Joe." "Bailey's heard the news," I told Declan.

"Frame-up?" she demanded. "Why the hell would we give a rat's ass about this friggin' clown?"

"In case you didn't notice, Terry said a lot of other ridiculously stupid-"

"That garbage about you selling your story-people who're dumb enough to buy that line aren't going to make it on the jury anyhow. But this noise about a frame-up-"

"What makes you so sure she's pointing the finger at us? Remember how many times we heard Russell's people say that everyone in the industry could be a suspect? They've got practically a whole city's worth of straw men they can prop up."

Bailey was silent for a moment. "It's pretty hard to believe that a pissed-off actor would murder a director's kid and her boyfriend just to frame the manager."

"Cops would make more sense..." Who else would've had the ability to plant blood and prints? Still, I had a feeling Terry wasn't aiming at LAPD. "We'll hash this out later. One thing's for sure, I'm going to hammer them hard about discovery. I'm not buying that they don't have anything yet. They've got to have witnesses lined up if they're going to prove Ian was framed."

"You'd think," Bailey said.

"You have time to come over? I'm going to put together the jury questionnaire and we should talk about who we want."

Most prosecutors don't consult their investigating officers about pure trial work like jury selection, but most prosecutors don't have someone as smart and experienced as Bailey.

"Give me half an hour. I've got to return a couple of calls, one of 'em to our witness on maternity leave."

"Good enough. I'll get us lunch."

Declan and I got down to work on the questionnaire. Not all lawyers are fans of juror questionnaires. And I don't think they should replace the gut feeling you get when you actually talk to jurors, see their body language, their reactions in the moment. But used correctly, the questionnaire can help us weed out the liars. That's critical in big cases, because the more high profile the case, the more we risk getting groupies who're in love with the defendant, or the spotlight, or who want to write a book-or all of the above. After half an hour, we took a break to get sandwiches and chips from the snack bar. When we got back, Bailey had pushed a flower arrangement to the side and was leaning back with her feet up on the table next to the window.

I threw her a pastrami sub and a bag of potato chips and dropped mine and Declan's on the desk.

"In general we want people who aren't impressed with celebrity," I said. "So no tabloid readers-"

"Get a list of Melia's friends. That ought to put a dent in the jury pool," Declan joked.

"And since Hayley and Brian were just kids, I'd say we like women more than men," Bailey said.

Her words hit me between the eyes. "You know, this is the first time in maybe a week that I've heard anyone mention the names Hayley and Brian," I said. Bailey nodded grimly and Declan looked pained. Too many stupid lawyer tricks and not enough time spent remembering what's really important. I'd make sure it didn't happen again.

"Old or young?" Declan asked.

"That's a tossup," Bailey said. "Young jurors might identify with the victims, but older ones will be less likely to identify with Mr. High Life Powers and his trophy babe."

"This all started with Brian and Hayley staging a kidnapping to extort money out of her father," I said. "That's more likely to turn off our usual law-and-order types, who are generally older." Even if only subconsciously, older or more conservative jurors might wind up feeling like Brian and Hayley had brought it on themselves. "Younger jurors might be a little less judgmental about it."

"Any exceptions you guys can see to our general preference for educated professionals and people with jobs?"

As a rule, the prosecution wants smart jurors-the smarter the better. And people who hold down jobs tend to feel more civically responsible than those who don't. All of these stereotypes are generalizations, of course, but we get only a few minutes with each juror, so we have to rely on them to some degree. After all, cliches are cliches because they're usually true, and jury selection is always, at bottom, a crapshoot. We just play the odds.

By three o'clock we'd settled on our prototypical best juror: female, professional, and someone who'd turn a skeptical eye on the defense conspiracy theory-which prompted Bailey to say, "God help us, we're looking for Rachel Knight."

"God forbid," Declan said with a smile. "We'd start late every single morning."

I gave him a mock glare. "What a card. I could laugh for...seconds."