"Just fine, thank you for asking. Mr. Relinsky, is it common to see fingerprints planted at a crime scene?"

Leo stated it was not. Declan consulted his notes, then opened his binder, flipped through some pages, then closed his binder. Finally, he asked his next question. "Why is that?"

While Leo explained, Declan garnished every answer with "Thank you for that, Mr. Relinsky" and "Very interesting, sir." Then he'd pause and consult his notes before asking the next question.

And when it came time to put exhibits on the monitor, he dropped them, put them in upside down, and then spent minutes readjusting the focus. Each question, punctuated by pauses, took almost a full minute to get out. Only I knew what a great act this was.

And because it was Declan, an obvious newbie whom they hadn't seen much of, the jury was forgiving and even somewhat entertained by his puppy-like display of nerves. But I knew their goodwill had its limits.

"Mr. Relinsky, are there set standards for how many points must match before you can declare that a print was made by a particular person?"

"Yes, the commonly accepted standard is eight points. I personally won't declare a match with less than ten, though."

"Do you know of any expert in the field who doesn't have a set minimum number of points?"

"Not one who's qualified, no."

"Then you don't ascribe to the Jackson Pollock style of print analysis?"

It was what they call a two percenter-just two percent of the country was likely to know that Pollock was a famous abstract artist-but apparently about four percent of our jury knew, and they laughed. One of them was the Hollywood agent.

Somehow, Declan managed to stretch Leo's testimony out till almost noon. I knew Terry couldn't let it go without some cross-examination. Otherwise it'd look as though she'd conceded the fingerprint battle. So Leo was ordered to come back after the lunch break.

"You are, quite simply, my hero," I said as we ate our turkey and Swiss sandwiches.

"I can pull it out for another hour after Terry's cross, I think," Declan said. We exchanged a conspiratorial grin.

"And I'd think our crime lab director's testimony will take some time. No way they can let him off easy." No matter how strong the defense was right now, they couldn't afford to let us off the ropes on the DNA evidence even a little. "But just to be on the safe side, want to take him too?"

"Uh...sure...though if I'm being entirely frank, Your Honor, I must admit...this is slightly embarrassing...I do have some...ah...difficulties with the finer points of deoxyribonucleic acids."

We laughed. It was the best either one of us had felt in days.

When we resumed after the lunch break, Terry did as minimal a cross-examination of Leo as she dared, but as promised, Declan dragged his feet on redirect. By the time he called Barry Feinstein, our crime lab director, it was almost three o'clock-just as we'd hoped. Judge Osterman called for the afternoon break. That would take us to three fifteen. Every minute helped. Plus, the brief recess gave me the chance to bring Barry in on my strategy. Barry and I went back a long way-to the days when he was a new tech and I was a baby DA. Fun and smart, with a casual style, he knew how to make DNA sound simple. It'd been a real loss to us in court when he went into management. "Take your time, Barry. Explain at length, and talk slow. We need you to be ordered back to finish your testimony on Tuesday."

Barry raised an eyebrow. "Want to tell me why?"

"Yes, but then I'd have to kill you."

Barry turned to Declan. Declan gave him a wide-eyed look. "All I heard was the lady telling you to speak clearly so the court reporter and the jury would catch everything."

I smiled at Barry. "Any further questions?"

Judge Osterman came out and Jimmy called the court to order.

Barry smiled as he faced the judge and spoke under his breath. "No. But I'd just like you to remember this little exchange when you need a rush on your evidence, or you insist on getting Dorian on your next case."

I winced. Point taken.

The judge called for the jury, and when they were seated, Barry walked over to the witness stand and took the oath. Declan came through once again, slow as molasses and as thorough as could be. And Barry's testimony was helpful.

"You are familiar with, ahh, Mr. Gelfer?"

"I am."

"He works in your lab, does he not?"

"Yes, he does."

"Do you observe your lab workers during testing?"

"Yes, I frequently watch them." Barry went into a lengthy description of his job duties and the importance of monitoring the actual casework.

"Thank you, sir. That was very interesting," Declan replied.

If there was a way to string out the questioning any longer, I sure couldn't think of it.

"Were you in the lab the day Mr. Gelfer performed the DNA analysis on the bloodstain found on Brian Maher's car trunk?"

"I was."

"I see."

Declan shuffled through his notes before he continued. "Could you see whether he brought Ian Powers's blood sample into the lab at that time?"

"Yes, I would've seen that if he'd done it. And no, I did not see Mr. Gelfer bring Ian Powers's blood draw into the room at any point during testing."

"I see. Thank you. Could you describe what you saw Mr. Gelfer do that day?"

Barry could. In excruciating detail.

"Are you confident that there was no contamination?"

"Yes, I am."

Declan nodded. Slowly. "And are you confident that the results were accurate?"

"Quite confident."

"Thank you very much, sir."

On cross-examination Terry predictably asked, "You mean, as far as you could see, Mr. Gelfer followed proper protocols, correct?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"And he didn't bring Ian Powers's blood draw into the lab as far as you could see, correct?"

"Correct."

"But since you didn't see his every move, there is a possibility that the evidence sample from the car trunk was contaminated, isn't there? You can't rule it out completely."

"Completely? I don't know that I can rule out anything in this world completely."

"So the answer is no, you can't rule out that possibility, correct?"

"Yes, I can't completely rule it out."

Terry raced through her cross. Even on a slow day, she talks faster than anyone I know. But today she was setting a new land speed record. More than once, the court reporter had to stop her and get her to repeat her question. Finally, the reporter lost it. "Counsel, I didn't get one word of that! If you don't slow down, you're going to have to start writing your questions out!"

Terry obviously hoped to force us to rest before the end of the day so the judge would declare the evidence closed. But she didn't reckon with the awesome powers of Declan Shackner. When Terry finished cross at four o'clock, Declan immediately requested a break.

"Counsel, we've already taken our afternoon break," Judge Osterman said.

"I'm sorry, Your Honor. Some aspects of life just aren't in my control."

Judge Osterman sighed. "Fine, we'll take a ten-minute break. And I don't mean eleven. Understood?"

"Yes. Thank you, Your Honor."

Declan made a big show of leaving the courtroom with a fast stride. Barry stepped off the witness stand and came over to us.

"He has a bright future with the DA's office, doesn't he?" he asked.

"If I have anything to say about it he does."

"So what's the story?"

I told him. He shook his head sympathetically. "Talk about down to the wire. Well, I'm glad to do what I can to help the cause."

The judge took the bench at ten minutes past four and called for the jury. Barry gave me a private wink and moved slowly up to the witness stand. Declan stalled by scanning his notes for as long as he dared, then had Barry go over every single move he made on the day of the testing in such excruciating detail that even I wanted to pull my hair out. But he did it wisely. Not once did he repeat a question he'd already asked. And at five minutes to five, Declan looked up innocently and told the judge, "I'm about to move into a whole new area, Your Honor. Perhaps the court would prefer to recess now? If not, I'm happy to continue..."

"No, I don't think that will be necessary. If you've got a new area we may as well start fresh on Tuesday. We could all use the holiday break, I'm sure."

Declan was the man of the day, and when we got up to the office, I poured us all shots of the scotch I kept in my bottom drawer. "Here's to our champion!"

It would've been even nicer if I'd known whether there really was anything to celebrate.

81.

We all weighed in with our opinions about which way the jury was leaning. The unsurprising consensus was that most of them looked ready to acquit.

"I think there might be a few on our side, but they don't look strong," Bailey said.

Meaning, they'd be easily talked out of their inclination to convict by the others. I agreed.

"So, what do we do now?" Declan asked.

It was a fair question. Our rebuttal was largely over. The crime lab hadn't come up with anything on Russell's letters. The postmarks on the envelopes were authentic, and the letters didn't appear forged. All of our hopes now rested on Parkova's findings, which weren't in yet. But I couldn't just go back to the Biltmore and wait all weekend. I'd go crazy. I should go to the gym, but I wasn't in the mood for that either. I knew what I wanted to do.

"I want to go watch Parkova."

"Me too," Bailey said.

"It's unanimous," added Declan.

We walked out into the early evening. The sun had painted rosy streaks through the clouds and the sky was just beginning to fade to indigo. I watched low shafts of sunlight grow on the horizon as the clouds retreated over the mountains to the east. I enjoyed the short walk to the Police Administration Building, knowing it was my last chance to breathe in the warm, smog-filled air for several hours. Then it occurred to me that most of us downtown dwellers had the lungs of dedicated smokers. The thought made me take shallow breaths until we were inside the building.

Parkova was hunched in front of Ian's laptop, talking into her recorder in an accent so thick I could barely pick out three words. If we had to play that thing back to the jury, we'd need an interpreter. Parkova turned and took us in. "I have cheering section now?" She glared at us through her heavy glasses and noted Declan, our new addition, but showed no interest in him whatsoever.

"We're just here to help," Bailey said.

"You expect to be able to help, how?"

I shrugged. "We could bring you food, coffee...methamphetamine?"

"Just be quiet, is all I ask." And with that, Parkova turned around and went back to work.

After an hour, the hollow feeling in my stomach reminded me I hadn't eaten in a while. "I'm going to raid the vending machines. Anybody want anything?" I gestured to the half-eaten PayDay next to the laptop. "Another PayDay?"

"Yes," Parkova said without looking up. "And a Coke. Not diet."

Bailey asked for Doritos-a personal favorite of mine also-and Declan asked for an apple.

"An apple?" I was incredulous. "Really?"

Declan laughed. "It's Speedo weather and my homies are not forgiving."

"Don't even think of asking me for sympathy." I gestured to his slender, perfect-looking body.

When I returned with provisions-and Declan's sad little apple-I settled in and watched for a while. But there wasn't much to see, unless you find watching someone type, swear at the computer (that part of her English vocabulary was rich and varied), and scowl an intriguing sight. For the next four hours Parkova worked while we kept whispers to a minimum. I made notes on my closing argument and tried not to think about how this case was likely to end. On occasion, one of us would nod off.

At ten o'clock, Parkova spoke her first non-swear words. "Hah! I knew it. There."

I sat up, rolled my head to unkink my neck, and rubbed my face to get circulation going. "What? There...what?"

"Original e-mail."

I couldn't process that. "What are you talking about?"

Parkova turned around in her chair to face us and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "I found MITM attack. This Ian set up so he intercepts Russell's e-mails-"