"So, you shtupping her or what?" Marvin's voice carried across the cafeteria.

"Hey, none of that. It's all business."

"She shot you down, that it, Steverino?"

"Marvin, you know me. I'll never bribe a cop, lie to a judge, or sleep with my partner."

"Three lies in one sentence. That a record, Cadillac?"

"Not for Steve." Cadillac Johnson mixed half a cup of decaf with half a cup of regular, then poured nondairy creamer on top and added four Equals. Taking his sweet time.

"I believe our Stephen," Teresa Torao said.

"Thank you, Teresa," Steve said. "My first client and last friend."

"You'll never sleep with Ms. Lord, hasta que ella diga que s. Until she says yes."

Marvin coughed a laugh and exchanged high fives with Cadillac, or as high as their arthritis permitted.

"C'mon, guys, she's engaged," Steve protested.

"Since when do legal technicalities bother you?" Marvin shot back.

Steve checked his watch. In eight minutes, either his a.s.s would be planted in front of Judge Alvin Schwartz or he'd be in contempt for tardiness.

"Have you seen the way he looks at her?" Marvin asked his cronies. "He's got it bad."

"Reminds me of this lady in K.C." Cadillac slurped coffee. "Tore out my heart, fed it to the catfish." He sang: "Kansas City woman. Oh-h-h, what you done to me . . ."

Marvin was at the register, fishing change from a pocket.

Steve called out: "Put it all on my tab."

"Por Dios!" Teresa said.

Cadillac clutched his chest. "My pacemaker's gonna blow a fuse."

"The big macher," Marvin said. "If I'd known he was paying, I'd have got a bagel."

"Please hurry up," Steve said. "I'm trying to get an innocent woman out on bail."

"I have seen your client, and she is not so innocent," Teresa said.

"A real paskudnyak," Marvin agreed.

"What are you talking about?" Steve said.

"Too much decolletage, very decla.s.se," Teresa said primly.

Teresa had learned English as a child at Havana's pre-Castro, upper-crust Ruston Academy. When she spoke, Steve could visualize neat feminine handwriting with even s.p.a.ces between each word. "C'mon, Teresa. Just because you don't like Mrs. Barksdale's taste in clothes doesn't mean she killed her husband."

"Now, Charles Barksdale," Teresa said. "Very cla.s.sy."

"You knew him?"

"Not really. But I heard him speak at a seminar he sponsored. 'Women Poets, Tortured Souls.' He seemed to be a most sensitive man."

"Especially when wearing a leather p.e.n.i.s pouch," Steve said.

"Personally, I think the puta killed him," Teresa Torao said.

Twenty-two.

THE SLEEKEST SHARK.

"Of all the courtrooms in all the counties of this swampy state, you had to walk into mine," Judge Alvin Schwartz said.

"And good morning to you, Your Honor," Steve said.

Victoria knew the judge's reputation as king of the curmudgeons. She'd appeared twice on his motion calendar and found him to be irascible, impatient, and inattentive. He was also p.r.o.ne to pa.s.sing gas at sidebar conferences, then blaming it on the stenographer. Old, short, and angry, Judge Schwartz did not particularly like male lawyers who were young, tall, and happy. He had survived three attempts to remove him from the bench for intemperate comments, s.e.xual hara.s.sment, and sleeping through trials.

"I know all about your shenanigans, Mr. Solomon."

"Thank you very much, Your Honor," Steve said, as if he'd been named Kiwanis Man of the Year.

At the prosecution table, Ray Pincher stifled a smile. Next to Victoria, Katrina squirmed in her chair. She wore a jailhouse orange jumpsuit, instead of her usual Prada.

The judge said: "You make any mischief in my courtroom, Mr. Solomon, I'll send you to a place you've never been."

"Already been to jail, sir."

"I'm talking about law school."

Across the aisle, Pincher barked out a little laugh.

"What's going on?" Katrina whispered.

"It's okay," Victoria said, patting her arm. "Steve knows what he's doing."

She was trying to rea.s.sure their client. And maybe herself, too.

"That you, Ms. Lord?" The judge peered over the top of his rimless spectacles.

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Aren't you on the wrong side of the courtroom?"

"I'm a defense lawyer now. Cocounsel with Mr. Solomon."

"Last good-looking blonde he brought in here was inflatable." The judge gestured toward Katrina with his gavel. "That the little lady what waxed her husband?"

"Your Honor, I must object," Victoria said.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch. There's no jury here, just those jackals of the press." The judge swung the gavel toward the gallery, where a TV camera whirred and a dozen reporters scribbled notes. "Where's that fellow who wrote I should be impeached?"

Three hands shot up. The judge harrumphed and turned to the prosecution table. "Here are the ground rules, Mr. State Attorney. I don't want to hear any of that ghetto rap. None of that . . ." He turned to his bailiff, a young black woman with dreadlocks. "Wanda, what's that t.u.r.d-brained music called? Hopscotch?"

"Hip-hop," she said.

"No hip-hop. And no Bubonics."

"Ebonics," Wanda said.

"And who's that kid in the front row?"

"My nephew, Bobby," Steve said.

"I've heard about those word tricks of yours, you little scamp." The judge dug a pinky into his ear, rooted around, then called out: "Donald Rumsfeld."

"SELDOM FUND LARD," Bobby shot back.

"I'll be d.a.m.ned."

At that moment, the courtroom door opened, and three tall young women strutted in. They were dressed identically, in solid black, from their eyegla.s.ses and wigs to their ultraminis, silk blouses, and knee-high boots. Their lips were painted a glistening red and glossed to an obscene shine. Carrying thin black briefcases, they waltzed through the swinging gate, hip-swiveled to the front of the bar, and corkscrewed into their seats, just behind the defense table. In one fluid motion, all three crossed their legs in unison and pulled legal pads from their briefcases. It took Victoria a moment to realize they were Lexy, Rexy, and Gina, looking like Robert Palmer's girls' band. What the h.e.l.l? Then she remembered: "The judge likes young women lawyers in miniskirts."

Was there anything Solomon wouldn't do to win?

"And who, may I ask, are these lovely creatures?" the judge said, brightening.

"My law clerks," Steve said.

"Always glad to help young scholars." The judge sat up straighter on the pillow he used to ease his hemorrhoids. "You gals come on back to chambers anytime you want."

Katrina leaned close to Victoria. "The judge seems a trifle odd. . . ."

Again, Victoria patted her arm. A rea.s.suring gesture, but Victoria was growing worried. How do you deal with such a judge?

"What say the state on the defense motion for bail?" the judge said.

"This is a capital case," Pincher replied. "The state opposes all bail."

"What say the defense?"

Victoria rose and exhaled a long breath. She hoped she didn't appear as nervous as she felt. On her table, five color-coded index cards were fanned out like a poker hand. "Under State v. Arthur, the court cannot deny bail unless the state demonstrates that the proof of guilt is evident or the presumption great. We submit the state can do neither. Further, Katrina Barksdale has no prior criminal record and has deep ties to the community. In short, she is an excellent candidate for pretrial release."

"Alrighty-ditey," the judge said. "Mr. State Attorney, let's hear some testimony, and keep it short. My bladder ain't what it used to be."

Pincher started with Medical Examiner Wu-Chi Yang. Dr. Yang was a slim man in his forties, in a brown suit and a yellow bow tie. He'd switched to bow ties years earlier because they didn't flap out of the lab coat and drip into whatever squooshy organ he happened to be dissecting.

In clipped tones, Dr. Yang related his findings. "Performed neck dissection after evisceration and removal of the brain. Dissected the sternocleidomastoid muscles, reflected omohyoid and sternohyoid muscles, incised soft tissue medial to carotid artery."

"And what did you find?" Pincher asked.

"Bruising on muscles of neck and hemorrhages near circoid cartilage, consistent with strangulation. Tardieu's spots on face and eyelids consistent with asphyxia."

As Dr. Yang droned on, Victoria shot a look at Steve. On a legal pad, he was drawing a diagram of a table for five, complete with a seating chart. Doris Kranchick at twelve o'clock, then running clockwise, Victoria, Steve, Jackie, and Bruce.

He's planning dinner, not reb.u.t.tal.

How will he handle cross-examination if he's not even listening?

Dr. Yang held up a black leather collar-State Exhibit A-and demonstrated how pulling one end through an open loop would tighten it. He showed the judge a photo of the bruises circling Charles Barksdale's neck. A ruler shown in the photo measured the bruise at eighty-six centimeters high. With his own ruler, Dr. Yang then showed that the collar was exactly the same.

"If the collar fit . . ." Dr. Yang said happily.

"You can't acquit," Pincher finished the thought.

Judge Schwartz shot Pincher an angry look. "You want to wrap up this dog-and-pony show?"

"Your conclusion, Dr. Yang?" Pincher asked.

"The cause of death was asphyxia from strangulation, which resulted from a tightening of the collar that compressed the decedent's neck."

"Defense got anything to say?" Judge Schwartz asked.

Victoria waited for Steve to stand. When he didn't move, she leapt to her feet. "Yes, Your Honor, just a few questions . . ."

"Which I'll ask," Steve said, easing from his chair. "Good morning, Dr. Yang."

"If you say so," the ME said, warily.

Without asking for permission to approach, Steve walked to the witness stand and reached for the leather collar. "May I?"

Dr. Yang shrugged, then handed it over. "Not mine."

"So it's clear, you just expressed your opinion as to the medical cause of death, not whether that death was a homicide, correct?"

"That is right."

Steve turned and walked back to the defense table. Glided, really, Victoria thought. She remembered the poster on his office wall. The courtroom filled with water, sharks cutting to and fro. Steve was the sleekest shark in the lagoon, and these were his waters. Swimming toward the defense table, he unb.u.t.toned his suit coat and smiled at Victoria. Now what?

"Dr. Yang, if I wanted to force Ms. Lord to wear this collar, what would I do?" Steve asked.