Michael Baden - Skeleton justice

"You didn't ask who he was, why he contacted you for this job?"

"He had my cell number. He had to have been referred by a friend."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Some friend. Let's see your cell phone. Is this guy's number still in the calls received?"

"I already tried that. After the bomb went off and the cops came, I was pissed. We talked our way outta there, but I coulda been in big trouble. So I called the number back to ask what the fuck was going on, and the phone just rang and rang. Finally, some guy who sounded like a drunk answered and said it was a pay phone at Penn Station. I heard a train announcement in the background, so I knew he was telling the truth."

"All right, give me your cell number. We may need to talk again." Sam looked down at the congealing blood on the floor. "And I don't think we're going to be welcome here."

Boo rattled off a number and Sam stored it in his own phone, then pressed the call button just to make sure he hadn't been given the number for the Monmouth Park Racetrack. A shriek that passed for music emanated from Boo's pocket.

"Answer that and save the number," Sam directed. "Your mysterious friend calls again, let me know."

Manny raced from the parking lot toward federal court, feeling like she'd just been presented with a white-ribboned robin's egg blue box from Tiffany's. God bless Sam-he'd uncovered just the information she needed to clinch this bail hearing. And just in case, she had her usual small piece of red cloth pinned to the inside of her suit jacket to ward off the evil eye, just like her mother and her mother's mother had taught her. Can never be too careful, after all. Manny was a third-generation Scorpio, her generational DNA included an allele for the belief in the super natural.

"By the time I'm done with Brian Lisnek, that prosecutor is going to be so covered with egg, you could make an omelette out of him," Manny crowed to Kenneth, who matched her stride for stride past the cement barriers protecting the massive new building across from the old post office.

"The last omelette you made for me was dry and rubbery," Kenneth complained. "Don't get overconfident."

Manny waved his warning off with a laugh, realizing as she did that if Jake had said the same thing to her, she would've been highly insulted. But Kenneth could get away with a lot of things that Jake wouldn't dare try, including, but not limited to, singing "Over the Rainbow" or anything Cher while wearing a vintage Dior sheath.

Jake had been impressed when she told him the judge had granted her the opportunity to examine the government's so-called forensic expert as well as their eyewitness at the bail hearing. That was highly unusual, but the Preppy Terrorist case was generating so much publicity that the judge had reluctantly agreed.

Now with the information Sam had provided and the research she had done on the shaky science of identifying bite marks through forensic odontology, Manny felt sure that she'd have Travis Heaton out on bail by the end of the day.

Sailing through the security check without setting off any alarms, Manny entered Judge Freeman's courtroom and took her place at the defense table. Lisnek was already at the prosecutor's table with a whole phalanx of assistants. "How many federal prosecutors does it take to change a lightbulb?" she muttered to Kenneth.

"You mean, to screw in a lightbulb. And the answer is none. Prosecutors only screw defendants."

Manny paused from unloading her briefcase. "Did you just make that up, or have you been reading joke e-mails when you're supposed to be working?"

"Keeping you amused is part of my job description, remember?"

Manny grinned. It was true that with Kenneth by her side she felt much more relaxed than she would have if she were assisted by some navy blue pinstriped-clad minion with an Ivy League law degree. Today, Kenneth had dressed to match the dark green marble that heralded the floors and walls of the imposing house of justice. He wore a slightly used Oscar de la Renta suit he had purchased on eBay, and two-toned green-and-ivory shoes with matching green horned-rimmed glasses. She slid some files across the table to him. "Here. Organize this for me. I don't want to be fumbling for notes when I have their so-called expert on the stand."

She sat down and watched Lisnek for a while. He was so busy conferring with his assistants, he didn't even notice her. Her client was escorted in by a muscular federal marshal and seated next to her. He wore the clothes he had been arrested in-big baggy pants and a black cotton shirt. The bailiff entered the courtroom and Lisnek snapped to attention, finally glancing her way. She smiled sweetly. The assistant U.S. attorney looked away.

"All rise," the bailiff intoned.

Showtime.

Manny and Lisnek danced through the opening procedures like Fred and Ginger, so familiar with the steps that they didn't even have to think about what they were doing. Then Lisnek rose to make his argument for why Travis should remain in jail without bail. "An act of terrorism against the federal government… possible coconspirators, so the accused must be kept in isolation… a matter of national security…" On and on he went.

Manny could feel her adrenaline surge and her stomach churn. This is what being a trial lawyer was all about-face-to-face combat with the enemy. Honestly, how could Lisnek say all this with a straight face? The man was shameless in his pursuit of publicity. She'd defended clients against bogus, trumped-up charges before, but this case beat all.

The judge was also tiring of Lisnek. With a slight elevation of the hand, he cut the prosecutor off in mid-speech. "Very eloquent, Mr. Lisnek, but this isn't a dress rehearsal for the opening argument of the trial. I believe Ms. Manfreda has some issues with the quality of your supporting evidence, so let's move directly to the expert testimony."

The witness, Dr. Eugene Olivo, forensic odontologist, was called and sworn in. In a jury trial, Manny would spend considerable time establishing the expert's qualifications or lack thereof, because juries tended to believe every word coming from the mouth of anyone who called himself a doctor or scientist. Judge Freeman, thankfully, was not so gullible. He had been a federal judge for more than four decades, handling all the hard cases: Mafia killings, an Aryan gang prison trial, massive drug cartel trials. Freeman was now on senior status, a form of hardworking retirement that allowed him to pick and choose his cases. Not impressed with the pretentiousness of office or enamored with the trappings of power, he no longer wore a robe on the bench. But make no mistake: He was a highly respected jurist, one you weren't late for unless you were dead, who mandated preparedness and honesty.

"So in other words, Doctor," the judge said, addressing the expert witness, "for the laypeople in the audience, what you are saying is that a forensic odontologist is a fancy word for… dentist?"

"Well, it's from the Greek, Your Honor."

"I see." A cross between a snort and a chuckle emanated from the bench. "Do you get to charge the government more in Greek?"

Touche. Old, retired, on senior status, Freeman took the words right out of her mouth.

Satisfied that Judge Freeman was going to give her fair latitude in cross-examination, Manny sat back and let Lisnek walk the witness through his evidence. "The average set of permanent teeth in an adult numbers thirty-two, including the four wisdom teeth," Olivo informed them.

Yada yada yada. She forced herself to listen to every word and make careful notes, only daydreaming for a split second about the Carramia case, where she had cross-examined Jake. Jake had been a charismatic expert witness in a geeky, scientific kind of way. Almost sexy, talking about vomit and death. His brown hair, interspersed with gray strands, complemented his big frame and professorial tone. Olivo was no Jake. Thank God for that.