David Rosenfelt - First degree

This surprises me. "The FBI?"

"No, the bureau in my bedroom, bozo."

I ignore the insult; this is too significant a development. "What about Dorsey makes this federal?"

"I have no idea," he claims, and I'm sure he doesn't. "All I know is that there was talk that the feds got the department to lay off. I assume they were covering the same turf with an investigation of their own."

"Then why would that have changed? Why would Dorsey have had to run?"

Pete doesn't know the answer to that, so I ask him if he's ever heard of Geoffrey Stynes. He hasn't, but agrees to check him out. I haven't heard back from Vince yet, so it makes sense to put Pete on the case as well.

I'm ready to leave, but Pete makes me wait while he tries both the creme brulee and the cherries jubilee. Both meet with his approval, though he considers the creme brulee "a tad lumpy." I tell him that if he ever picks a restaurant like this again, I'm going to introduce him to a different kind of "lumpy."

I start planning some strategy on the way home. What I need to do is try the case as if I wasn't aware of Garcia's innocence, and that means learning everything I can about the victim, Dorsey. If Pete is right about the FBI's involvement, and he is rarely wrong about such things, then there's a great deal to learn, and most likely great benefit in learning it.

When I get home, I am treated to as nice a sight as I can remember in a very long time. Laurie is sitting on the porch with Tara, with Laurie in the role of petter and Tara in the role of pettee. I park and walk toward them, just as they come off the porch and walk toward me.

Laurie hugs me as Tara sits by, waiting her turn. The hug lasts a while, which is good. I'm in no rush. Finally, she breaks it off and looks in my eyes.

"I know you wouldn't take this case to hurt me," she says.

"I wouldn't."

"I know you have a good reason for taking it," she says.

"I do."

"I know you can't tell me what that reason is," she says.

"I can't."

"I know that you love me," she says.

"I do."

"I know you're thinking you want me to stay with you tonight, even though it's not Monday, Wednesday, or Friday," she says.

"I am."

"I know that if you give another two-word answer, I'm going home, and you will have missed out on a warm, loving, wildly exciting sexual experience," she says.

"I understand that completely and I guarantee you I have absolutely no intention of ever giving a two-word answer again. I know long answers are important to you, and since I adore and worship you, I will keep speaking until you tell me to shut up."

"Shut up," she says.

I ARRIVE AT COURT WELL BEFORE THE PRELIMINARY hearing is scheduled to begin. I'm simultaneously feeling dread at having to handle this case and excitement about being back handling any case at all. The excitement must be winning out, because I usually barely make it to court on time, and today I'm so early I could tailgate in the parking lot.

Oscar isn't here yet, so I call Kevin Randall at the office and apologize for not being able to meet him there. I quickly bring Kevin up to date on the situation, and he has the decency not to verbalize his surprise that I took this case at all. I give him the task of going to see the coroner who handled Dorsey's body and to find out whatever relevant details there are, including the estimated time of death.

Kevin has a whole bunch of positive qualities, but the one I appreciate most is his total reliability. When he takes on an assignment, I can check it off my list; he will get it done and done well.

Kevin is a topflight attorney with loads of experience on both the defense and prosecution sides. Unfortunately, both caused him conscience problems. As a prosecutor, he was afraid his considerable talents might cause an innocent person to go to prison. As a defense attorney, he feared he might be helping dangerous criminals return to the streets.

He finally resolved this by quitting the law and opening the "Lawdromat," where customers can wash their clothes and get free legal advice. Laurie knows Kevin well, and on her advice I took him on as second chair on the Willie Miller case. He's been coming in a couple of days a week ever since, with the understanding that he'll help me on future cases, providing there's no fabric softener crisis that demands his time.

I meet with Oscar in an anteroom for a few minutes to explain the procedures. He has some experience in this field, so he catches on pretty quickly. This appearance is basically a formality, strictly done to inform him of the charges, register his plea, and consider bail. Dylan has already impaneled a grand jury to formally charge Oscar, and as always, the grand jury will do the prosecutor's bidding. Oscar's sole responsibility for this appearance is to sit up straight, look respectable, and say firmly and clearly, "Not guilty," when called upon to give his plea.

When the guards come to escort Oscar into the courtroom, I walk with him. We are almost at the defense table when he says--to himself, I think--"What the hell is that bitch doing here?"

I look in the direction that Oscar is looking, and he seems to be staring toward Laurie, who is standing in the back of the room. "Who are you talking about?" I ask as we continue walking.

"The bitch in the blue dress." There is no question he is talking about Laurie.

"Watch your mouth when you're talking about her," I say. It is a silly, unnecessary, but involuntary act of verbal chivalry.

We reach the defense table and sit down. "You mean you know her?" he asks.

"I do."

"Well, let me tell you something, man. You know that list you wanted from me, of my enemies? People who would frame me? Well, she's number one, right on top."

"You're dreaming, Oscar."

"Yeah, well, she's been following me, watching me all the time. Like I can't get rid of her. And a friend of mine said she was hanging near my apartment the other day when I was out."

I trust Oscar about as far as I can throw Mount Rushmore, but I instinctively know that he is telling the truth about this. He has no real reason to lie, and it fits in with Laurie's cryptic comment about having knowledge of Oscar's criminal progress since she left the force.

I don't have time to reflect on the possible implications of Oscar's comment, because I find myself staring at the sweaty hand of Dylan Campbell, who, for the benefit of the assembled media, has come over to wish me luck.

I wouldn't describe today's event as a media circus; there is much more press here than usual, but the crush is far from overwhelming. The reason for whatever news-worthiness the hearing has rests in the victim's being a cop, however discredited, and the brutal nature of the crime.

The judge, Susan Timmerman, enters, and the bailiff calls the proceedings to order. Judge Timmerman will be handling only this hearing; the case hasn't yet been assigned. It's unfortunate, because she is a fair judge who doesn't show any bias toward the prosecution, and we have gotten along fairly well in the past.

The charges contained in the case of New Jersey v. Oscar Garcia are read, and counsel are identified. Oscar is asked how he pleads and he performs his part correctly, saying, "Not guilty," with conviction and a trace of indignation. In Oscar's case, a trace is all the indignation one can stomach.

The not guilty plea creates the need for trial, and that is what the court must consider next. Timmerman does not have all the judges' schedules, and doesn't know who the judge will be anyway, but she can at least tentatively set a date. We agree on July 14, about four months from now, and Judge Timmerman asks if there is anything else she must consider.

I jump up. "Discovery, Your Honor."

"What about it?" she asks.