David Rosenfelt - First degree

We ask to speak to the manager, so that we can see if there are security camera tapes that covered the evening in question. If Oscar was here that night, he could have been part of a taped record.

The manager is on a coffee break, so while we wait, Laurie decides to do a little food shopping. She goes off to get some things, while I walk over to the cash machine so I can at least offer to pay for it. They actually have a small bank branch right there within the supermarket, with three machines for additional service.

I know from a similar situation on another case that our chances of finding anything on the store taping system are slim. Most stores simply run the tapes on a twenty-four- or forty-eight-hour cycle and then tape over them. But it's worth a try, and when the manager, Wally, comes back, we ask him about it. I know his name is Wally, and I know he's the manager, because above the pocket of his shirt it says, "Wally," and just below that it says, "Manager." These are the kinds of tricks I've picked up by accompanying Laurie on these investigations.

"How long do you keep the security tapes after they're used?" I ask.

"You cops?" Wally asks.

His response isn't exactly on point, and he says "cops" in such a way that, if we were in fact cops, he would try to lead us to our demise in the pesticide department. My sense is that somebody got the word to him that we've been snooping around, asking questions.

"No," I say.

"Then what?"

"Then what what?" I counter. This repartee is on a very sophisticated level; I hope Laurie can follow it. A cashier within earshot is yawning; it's obviously over her head.

"What are you?" he demands.

"Tired of this conversation," I answer, just before Laurie sighs loudly and intervenes.

"He's a lawyer and I'm a private investigator. We can get a subpoena and you can spend an entire day being deposed, or you can answer a couple of easy questions and then go back to stacking cans in aisle seven. Your choice."

"Yeah," I say to add emphasis, but I refrain from sticking my tongue out at him.

He's annoyed, but recognizes the futility of resisting a force as powerful as mine. "We run the tapes for twenty-four hours, then tape over them."

I show him a picture of Oscar. "Have you ever seen him?"

"No," he says immediately. He's not giving anything at all. Had I shown him pictures of Michael Jordan, George Bush, and Heather Locklear, his "no" would have been just as quick.

"Do you wish you could be more helpful, because as a good citizen it's important to you that justice be done?" I counter.

Laurie drags me off before he can answer, which is a shame, because I could tell he was just about to crack.

On the way out, I keep in charitable practice by dropping a twenty-dollar bill in the March of Dimes canister, and then Laurie and I go our separate ways. She is going to snoop around Oscar's neighborhood, while I'm going back to my office for a meeting. Laurie doesn't ask for Oscar's address, which means she knows where he lives. This is curious, since I know from the police reports that he's only lived there two months. This means that Laurie's knowledge can't come from when she was on the force. Oscar had mentioned in court that she had been near his apartment, watching him. I don't ask her about any of this, and I don't ask myself why I don't ask her about any of this.

The meeting scheduled in my office is one I'm actually looking forward to. It's with Willie Miller, and we are going to discuss the lawsuit I have filed on his behalf against my former father-in-law, Philip Gant, and the estate of Victor Markham.

Victor and Philip committed a murder thirty-five years ago, and then committed another long after to cover it up. They arranged to frame Willie for the second murder, and he spent seven years on death row before he was cleared in the retrial. Philip wound up in jail and Victor took his own life. It was a terrible tragedy for all concerned, especially Willie, but there is one ray of sunshine: Both Philip and Victor were incredibly wealthy.

There is no suspense attached to the winning or losing of this lawsuit, we are going to win. It's a slam dunk, and both sides know it. The only question is how much money Willie will get, and the other side is very concerned about a jury's actions in this regard, since they have asked for settlement discussions. Today Willie and I are going to talk about our position in advance of those discussions.

In the months since his trial, and especially in the first few weeks, Willie became something of a media celebrity. He made the talk show circuit and brought a new twist to it. A street-smart kid who never left the inner city, Willie had no occasion to develop that filter through which most people talk to the media. So in these sessions he was just Willie Miller, and he spoke to interviewers in exactly the same fashion he spoke to friends on the street.

The results were both refreshing and hilarious. Willie interrupted one interview to ask, "Hey, am I getting paid for this?" He asked another questioner about a female camera operator, and when told she was single, he asked her out on the air. She declined, but changed her mind and accepted after the show.

There were embarrassing moments as well, though Willie never seemed to notice. When asked to compare the current world to the one he left seven years ago, he bemoaned the inflated prices of "gas and hookers."

When I get to the office, I walk in on a priceless conversation between Willie and Edna. I pick it up in the middle, but it's immediately clear that Willie has shocked Edna by declaring that he has never seen or even heard of crossword puzzles. She had supposed that there were people in far-off lands, living in caves or trees, who were this deprived. But here, sitting in our office? Impossible.

Willie does not seem the least bit defensive about his admission, probably because Willie is not the least bit defensive about anything. He grudgingly agrees to let Edna attempt to teach him the basics, which only compounds the obvious cultural gap.

"Indeterminate," she says, looking at the newspaper. "Seven letters."

Willie is offended. "I know how many letters 'inde-' whatever has."

Edna shakes her head. "I'm looking for another word for 'indeterminate.' It has seven letters and the third letter is 'u.'"

"Why the hell are you looking for it?" he asks. "You already got that 'inde-' word. Look for one you don't have."

"The word is 'neutral.'"

"I thought you said it had seven letters." Willie starts counting on his fingers, softly mouthing the letters as he counts. When he finishes, his look is triumphant. "No way."

I get a momentary nightmare flash of Willie playing Scrabble with Laurie, and then I break up this conference and bring Willie into my office. Willie is a black belt in karate, but I believe that if I hadn't shown up, Edna would have killed him.

Just before Willie and I start talking, Pete Stanton calls. He has come up as dry as Vince Sanders did in the search for Geoffrey Stynes. He assures me that he's checked everywhere there is to check, which leads to the inescapable conclusion that Stynes was in my office under an assumed name.

This complicates the situation considerably. If he signed the retainer agreement using a false identity, then that agreement has no legal standing. The murkier question is whether this relieves me of the constraints of the privilege. I could research this, but I don't, since right now murky works fine while I figure out what I want to do about maintaining Stynes's privilege.

I decide to split the difference. Without revealing what little I know about Stynes's identity, I will utilize some of the information that I learned from him to help my client. I'm on shaky legal ground, but it's ground I'm prepared to defend if I have to.