The following chapters are unedited. Chapters 1 and 2 are complete. A portion of Chapter 3 has been included in order to give you a better sense of the tone of the novel.

      She liked the way her hair looked. Her eyes. She crossed the room to the full-length mirror on the closet door and struck a pose. Shifting her weight, she turned. The nightgown was the color of falling snow and almost perfectly transparent. She liked the warm tone of her skin underneath. The way her breasts seem to bob with the slightest move. It had been exactly the right choice.
      Darlene had purchased the babydoll nightgown with matching g-string at the Victoria's Secret web site on the Internet using her mother's credit card. She knew her mother would never notice. Christmas was less than ten days off. There would be a lot of gifts bought with that credit card. Some even from the same store.
      She glanced at the clock. Lunch time wouldn't be for another two hours, yet she was already hungry. She lifted her arms in the air, letting out a yawn as she stretched. Then she walked out of her bedroom leaving her clothes on the chair. She had the place to herself and didn't have to worry about privacy. Her parents were at their second home in the Poconos, on vacation until New Year's Day with her younger brother and sister. Darlene would be driving up to join them tomorrow afternoon, her skis waxed and ready. But there was a lot to do before then.
      She was throwing a party tonight, and had to get the house ready.
      Her boyfriend, Russ, had purchased a keg of beer with the help of his older brother who was home from college and of legal age. They had set it up earlier that morning on the rear terrace off the kitchen and dining room, packed in snow so the brew would be ice-cold. After the party, Russ said he would help clean up so her parents wouldn't notice, maybe even stay over the whole night. That's where the babydoll nightgown came in. They'd been doing it since last summer, but had never spent an entire night together. She wanted to sleep with Russ and wake up with him. She wanted him in the morning.
      Darlene walked downstairs, turned the foyer light on, and stepped into the kitchen. She poured a glass of cold spring water from the five-gallon dispenser in the pantry and crossed the room to sip it by the window. The sun had vanished and it was gray outside, the jittery movement of the black clouds overhead visible even at a glance. If it snowed again, the night might be a bust. She flipped the radio on, switched it to AM and found KYW, hoping for a weather report on the news station. As she waited, she returned to the window and looked out at the terrace. There was a squirrel on the keg, sitting on his hind legs and eating nuts. From the pile of discarded shells littering the snow, it seemed as if the squirrel had been at it for some time. Darlene tapped on the window. The squirrel turned to look at her without much interest. She knocked on the window pane again and made a face, but the stupid squirrel wouldn't budge. When she shook her fist, the squirrel began shredding through his pile of nuts at a faster clip, making the mess even bigger with his sharp teeth.
      She turned away and shook her head. There was a story on the radio, a live simulcast from the district attorney's office in Philadelphia and the law school at the University of Pennsylvania. It didn't sound like they would be getting to the weather anytime soon. The district attorney was in hot water with the press for something he'd done in the past. What else was new? Darlene found the story so boring, she couldn't take it anymore and switched the radio off.
      That's when she heard it. The noise at the front door.
      She looked at the clock, guessing it was the mailman. That weird geek who couldn't keep his eyes off her when she teased him. Although she found the man way past disgusting, for some reason Darlene couldn't explain, she loved teasing him. She liked the feeling she got when his eyes lingered over her body. Last summer he had walked a package to the back of the house while she was sunbathing by the pool. When he spotted her, he became shy and nervous and tried not to look at her as if he were a little boy again. He was fighting it but stealing peeks through his eyelids and losing the war. That's when she realized her power. Ever since, she noticed he no longer pre-sorted her family's mail. Instead, he'd walk from his Jeep to the front steps, casually peeking through the lace curtains on the door as he went through the letters and magazines in his bag and carefully placed them in the letterbox.
      Darlene remembered what she was wearing and smiled as she gazed at her body through the sheer nightgown. Her smile widened as an idea formed. Why go through the effort of stuffing the mail in the letterbox when he could simply hand it to her? Outrageous, maybe. Thrilling, yes. Besides, catalogs were still coming and there were all those Christmas cards. She'd be doing the big slob a favor.
      She placed the glass in the sink and walked out of the kitchen, following the foyer around the corner until she could see the front door. It was made of heavy oak, the curtains her grandmother had sewn, loosely drawn over the glass. Looking through the opaque cloth, Darlene could almost make out his figure. He seemed to be sorting through his bag, taking his time, not facing the mailbox but the door.
      She smiled and moved closer, her bare feet feeling the chill of the hardwood floors until she reached the oriental carpet directly in front of the door. As she wrapped her fingers around the handle, she caught a glimpse of herself in the foyer mirror. She felt her heart pounding and tried to get rid of that naughty smile. She looked perfect, she decided, ready to give this guy a thrill he could take back to the post office and mail. Then she flipped the lock over and swung open the door ...

      Teddy Mack finished the first half of his chicken salad sandwich and took a sip of tea. The hot brew warmed his stomach, but wasn't doing much for his feet. He was sitting at the counter of a lunch stand set up like a diner - just one booth among fifty or so in the heart of Redding Terminal Market. At one time, the place had been a train station. Now it was a farmer's market in the heart of Center City with fresh fruits and vegetables, butchers and bakers, and various lunch counters where you could taste the delicacies from almost any country in the world for not more than five bucks or so. Teddy loved the smell of the place, the ambient sounds of the people crowded into the long, narrow aisles moving from one booth to the next.
      Today he'd picked the diner for a far more practical reason. Two months ago an ATM machine had been installed on the wall at the end of the counter. Teddy only had twenty minutes before he had to get back to City Hall. It wasn't more than a two-block walk, but the day had turned cold and dark, and the weather forecasters were calling for more snow.
      Teddy knew that his future at the law firm of Barnett & Stokes could very well be determined by what happened after lunch at City Hall. In twenty minutes he would be meeting with Judge Roland Brey, along with the attorneys representing Capital Insurance Life. It was a small case, but it was also Teddy's first case handled entirely on his own. Teddy had graduated from Penn Law and passed the bar just three months ago. But what made the case important was that it had been handed to him by Jim Barnett himself, as a favor to one of the firm's biggest corporate clients. Teddy knew he had been given the assignment because expectations for success were low. For Teddy to win, Judge Brey would be required to break new ground. It didn't take experience to understand that judges rarely liked to break new ground. Teddy also knew that no one else in the firm wanted to get involved because it amounted to a personal injury case. Barnett & Stokes represented thirty-five of the fifty richest corporations in the tri-state area. PI cases were held at arm's length. At best, they were quietly farmed out to one of three firms in the city who didn't advertise their services on the side of a bus.
      But this one was different. A favor for the president of the Pennwell Oil Company, who walked into Jim Barnett's office and asked him to see what he could do.
      Fifteen years ago the man's son had been driving west on I-70 en route to college when he was rear-ended by a tractor-trailer carrying parsley and basil for Golden Valley Spices & Co. The accident had been horrific, the kid's survival nothing short of miraculous. He'd been driving a Volkswagon bus and had stopped for road construction. The truck had plowed into the VW at full speed with the weight of the world behind it. The accident occurred in Washington, Pennsylvania, a small town about thirty miles south of Pittsburgh. When the ambulance arrived, the kid was taken to Washington Hospital, which was also under construction at the time and filled to capacity. After two hours, a doctor finally examined the young man and a series of x-rays were taken. When it was determined that no bones were broken, the kid was released without supervision or a place to go.
      The next few days in the kid's life were fairly complicated with most of the time spent in a local motel room. Unable to move due to a sprained neck and back, he was nursed by the motel staff until a college friend could make the five-hundred mile drive to Washington. What was left of the kid's possessions were then packed into the friend's car, and together, they set off for school. The kid had been in strong physical condition when the accident occurred, running five miles a day and an active swimmer, which was probably what saved his life. After two months, his neck and back were healed and he was more interested in his studies than initiating a law suit that would require him to return home. His father agreed, thankful that his son had survived and made what he thought was a full recovery. Settlement was reached with Capital Insurance Life for material damages, though the father remembered being surprised at the time by the insurance representative's tough attitude when it came down to negotiating the value of his son's damaged possessions. The insurance company was getting off easy on this one and everyone involved knew it. Their bullshit attitude didn't make sense.
      Ten years passed, the accident forgotten. Then one day the son had to travel for business and got on a plane with a cold. When the plane landed, his right ear began ringing and wouldn't stop. After the trip, he went to see a doctor. Tests were conducted and it was determined that he'd lost thirty percent of his hearing in his right ear due to the concussion he'd received a decade ago. The spectrum of sound lost was very specific and could not have occurred from a sudden loud noise or even music. Five more years passed, and the young man's condition worsened. Now thirty-five-years-old, he was having difficulty maintaining his balance. Life had changed for the young man, and he was at his wit's end. At the time of the accident he'd done what he thought was the right thing. But now he realized that he'd been burned.
      The boy's father had come to Jim Barnett with the problem knowing fifteen years had passed and there wasn't much a lawyer could do now. Barnett explained the difficulties frankly, then asked Teddy to have a look in order to appease their client. The family had kept all their records from the accident, and Teddy examined them carefully. Three weeks later, and to everyone's surprise, Teddy came through. That was a month ago, and Judge Brey had already agreed that the hospital released the boy prematurely. The proper care for a serious concussion required more than a simple x-ray for skeletal fractures. They should have checked out his hearing. Given the weight of the accident, they should have checked everything, whether it was convenient for them at the time or not. Teddy couldn't help but notice that Judge Roland Brey wore a small hearing aid in his right ear.
      But what Teddy really wanted was the insurance company. Capital Insurance Life, and their two well-fed legal representatives who wore thousand-dollar suits and drove matching Mercedes. After studying letters sent to the family by the claims representative at the time of the accident, it was clear to Teddy that Capital Insurance Life was working the Statute of Limitations like a cat standing over a wounded bird. Even worse, several letters seemed to indicate the insurance company was limiting their responsibility in the matter. If you studied the letters carefully, got past what they said to what they intended to say and really meant, it seemed to Teddy that it amounted to fraud and that he may have found a way around the Statute of Limitations. Judge Brey would be making his decision after lunch. If he interpreted the evidence as Teddy had and ruled there was enough documentation to prove fraud, then the case would either go to trial or the insurance company would try to reach another quick settlement. Barnett was delighted, if not shocked, as was their client. Better yet, the lead attorney for Capital Insurance Life had called Teddy last night, trying to get a feel for what a second settlement might cost. Teddy's response had been simple. The insurance company had taken advantage of his client and now it was time to pay up. Teddy wanted everything. Not just a couple of Mercedes, but their suits, their homes, a truck load of cash and fifteen years worth of interest.
      His cell phone rang. As Teddy dug his hand into his pocket and pulled the phone out, he noticed the man staring at him in the next seat and stepped away from the counter to take the call. It was Brooke Jones, an attorney from his office. Jones had joined the firm one year ahead of Teddy and done everything she could to make his first three months difficult.
      "Barnett wants you to come back to the office," she said. "Where are you?"
      He checked his watch. His meeting with Judge Brey was in fifteen minutes. Jones's voice seemed particularly strained.
      "I'm on my way to City Hall," he said. "What is it? What's wrong?"
      Jones hesitated a moment, then cleared her throat. "I'll be taking your place in court with Judge Brey," she said. "Barnett wants to see you right away. He didn't get into details. He doesn't have to because he owns the firm. All he did is ask me to fill in for you and make this call. That's what I'm doing."
      She hung up. Teddy couldn't believe it but she did.
      He closed the phone, returning to his place at the counter and wondering what had happened. He waved at the waitress for his check. While she wrote it up, he worked on his sandwich, finishing it in three quick bites. Someone had turned on the TV mounted on the wall, probably a result of his cell phone conversation. Teddy didn't blame them. He hated people who used cell phones in public places, too.
      He glanced at the TV. The local stations had interrupted their program schedule with a special report, confirming the rumors Teddy had been hearing all morning long. William S. Nash and his legal workshop at Penn Law had substantiated that someone District Attorney Alan Andrews prosecuted for murder and later died by lethal injection was actually innocent. Nash had the DNA results, the evidence of Andrews's blunder as indisputable as science. But just in case anyone still had doubts, Nash also presented DNA results and a confession from the man who really did commit the murder, a career criminal facing rape charges and a second murder rap now awaiting trial in a city jail. In spite of this, the district attorney's first response was to attack Nash and the students participating in the workshop. DA Andrews wasn't known for his mistakes, but for his high percentage of prosecutions. Teddy knew Andrews had career plans and watched the man sweating it out before the cameras. Alan Andrews was in line to become the city's next mayor. The election wouldn't be held for another year, but everyone knew Andrews was the frontrunner. Even if he'd just skidded on the ice and slammed headfirst into a brick wall.
      The waitress walked over with the check and handed it to him with a smile. Teddy left a tip nicer than he could afford, grabbed his briefcase and stepped over to the cash register. Andrews could scream at the cameras all he wanted, but it would never work. William S. Nash had a national reputation for being one of the finest attorneys to ever step into a courtroom. He'd retired a half decade ago and begun teaching at Penn Law. The law school couldn't believe their good fortune, and Teddy knew that they would do everything they could to back him up.
      Teddy glanced at the clock on the wall, buttoning his overcoat and bolting out of the diner. As he approached the doors to the market, a blast of ice-cold air hit him in the face and he stepped outside. Bracing himself in the wind, he started up Filbert Street at a pace just short of a run. The district attorney's problems seemed less important than his own right now and he was angry. Barnett had given him a throw-away case, yet Teddy had come through. The judge was about to make his decision. This was the moment. Teddy's first decision in his first solo case. What could Barnett be thinking?
      It occurred to Teddy that Barnett didn't really want to see him at all. Brooke Jones had made the whole thing up out of spite. By the time he reached the office, found out it was a joke and made it back to court, he would be ten minutes late. He knew Jones was capable of this sort of thing. That for some reason he didn't understand, she resented him. But as he passed the Criminal Justice Center, he caught a glimpse of Jones on the sidewalk outside City Hall. She was rushing toward the building entrance with her briefcase and lugging research files in a canvas tote bag that Teddy recognized as his own. Teddy had the motion papers in his briefcase. But the judge had already made his decision, so there was no real reason to bring any files at all. Unless you were Brooke Jones.
      He crossed the street, zigzagging his way past City Hall to Market Street and picking up his pace again. Barnett & Stokes occupied the 16th and 17th floors at 1 Liberty Place, the tallest building in the city. Construction for 1 Liberty Place had been controversial because of the building's height and what it might do to Philadelphia's historic skyline. But when the developer had completed the job, no one said a word. 1 Liberty Place was a work of modern art that seemed to draw out the historic buildings so you could see them again. The skyline never looked better.
      Teddy rushed through the building lobby, nodding at the guards and ignoring the Christmas carols over the PA system as he found his way to the elevators and made the quick ride up to the 17th floor. Racing past the receptionist, he pushed open the glass doors and legged it down the long hall to Barnett's corner office at the very end. Barnett's legal assistant, Jackie, was on the phone and looked worried. As Teddy approached her desk, she lowered her eyes and waved him through.
      "Where the hell have you been?" Barnett said as he entered.
      Barnett was standing before his desk, loading his briefcase with files, various prescriptions from his doctor, even a backup battery for his cell phone. He appeared upset, more worried than his assistant, maybe even sick.
      "I was due in court," Teddy said. "What's happened?"
      "Where's my fucking address book?"
      Teddy moved closer and looked at the man's desk. He noticed a copy of the newspaper opened to the society page. Barnett and his wife, Sally, had hosted a charity scavenger hunt benefitting Children's Hospital last weekend, and the story, along with their photographs, had made the paper. Beneath the newspaper, Teddy could see a copy of Philadelphia Magazine's Power 100 issue. Barnett had risen from thirteenth to eleventh this year and no doubt would eventually make the top ten. He was in his mid-fifties and still grinding. The man had plenty of time to reach his goal.
      "I'm supposed to be in court," Teddy said. "Brooke called. Now tell me why."
      "It couldn't be helped. I should've called you myself, Teddy. I'll make it up to you, I swear." Before Teddy could respond, Barnett gave him a nervous look and added, "I need a big favor."
      Barnett found his address book underneath the magazine and threw it into his briefcase. As he yanked open a desk drawer and fished out a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol, Teddy noticed that Barnett's hands were trembling.
      "Someone's been murdered," he said. "I need your help."
      Teddy lowered his briefcase to the floor and leaned against the arm of the couch. It was a big office, luxuriously furnished, with a million-dollar view. For some reason, it appeared unusually small and insignificant just now.
      "A girl," Barnett went on. "Darlene Lewis. She was only eighteen-years-old. Shit, Teddy, she was still in high school. I'm in a jam, and I need your help."
      "Do they know who did it?" Teddy asked.
      "Her mailman. A guy named Oscar Holmes. They've got the murder weapon. It sounds like they caught him in the act."
      Barnett shuddered. Teddy had never seen him act this way before and looked him over carefully. At six-feet-one Barnett was the same height as Teddy but bulkier by about fifty pounds. In spite of the extra weight, Barnett appeared in good shape and carried himself well. The man's grooming was meticulous, his clothing handmade by a tailor Barnett visited once a year in Milan. His hair was a wiry mix of brown and gray, his eyes sky-blue and sparkling, even in the grim light of a conference room. But what struck Teddy most about the man was his face, usually overflowing with confidence and a measure of charm he could turn on and off at will. Jim Barnett was a master at litigation, his skills as a negotiator well known. Until now, Teddy thought. It looked as if the man had lost his self-control.
      "What's the favor?" Teddy asked.
      Barnett forced the bottle of Tylenol open and gave him a look. "We're representing Holmes," he said.
      A moment passed. Then Barnett shook two caplets out and swallowed them with whatever was in his coffee mug.
      "We don't do criminal law," Teddy said, trying to suppress his concern. "No one here has experience."
      "We'll get help if we need it."
      "Who is this guy? Why are we getting involved?"
      "I'll explain later," Barnett said. "The girl lived in Chestnut Hill. She came from a good family. A nice, old money family. The cops are still at the house, processing the crime scene under what they're calling unusual circumstances. I couldn't send Brooke because I don't know what that means. That's where you come in. I want you to go there and find out what they're up to. I need to know what it means."
      Teddy wanted to say no, but didn't. He had a revulsion for criminal law and had done everything he could to avoid it in school. His interest in law centered entirely on real estate. He wanted to work with architects and developers and build a career on something he could feel and touch with his hands. When he'd received a job offer from Barnett & Stokes, he jumped on it. The firm's real estate department was the rival of every other firm in the city, accounting for almost a quarter of their business.
      "Where are you going?" he asked Barnett.
      "The Roundhouse. Holmes is already there. The cops are probably trying to beat him into making a statement right now. I've gotta get there before he does."
      Teddy thought it over. The Roundhouse was a nickname for Police Headquarters at 8th and Race Streets. It seemed strange hearing Barnett use the nickname with such ease.
      "I don't understand why you're doing this," Teddy said. "If it's another favor for someone, why not put them in touch with a criminal attorney who handles this sort of thing every day? This isn't a personal injury case for the president of an oil company. This isn't about money."
      "Listen to me, Teddy. I know what you're thinking. I don't like it either, for Christ's sake. But I can't be in two places at once. You're driving out to the crime scene, and I'm heading over to the Roundhouse. If they won't let you in, and they probably won't, then do the best you can from the street. Once you get a bead on things, I want you to get back here and handle the preliminary arraignment. I've gotta get home at a decent hour. Sally's got something going on I can't get out of. We'll talk tonight - keep your cell phone on - then trade notes in the morning and figure out what the hell we're gonna do. You've been like a son to me, Teddy. I need your help now."
      The door swung open and Jill Sykes walked in with a notepad. Jill had been a student at Penn Law one year behind Teddy and managed to get a job at the firm as a law clerk without knowing anyone while she prepared for her bar exams. She had a witty sense of humor and the ability to cut to the bottom line in an instant. Although Teddy had seen her on campus last year, even found her attractive, they hadn't met until she was hired by the firm. Over the past three months, they had become good friends.
      "Thanks," Barnett said to her. "Did you get the address?"
      She nodded, tearing a sheet of paper from her pad and handing it to Teddy with a look. It was Darlene Lewis's address in Chestnut Hill. The murder scene. Barnett slipped the bottle of Tylenol into his jacket pocket and turned to Teddy.
      "Now get going," Barnett said. "And be careful. My guess is the district attorney will be there. The way I see it, we're gonna cop a plea and then play let's make a deal. I want to avoid headlines at all costs. Be polite, and don't believe what you're hearing around town. Alan Andrews is Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and Osama bin Laden rolled into one pint-sized motherfucking asshole. He's on the political fast-track. We need to keep things friendly, you understand?"
      Barnett's charm was back. Teddy nodded, grabbing his briefcase and heading out the door.

      The elevator dropped from the 17th floor, and Teddy felt his stomach break loose from his body and slam against the back of his throat. When the doors finally opened, he stepped into the garage letting the dread follow him to his car. He found his beat-up Corolla parked between a restored Jaguar and a BMW 740i, complete with sport package. His Corolla had a hundred and twenty-five thousand miles under its rusting body. Something about the site of his old friend in these surroundings brought a smile to his face and the tension eased.
      He backed the Corolla out of the space and pulled up the exit ramp into the light, noting the time and quickly considering his route. There was no easy way in or out of Chestnut Hill, but he was ahead of rush hour traffic by almost an hour. Avoiding the expressway just in case, he turned up the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, hit the circle before the art museum and shot down Kelly Drive.
      The road followed the winding path of the Schuylkill River, and it looked as if a thick fog was settling in. He checked the trees and noticed the wind had died off. As he passed Boathouse Row, he saw the buildings buried in the fallen clouds and couldn't help but think of brighter days in the warm sunlight. Teddy loved sculling, and had been a varsity rower as an undergraduate at Penn. Now he was on his way to a crime scene. A young girl had been killed and he was representing the man who murdered her. He could feel his heart bouncing in his chest and knew he needed to get a grip on things. Take a step back, keep the details at bey and let the rest of the day just blow.
      He eased the car onto Lincoln Drive and started through the woods, following the narrow S curves two miles up the hill. Turning right, he raced down West Allens Lane and made a left at the light onto Germantown Avenue. The road was cobblestoned, the Corolla vibrating over the choppy surface as he pushed past the trolley station and entered the quaint old town twenty miles an hour over the speed limit. Many of the buildings lining the street were over two hundred years old. Antique shops and art galleries whizzed by, along with restaurants and fashionable boutiques that could afford the high rent. He could see people on the sidewalks carrying packages to their cars. Most likely they were gifts for the holidays - the kind you couldn't buy from a chain store at the mall.
      Teddy glanced at the address Jill had written down. 931 Scottsboro Road. He made another left, leaving the shopping district behind and entering a neighborhood of homes that seemed to grow in stature with each passing block. When he hit a stop sign, he looked down the street to his right and caught the flashing lights atop a long row of police cars. This was it, he thought, making the turn onto Scottsboro Road and finding a place to park behind a news van five houses down.
      A small crowd had formed in front of the death house. As Teddy walked up the wooded street, he could see people being held back by crime scene tape that looked as if it extended deep into the property. Cops in uniforms stood behind the tape, one with a clipboard who checked off names as various people were let through. Another cop, this one dressed in a suit, stood off to the side and spoke with the press. Teddy's eyes moved to the fence in the neighbor's yard. When his view cleared, he got his first look at the Lewis house. It was a three-story Tudor, probably built in the 1890's, set on a well-planted, two-acre lot. On any other day, he would have called it majestic. But not today. Not with the medical examiner's van parked on the snow-covered lawn and backed up to the front door with its rear gate open.
      Teddy grimaced, but kept walking until he reached the cop with the clipboard. He gave the man his name and told him who he worked for. What seemed like a long, icy stare followed before the cop grabbed the radio mike clipped to his parka and spoke with someone inside. Ignoring the black vibes, Teddy turned back to the death house. If the medical examiner was still here, then so was the body. That meant there was a chance Teddy would have to look at it. His eyes fell away from the van. He noticed an attractive woman with blond hair standing in the doorway with a two-way radio in her hand. She was staring at him. After a moment, she nodded at the cop with the clipboard. The cop nodded back and shrugged, taking Teddy's full name down and letting him pass without another word.
      Teddy walked up the driveway, then cut along the slate path that had been cleared of snow from the last storm. Curiously, every window on the first floor of the house was open and he couldn't help but wonder why. As he started up the steps, District Attorney Alan Andrews met him at the door.
      "Where's the package, kid?"
      Teddy stopped under the weight of the man's eyes. He realized that Andrews had looked him over, mistaking him for a messenger or law clerk.
      "You're from Barnett's office, right?"
      Teddy nodded, watching the district attorney size him up. Then the woman with blond hair reappeared, moving in behind Andrews. Teddy was nervous and knew it was showing. After a moment, their gazes eased up and Andrews came close to fighting off a smile. It didn't take much to guess what the district attorney was thinking. Teddy wasn't a messenger. He was a kid just out of law school with no experience. When the case got to court, Andrews would eat him for lunch.
      Andrews's half-smile evaporated, and as he shook Teddy's hand, he introduced the woman as Assistant District Attorney Carolyn Powell. Teddy shook ADA Powell's hand as well, but Andrews broke in before he could say anything to her.
      "So here's the deal, Teddy Mack. Your client's the friendly neighborhood mailman. Six hours ago a neighbor saw him running away from the house with blood on his clothes. She got a good look at him. Blood was all over his fucking face and hair like he was swimming in it. She's the one who found the body and called nine-one-one. She knew her mailman by name. Oscar Holmes. Detectives looked for him at work, but he was absent without leave. Holmes rents a small apartment at 23rd and Pine. They spotted his mail truck out front and caught up with him there. When Holmes answered the door he was all revved up. The detectives noted the blood on his face and made the arrest. Once the warrants arrived, the guys went in and found his clothes hidden in the trash."
      Teddy cleared his throat. "What about the murder weapon?"
      Andrews paused a moment, then met his eyes. "It was a knife. A big one with enough blood on it to make the lab's ten best list. We found it buried in his mailbag with this year's Christmas cards."
      Andrews glanced at the street, his jaw muscles flexing like a predatory animal savoring its kill. He was shorter than Teddy by half a foot, but lean and tight and built like a sledgehammer. The man had a definite edge going and was obviously pissed off. He had a right to be, Teddy thought.
      "So here are the rules," Andrews said. "The house has been cleared. Every room but the dining room. You want to look around, be my guest, but nothing's gonna be happening for another hour or two. If you have any questions, ask ADA Powell. Where's Barnett?"
      "At the Roundhouse," Teddy said.
      "Is he gonna farm the case out?"
      "I'm not sure."
      "How come you're not sure, Teddy Mack?"
      Teddy didn't say anything but held the man's eyes. After a long moment, District Attorney Alan Andrews turned his back on him and disappeared into the house. When ADA Powell started for the door, Teddy took a deep breath of fresh air and followed her inside ...