Everyone looked at Billy Wayne Rollo; he was looking only at Jane.

“You will remain silent, Mr. Rollo,” the judge ordered.

“But she’s a liar.”

“Counsel, either control your client or he will be ejected from this courtroom.”

“Shhh, Billy,” the defense attorney murmured. “This is not helping.”

“All right,” the judge said. “Mr. Spurlock, you may continue.”

The assistant DA nodded and turned back to Jane. “What happened after you knocked on the door to two-E?”

“There was no answer. But we could still hear the screaming. The banging. We made the joint decision that a life was in danger, and that we needed to enter the apartment with or without consent.”

“And did you enter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They kicked my fucking door down!” said Rollo.

“Silence, Mr. Rollo!” the judge snapped, and the defendant slouched back in his chair, his gaze burning on Jane.

Stare at me all you want, jerk. You think you scare me?

“Detective Rizzoli,” said Spurlock, “what did you see inside that apartment?”

Jane turned her attention back to the assistant DA. “We saw a man and a woman. The woman was lying on her back. Her face was severely bruised, and her lip was bleeding. The man was crouched over her. He had both his hands around her neck.”

“Is that man now sitting in this courtroom?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please point him out.”

She pointed to Billy Wayne Rollo.

“What happened then?”

“Detective Frost and I pulled Mr. Rollo off the woman. She was still conscious. Mr. Rollo resisted us, and in the scuffle, Detective Frost received a heavy blow to the abdomen. Mr. Rollo then fled the apartment. I gave chase and followed him into the stairwell. There I was able to apprehend him.”

“By yourself?”

“Yes, sir.” She paused. Added, without any attempt at humor: “After he fell down the stairs. He appeared to be quite intoxicated.”

“She fucking pushed me!” said Rollo.

The judge slammed down his gavel. “I have heard enough out of you! Bailiff, please remove the defendant.”

“Your honor.” The defense attorney rose. “I will keep him under control.”

“You haven’t done a very good job of it so far, Ms. Quinlan.”

“He’ll be quiet now.” She looked at her client. “Won’t you?”

Rollo gave a resentful grunt.

Spurlock said: “No further questions, your honor,” and sat down.

The judge looked at the defense attorney. “Ms. Quinlan?”

Victoria Quinlan rose for the cross-examination. Jane had never before dealt with this particular attorney, and she was not sure what to expect. As Quinlan approached the witness stand, Jane thought: You’re young, blond, and gorgeous. What are you doing defending this creep? The woman moved like a fashion model on a catwalk, long legs emphasized by a short skirt and pointy high heels. It made Jane’s feet hurt just to look at those shoes. A woman like Quinlan had probably always been the center of attention, and she was milking it now as she strolled to the witness stand, clearly aware that every man sitting in that jury box was probably staring at her firm little ass.

“Good morning, Detective,” said Quinlan. Sweetly. Too sweetly. Any second now this blonde was going to sprout fangs.

“Good morning, ma’am,” said Jane, utterly neutral.

“You said that you are currently assigned to the homicide unit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And what new cases are you actively investigating right now?”

“At the moment, I have no new cases. But I continue to follow up on-”

“Yet you are a Boston PD detective. And at this moment, are there no murder cases that require vigorous investigation?”

“I’m on maternity leave.”

“Oh. You’re on leave. So you’re not currently with the unit.”

“I’m performing administrative duties.”

“But let’s be clear on this. You’re not an active detective.” Quinlan smiled. “At the moment.”

Jane felt her face flush. “As I said, I’m on maternity leave. Even cops have babies,” she added with a note of sarcasm, and immediately regretted it. Don’t play her game. Keep your cool. That was easier said than done in this oven of a courtroom. What was wrong with the air-conditioning anyway? Why didn’t anyone else seem to be bothered by the heat?

“When is your baby due, Detective?”

Jane paused, wondering where this was going. “My baby was due last week,” she finally said. “It’s late.”

“So back on February third, when you first encountered my client, Mr. Rollo, you were-what? About three months pregnant?”

“Objection,” said Spurlock. “This is irrelevant.”

“Counsel,” the judge said to Quinlan, “what is the point of your question?”

“It has to do with her earlier testimony, your honor. That Detective Rizzoli was somehow able to subdue and arrest my clearly able-bodied client in the stairwell all by herself.”

“And the state of her pregnancy has what, exactly, to do with this?”

“A three-months-pregnant woman would have a difficult time-”

“She’s a police officer, Ms. Quinlan. Arresting people is her job.”

Way to go, Judge! You tell her.

Victoria Quinlan flushed at the setback. “All right, your honor. I withdraw the question.” She turned, again, to Jane. Regarded her for a moment as she considered her next move. “You said that you and your partner, Detective Frost, were both at the scene. That you and he made a joint decision to enter apartment two-B?”

“It wasn’t apartment two-B, ma’am. It was apartment two-E.”

“Oh yes, of course. My mistake.”

Yeah, right. As if you aren’t trying to trip me up.

“You say you knocked at the door and announced that you were police officers,” said Quinlan.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And this interaction had nothing to do with why you were originally in that building.”

“No, ma’am. It was just a coincidence that we happened to be there. But when we determine that a citizen is in danger, it’s our duty to intervene.”

“And that’s why you knocked at apartment two-B.”

“Two-E.”

“And when no one answered, you burst through the door.”

“We felt a woman’s life was in jeopardy, based on the screams we heard.”

“How did you know they were screams of distress? Couldn’t they have been the sounds of, say, passionate lovemaking?”

Jane wanted to laugh at the question, but didn’t. “That was not what we heard.”

“And you know that for a fact? You can tell the difference?”

“A woman with a bloody lip is pretty good evidence.”

“The point is, you didn’t know it at the time. You didn’t give my client a chance to answer the door. You made a rush to judgment and just broke in.”

“We stopped a beating.”

“You’re aware that the so-called victim has refused to press charges against Mr. Rollo? That they are still together as a loving couple?”

Jane’s jaw squared. “That’s her decision.” Dumb though it is. “What I saw that day, in apartment two-E, was clearly abuse. There was blood.”

“Like my blood doesn’t count?” said Rollo. “You pushed me down the stairs, lady! I still got the scar here, on my chin!”

“Silence, Mr. Rollo,” the judge ordered.

“Look! See where I hit the bottom step? I needed stitches!”

“Mr. Rollo!”

“Did you push my client down the stairs, Detective?” asked Quinlan.

“Objection,” said Spurlock.

“No, I did not,” said Jane. “He was plenty drunk enough to fall down the stairs all by himself.”

“She’s lying!” said the defendant.

The gavel banged down. “Quiet, Mr. Rollo!”

But Billy Wayne Rollo was just building up a head of outraged steam. “She and her partner, they dragged me into the stairwell so no one would see what they were doing. You think she could arrest me all by herself? That little pregnant girl? What a crock of shit she’s telling you!”