The doorman buzzed on the intercom to announce the food delivery.

"I'm about to wine and dine you with the best corned beef sandwich in town, and you're talking about farming me out to Joe Berk?"

"You mind if we eat in here so we can watch the game?" Mike asked, switching channels to the Yankees game. "If Jeter or A-Rod asked her to take one for the team, Mercer, she'd have her clothes off before the question was out of their mouths."

"Guess what? You'd do exactly the same thing for both of them, Mikey."

I took the bag of food to the kitchen to plate the sandwiches. We ate in front of the television and then I went into my study to organize my presentation for the morning grand jury while the guys watched till we pulled out a victory in the bottom of the ninth.

The next morning, Wednesday, Mercer had Cara and Jean in my office at eight fifteen to prepare them for the testimony each would give separately to one of New York County's six daily grand juries, the groups of twenty-three citizens who were impaneled for a month to hear evidence and vote a true bill of indictment, if indicated, that would propel a felony charge on its way to trial. When the prep was done and the quorum was assembled in the ninth-floor jury room one flight above me, Mercer and I led our witnesses up to the waiting room.

I filled out the slip for the drug-facilitated-rape charge, and was reminded by the warden that the jurors had not heard any other similar cases this month, which meant I would also have to instruct them on the law. Colleagues with grand larceny auto and commercial burglary cases let me jump the line, knowing my victims might be fragile and more nervous about testifying for the first time than those in less emotionally charged matters.

Jean was my first witness. She presented more straightforwardly than Cara, and I stood behind the third tier of jurors in the amphithe-atrically shaped room, next to the foreman, taking her through the events of the preceding week and pacing her so the stenographer could capture all the words of her narrative.

From my position in back, I could identify four or five skeptical citizens-those who turned their heads to look at me in puzzlement, those who leaned in to whisper to a neighbor in spite of directions not to, and one who just shook his head from side to side and stared off at the empty wall beside him rather than make eye contact with the victim.

It was not until the forensic toxicologist took the stand, reeled off her impressive qualifications, and then gave the results of her testing that most of the panel appeared to sit more upright in their seats.

"Are you familiar with the prescription drug called Xanax?"

"Yes, I am."

"Would you tell the jury, please, what kind of drug it is?"

"Xanax is a benzodiazepine. That's within the class of pharma-ceuticals known as sedative hypnotics."

"What effect does a benzodiazepine have on the body?"

"These drugs work on the neurotransmitters in the brain to inhibit the body's ability to function. It's used to relieve anxiety, to help people sleep. It sedates them," Dr. Babij said, going on to describe the specific scientific function of the drugs.

"What is the effect of taking Xanax with alcohol?"

"It's contraindicated, Ms. Cooper. They are both sedative hypnotics, and because they interact with each other, they will potentiate-shall I say, increase-each other's effects. The desired reaction-sedation of the patient-occurs faster, longer, and with more severe results."

When Dr. Babij reached the discussion of the dosage that had been added to Cara and Jean's drinks, she extrapolated from the trace residue found in their glasses. She went on to describe symptoms she'd expect to find in the patient-everything from the nausea, vomiting, gastrointestinal upset that the jurors had just heard about, to falling asleep, loss of memory, and the possibility that these depressants would cause cessation of breathing.

"Are there tests that can be performed, doctor, after these drugs have been ingested, to help determine the amount of benzodiazepine administered?"

"Yes, if the witness has presented herself to a hospital in a timely fashion. We can check the blood or the urine. The drug is broken down in the body by metabolites. Some of the drugs are so toxic that they're evacuated from the body very rapidly. In this instance, we can get a reading from the metabolites because the women were treated so promptly after they awakened."

Dr. Babij studied her reports before looking up at the jurors to explain the results to them. She recited milligrams and numbers that were meaningless without interpretation. Her punch line would assure me of an indictment within minutes of concluding my case.

"Jean Eaken ingested enough of the benzodiazepine, mixed with an ounce of alcohol," she said, "to sedate a two-ton racehorse for the better part of a week. In my opinion, that young woman is lucky to be alive."

The toxicologist repeated her analysis on the testing of the second victim. As I excused her from the room and stepped down in front of the jurors, I could see a change in demeanor on most of their faces, some "tsking" at the close call and others shaking their heads in disapproval of Sengor's conduct. Their whispers would turn to serious discussion after I read them the appropriate sections of the Penal Law.

Drug-facilitated-rape statutes-new legislation to catch tip to new-and-improved designer drugs-addressed serious crimes with severe penalties. I went over each element of the crime-evidence I had proved beyond the standard required-and left them to take their vote. Seconds later, the foreman buzzed the warden, indicating the conclusion of their very brief deliberation. The warden went in to retrieve the jury slip, then showed me the bold check mark confirming a true bill of indictment against Selim Sengor.

Back at my desk I dialed Eric Ingel's number while Mercer and Maxine made arrangements to fly jean and Cara home to Canada.

"Eric? It's Alexandra Cooper."

"Change of heart?"

"Hardly. You told Moffett on Saturday that I had no reason to hold your client without tox results. Well, I got them last night, presented the case to the grand jury this morning, have my vote, and I'll be ready to file the indictment tomorrow. I'd like you to surrender your client to be arraigned then."

"What's the rush? I handed in his passport to Moffett's clerk on Monday, and we're on for Friday anyway."

I didn't need to tell him that I had been burned by defendants who were foreign nationals before. The odds were too good that Sengor might try to flee in the face of felony charges with mandatory state prison time, and Lucy DeVore was an example of how easy it was to obtain false identification of every type in Manhattan. "Seems to me your man has nothing but time on his hands. He's suspended from his job, so there's really no reason we can't move this along."

"You just want to get the case out of Moffett's part."

"You're not wrong, but he won't be keeping it anyway, Eric. It's getting wheeled out as soon as it's arraigned." The calendar judge would literally put the names of six other judges in an old round wooden box with a handle to spin it, and we'd be sent before the jurist who was randomly pulled out of the wheel for motions and trial. "I can't do any worse."

"And if I can't reach Sengor?" Eric asked.

"The hospital's got him phoning in twice a day. They beep him, he returns the call. If they can find him, I'm certain that you will, too, Eric. That way he can surrender like a gentleman. I'll give you that. Ten o'clock tomorrow. Part Thirty."

"Worst-case scenario?"

"We do it the old-fashioned way. Handcuffs and headlines."

"I'll try to find him. I'll confirm it with your secretary later today."

"Thanks, Eric."