"Anything new on the forensics?"

"That glove we were talking about-they've been retesting the pre-limary because of the two different profiles I told you about, from skin cells inside and out." The scientific technology had advanced to the point that with ordinary handling, cells would slough off and leave a genetic profile on almost any item of clothing that came in contact with skin. "The one on the outer palm doesn't match the one on the interior. Thaler gave this assignment to Dr. Bauman to work on, so he's got us swabbing all the first responders-cops and detectives."

"That'll add a few days," I said.

"Yeah, we've got to start by eliminating the first cop who picked up all the items. And every third-grader and boss who came along after that probably handled them. The DNA could come from the killer, of course, but it could also have been left there by anyone who held on to the gloves recently."

I was trying to resign myself to the long timeline dictated by the laboratory work that needed to be done.

"Ten years ago, the first time you used DNA, how long till you got a result?" Mike asked.

"Two months, maybe three."

"Yeah? Well, my first homicide had a six-month turnaround before we had even a preliminary profile, and you still had to fight the court to introduce it into evidence as a valid scientific result. Remember those days? Now we're impatient if we can't get a hit in forty-eight hours. We'll get it done, Coop. Mercer around?"

"Sitting in the courtroom, waiting for the fireworks to start. We're up here on that case of his from the weekend, in Riverside Park. I'll explain later."

"Maybe we can meet up for dinner. Tell Mercer to bring the pooch that bit that asshole-I'd like to buy him a cocktail."

Ron Abramson turned the corner from the elevator bank and held open the door for me. "You want to settle this the easy way, before we go in?"

"Sure. You give us Mr. Carido and we'll talk deals."

"Not happening. I was hoping you'd see the error of your ways. I guess you've got no weekend plans, Alex. The Women's House of Detention can be a rough place to visit," he said, smiling at me as we continued on to talk to the court clerk.

"Three hots and a cot, Ron. I've got very simple needs."

He wagged a finger at me. "No minibar. You'll be sorry."

Colleen McFarland frowned when she saw us walk into the courtroom together. She looked at the remaining case names on her calendar and all seemed to be accounted for. "New business, Ms. Cooper, Mr. Abramson?"

Ron pushed through into the well and let the swinging wooden gate slam back against my lower body. "Yes, your honor. I've got an application to make. It's a matter of first impression and I'd like a ruling before Ms. Cooper rushes ahead and winds up with some bad law."

"Okay, let's add it to the calendar, shall we?" McFarland said, rising from the large armchair on the bench and directing the court reporter to take down the proceedings. "Have you got a docket number?"

"No. There's no case yet, your honor, and that's the way I'd like to keep it. It's in regard to a Legal Aid Society client named Ramon Carido."

"Who's going to start here? One of you want to give me some facts?"

Ron pointed to me and allowed me to describe the details of the attack, the subsequent investigation, and the serologist's cold hit.

"What's your problem with Ms. Cooper's plan?" McFarland was smart and thoughtful, an attractive woman with wavy red hair and ice blue eyes that looked like they could cut through steel as easily as legal bullshit. Ron wouldn't have chosen to bring this issue before her without confidence in his position because she wouldn't hesitate to use her acumen to put him in line. And despite my friendship with her, she would be just as likely to rule against me and make no apologies for the decision the next time we went to Forlini's for lunch.

"There are two different databases involved, judge. May I distinguish for you?"

"I think I'm familiar with them, Mr. Abramson, but I'll let you make your record."

"The New York City Generalized DNA Index System is a forensic DNA database authorized under Article 49B of the New York State Executive Law. The legislature strictly limited the circumstances under which the State is entitled to collect, to preserve, and to disclose an individual's DNA records. It limits the genetic profiles to be maintained in the database only to people who have been convicted of specifically designated felony crimes."

"That's the convicted offender database, then?"

"Yes, judge. But that's not where Ms. Cooper alleges the match to my client was made. He's not a convicted offender. His profile isn't in that pool."

"Tell me about that."

"The medical examiner's office maintains another DNA system."

McFarland was taking notes. "What's that one called?"

"It's the linkage database, your honor. It's what you might refer to as a 'usual suspect' or 'suspect elimination' base. It's got everything from arrestees who've never been convicted of anything to bystanders at a crime scene who get caught up in a sweep."

"By that you mean that biological samples are submitted to this second bank during investigations-by some lawful authorization, either by court order or voluntarily or-"

"Nobody gives DNA voluntarily," Ron said dismissively. "There's always an element of coercion when the police ask a person to give them a sample of their blood or saliva. Nobody wants to give their DNA to the government."

"That's absurd, your honor," I said, standing to address McFarland. "It happens every day without police coercion. Thousands of people all over the country volunteer to submit samples to exclude themselves during investigations of violent crime, to help the police in homicides or assaults involving family and friends, strangers who-"

She motioned me to sit down. "You'll have an opportunity to respond, Ms. Cooper."

"Thank you, judge. I envy you, on behalf of all my colleagues at Legal Aid. At least one of us has the power to quiet my adversary with the wave of a hand. May I go on?"

"Certainly, Mr. Abramson."

"There is absolutely no legal authority for the existence of these records in the linkage database. Ms. Cooper's efforts to use Mr. Carido's profile-which should have been expunged from that computer system months ago-violates his Fourth Amendment freedom from unreasonable search and seizure and his Fourteenth Amendment right of bodily autonomy and informational privacy."

And clearly violates what Mike liked to call Ron Abramson's Twenty-sixth Amendment right to be a pompous ass.

"I take it that Mr. Carido was a suspect in some investigation or other several months back, is that right?"

"Yes, judge. But never charged."

"With murder," I said from my seat. "He's still a suspect in an unsolved murder. We're not talking about a minor crime with a statute of limitations. We're talking about a rape-homicide that's still an open case."

McFarland gave me her sternest look. "You'll get your chance, Alex. Mr. Abramson, were you Mr. Carido's lawyer in that matter?"

"No, ma'am. One of the young women I supervised was the attorney of record."

"And did she make a motion to expunge Carido's profile from the database?"

I shook my head in the negative while Abramson searched his file.

"Did she?"

"I'm looking, your honor. I can't find any record of that. But beyond that point, the legislature only authorizes disclosure of the DNA match in the particular criminal proceeding for which the biological sample was obtained. The prosecution wants to turn that legal provision on its head and open the floodgates, keep all the exclusionary samples and just test them whenever it strikes their fancy."

Abramson was circling his arms in the air for emphasis now, looking more like someone doing the backstroke than an attorney making a argument in a court of law.