“Smooth,” Casey said as the president’s secretary showed them into his office.

“I can’t help it,” he said, looking almost sheepish. “People love me.”

The hospital president, Dr. Prescott, entered wearing a dark suit. They all shook hands and he told Jake how his wife watched American Sunday religiously and that it was an honor to meet him.

“Didn’t you do that piece on the rock-and-roll nun?” the doctor asked. “Hell of a story. Did you ever get a comment from the Pope? Because you ended the piece by saying that the Vatican had not responded to your e-mails.”

“The Pope doesn’t e-mail a lot,” Jake said. “He’s pretty old-fashioned from what I hear.”

Casey looked at Jake, who only shrugged and suppressed a smile.

“So, how can I help?” Prescott asked, sitting at the head of the table and clasping his hands.

“We’re looking for swab samples taken from a rape victim in 1989,” Casey said. “Would you have something from that far back?”

“That’s an interesting question,” Prescott said, looking at her curiously. “I don’t know if I can even answer that for you. For liability reasons.”

“Twenty years ago a college coed named Cassandra Thornton was raped and brutally murdered,” Jake said. “They brought her here, but she died within hours and never regained consciousness. The hospital would have tested her for STDs and maybe AIDS, isn’t that right?”

“I can’t speak about a specific individual, but if you gave me a hypothetical, I might be able to help you,” Prescott said, offering Jake a knowing look.

“Of course,” Jake said, then restated the question as a hypothetical.

“That would be standard procedure, yes,” Prescott said with a nod.

“Perfect,” Casey said, beaming at Jake, unable to contain her excitement.

Prescott moved his hands from the table into his lap and said, “For anything more in-depth than that, I’d have to have a court order.”

“Our client has a statutory right to the evidence,” Casey said.

“I understand,” Prescott said, “but this isn’t evidence. If it were evidence, the police would have it. Unfortunately, in my position, I always have to consider the hospital’s liability.”

“What liability?” Casey asked.

Prescott shrugged. “The family? Privacy issues? I’d like to help, but I’ll have to talk to our lawyer and get his thoughts.”

“Maybe you could give him a call?” Jake said, nudging Casey with his foot under the table. “We’d really appreciate it. We don’t want to put you in a bad spot, but obviously, it’s pretty important.”

Prescott grinned at Jake then swiveled around, removing a phone from the side table and setting it in front of him. “Let me try.”

Jake winked at her and Casey sat as patient as she could while she listened to the hospital president talking to his lawyer, explaining the situation, and then going through many of the facts again. Casey took a deep breath and let it out through her teeth.

Finally, Prescott hung up, looked sadly at Jake, and shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. Carlson. As I thought, we’d need a court order or a signed release from the victim’s family to give you any kind of information. We can’t do anything without either of those and avoid the liability.”

Casey clamped her teeth shut and stood so she wouldn’t blurt out anything offensive.

“Sure thing,” Jake said, rising as well and shaking the president’s hand. “Could you do me a favor, though? If Ms. Jordan was to go to the trouble to get this order, could you just tell us if you thought we’d be wasting our time?”

The doctor puffed out his lips and slipped on a pair of reading glasses as he turned to his computer screen. He pecked away at the keyboard for several minutes, frowning at the screen.

Finally, he looked up at Jake with the hint of smile and said, “I don’t think you’d be disappointed.”

WHEN THEY GOT outside, Casey searched the street and marched over to the pewter Lexus, knocking on Ralph’s window. It hummed down and Ralph looked up at her with a blank expression.

“I got something for you,” Casey said.

Ralph nodded, but said nothing.

“Cassandra Thornton,” Casey said, “the woman Dwayne Hubbard went to jail for? See if you can find her relatives and ask them if they’ll sign a release that gives us access to her hospital records the night she was killed.”

Ralph squinted at Jake, then nodded and said, “We can do that.”

“Great,” Casey said. She turned and crossed the street with Jake, taking out her phone and dialing Marty Barrone. He was in his office, which was less than three blocks away. They left Jake’s car on the street and walked to the office, taking an elevator up to the third floor. The offices of Barrone & Barrone were nice enough for a high-end firm in Manhattan. Blond wood and contemporary leather chairs had just the right blend of sophistication and success, with some subtle modern art to suggest a progressiveness she didn’t expect to find in Auburn, New York. Marty’s office, however, was a small space with a narrow window. Casey and Jake barely had room for their knees as they sat in chairs facing his desk with their backs to a bookcase.

He had one of those posters on the wall about success, with an eagle soaring in the clouds. The poster was a bit sun-faded and showed it had been tacked to a wall before being framed.

“My fiancée is going to flip,” Marty said, sitting down across from them, wagging his head, and talking fast. “I wish I had a dollar for every time Linda told me about one of your stories and how great you are. I usually golf with my dad and uncle on Sundays, but she TiVo’s them and makes me watch. Not that I don’t want to watch, but hitting it around on Sundays kind of goes along with the program around here. Jeez, man. Did that nun really rock out like that? She was amazing when she played ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ ”

Casey sighed. “Okay, Marty, we need to get Judge Kollar to give us an order. We need to compel the Auburn Hospital to give up swab samples they may have taken from Cassandra Thornton that would have her attacker’s DNA.”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” Marty said, the blotches on his face blooming across his pale cheeks. “You think they even have that?”

“I know they do,” Casey said. “We just have to get it. Can you get us in to see the judge?”

“I can try,” Marty said, stroking the dark fuzz on his upper lip. “The Rotary is having a fund-raiser for him today, a lunch. Even if we can’t get into his chambers, we could grab him there.”

“I don’t care where,” Casey said. “I just need to see him and I need to have him in our corner.”

“I got both of those covered,” Marty said. “It would be good if you bought a ticket, though. They’re only fifty dollars, but things like that go a long way with the judge.”

Casey bit her tongue and said, “We can do the lunch. Tickets are no problem, but try to get us into his chambers if you can. I want this done right.”

“How’d you like my brief?” Marty asked, thin and eager in his white shirtsleeves, his black suit coat having been hung over the back of his chair.

Casey hesitated, then said, “It needs a little work, but I got the general idea. Besides, if we get this order, I’m not going to even bother to spank the chief. We can work right around him.”

“I’m glad,” Marty said. “My uncle said I’d have to withdraw if it came to that.”

“Your uncle?” Casey said.

“He heard about the brief I was working on,” Marty said.

Casey glanced at Jake, then said, “Marty, I can’t have you talking to anyone about what I’m doing.”

Marty’s blotches turned a deeper red. “My uncle’s the head of the firm. Everything we do is in confidence. That’s basic ethics, right?”

“We’re talking about a man’s life here,” Casey said. “I’ve worked in a firm, too. When people know, things slip, I’m not saying intentionally, but we can’t have the other side knowing our next move.”