"I don't suppose there was any reason to ask for one since you'd just tell me no," Rachel answered.

"Can't argue with that. How about I just tell you no and you leave?"

"Give it up, Lou. I'm on this story and you're on this case. We can't avoid each other. It won't be that bad. You'll get used to me. You'll probably even get a crush on me, make a stupid pass, and I'll break your heart and make your testicles shrivel like raisins in one fell swoop."

Mason took a good look at her as she posed for him, hands on her hips, her chin punched out at him in a devilish, take-your-best-shot angle. She was luminescent, inviting, and somehow unattainable. Mason felt a surge that had been dormant since he'd broken up with Kelly Holt, the woman who had investigated the murders of his former partners. It was the jolting combination of need, desire, and unexpected opportunity. He'd dated a few women since Kelly, but in each case they'd been using each other to satisfy their needs of the moment, and he hadn't made more than a glandular connection.

"And why would you do that? The testicles part, I mean."

"Can't be helped, Lou. I'm gay. I'm a boots, jeans, flannel-shirt-wearing, short-haired lipstick lesbian. Though I'm a knockout in a simple black dress I keep in my closet for special occasions."

"That would do it," he conceded as his rising sap retreated to its roots. "Thanks for sparing me."

"Not a problem. I like getting that out of the way up front. Fewer complications," she added as she picked up the football and made a place for herself on the sofa. She tossed the ball back and forth between her hands, frowning at its odd feel.

"It's for rugby," Mason explained.

"That's a hard-hitting game. You play?" she asked.

"Not as much as I used to. I'm getting a little old by rugby standards to dive into a bunch of maniacs going after the ball. I'll take you to a game in the spring," he offered without understanding why.

"Great. I'd like that," she said with a smile that filled him with regret. "So Beth Harrell was with Jack Cullan the night he was killed," Rachel said, pointing to Mason's board.

"You heard that too?" Mason asked her.

"Yup. I tried to talk with her, but she keeps her door locked. Any idea why they were out together?"

Mason hesitated. He felt as if he were walking on an active fault line with Rachel that could cleave open and swallow him at any moment. She was beautiful, flirtatious, and completely unavailable. She knew she had him off balance, and was enjoying his disadvantage. He could live with that so long as she didn't take advantage of him in a way that compromised his defense of Blues.

"I think we need some ground rules here," he told her.

"So do I. Here's freedom-of-the-press rule number one. Everything's on the record unless you tell me in advance that it isn't on the record."

Mason shook his head. "Here's defense-lawyer rule number one. Nothing is on the record unless I say so. Rule number two-burn me and I'll cut you off at the knees."

Rachel folded her arms over her chest. "You're just angry about the lesbian thing. Hey, it wasn't my idea. A girl doesn't get to choose. Not that I'm complaining." Mason's only response was to reach for the doors to the board and start to close them. "Okay, okay," she told him. "Nothing is on the record unless you say so."

"Good. I don't know why they were at the bar, but I think she'll tell me."

"Why?"

"First, because I'm not going to print it on the front page of the newspaper in a story accusing her of being a crook. Second, I can put her under oath and make her tell me, and third, we know each other."

"How?"

"I took ethics from her when she taught at the law school. I was a first-year student and it was her first semester teaching. We hit it off pretty well, but I've only run into her a few times since I graduated. Alumni functions and that kind of thing."

Rachel nodded. "Is your client guilty?"

"No."

"How do you know?" she asked him.

Mason said, "He told me so."

"That's not good enough for an acquittal," Rachel said.

"It's good enough for me. All I have to do is figure out who did kill Jack Cullan. The cops are done looking. Any suggestions?" he asked her.

Rachel walked over to the dry-erase board, picked up the red marker, and wrote Cullan's secret files next to Mason's entry Who else?

"I've been chasing after Jack Cullan's shadow for three years," she said. "He was into everything important that happened or didn't happen in this town. Want to get elected? Go see Jack. Want to cut a deal with the city? Need tax increment financing? How about the pay telephone contract at the airport? Go see Jack. He always delivered the goods."

"How did he do it? Where did he get that kind of influence?"

"Cullan invested in the long term. Long-term relationships. Long-term political IOUs. One day, the city wakes up and peeks out from under its covers. Only the view is from Jack Cullan's back pocket. I kept picking up threads of a rumor that I put together even though I couldn't get anyone to corroborate it. Cullan took a page from J. Edgar Hoover's playbook. He supposedly had secret files on enough people in town to keep everyone in their place. He liked pulling strings and made certain the strings were tied on very tightly."

"You said you couldn't corroborate that. How do you know it's true?"

"The same reason you know your client is innocent. I can feel it. I just can't find the files."

Mason said, "Anyone who was in those files may have had a motive to kill Jack Cullan. The rest of them would give anything to make certain the files stayed secret. The easiest way for that to happen is to make certain Blues is found guilty."

"I'll make you a deal," Rachel said. "You find the files first, I get the exclusive. I find the files first, I'll let you see them before I go public."

Mason gave her a broad smile. "Deal," he told her. "Why so generous?"

"Let's just say that I'm a sucker for a good-looking rugby player," Rachel told him. Mason's smile got wider, his hope restored. "In fact, I'm dating one now. She's fabulous. I'll be in touch," she said as she left.

Mason finished studying the police reports without finding any daggers to throw at Harry on cross-examination. Harry had been as thorough as Mason had expected. The crime scene had been hermetically preserved. Photographs were taken from every angle, fingerprints lifted from every surface, and a meticulous search had been made for footprints and fibers that didn't belong. Two separate teams of detectives to check for inconsistencies or forgotten details interviewed every neighbor living in a two-block radius. The maid had passed a polygraph exam. The contents of the house had been inventoried and double-checked against Cullan's homeowner's insurance records. No valuables were missing and there was no sign of forced entry. Cullan had opened the door to someone who had come for one reason- to kill him.

The police and prosecutor had not finished their investigation. Although now their focus had shifted from catching Cullan's killer to proving that Blues was guilty. Mason had no doubt that the blood and tissue under Cullan's fingernails belonged to Blues. If none of the witnesses saw Cullan scratch Blues's hands at the bar, Blues would have to take the stand in his own defense. No matter how certain he was of Blues's innocence, Mason knew that was a high-stakes gamble. Patrick Ortiz would come in his pants at the prospect of taking on Blues.

There was nothing Mason could do about any of the evidence the prosecutor already had against Blues. He wouldn't make the mistake of trying to win the case on the prosecution's ground. Instead, he'd have to find the killer.