Mason made eye contact with Blues, who was seated in the middle of the back row. Mason shook his head, telling Blues all he needed to know about the prosecutor's position on bail. Judge Pistone made his entrance as the bailiff called the courtroom to order.

"Good morning, Counsel," the judge began. "We'll take the video arraignments first."

Arraignments for the accused who did not yet have a lawyer were often conducted by video broadcast from the jail. A projector mounted on the wall directly above the table for defense counsel beamed a six-foot-by-ten-foot image on the opposite wall. The picture was grainy and washed out. The audio was a beat behind the image, and the transmission speed was somewhere between real time and slow motion. The proceedings had the look and feel of justice administered in the middle of a bad dream.

Each defendant appeared on screen, an oversize head shot that magnified every tremor and twitch. The last defendant was a young boy Mason guessed was barely twenty. His blinking eyes tried to retreat from the camera as he nervously patted his thin blond hair. His lips quivered and he tugged at his chin as the judge read the charge and the maximum sentence for the offense.

"You are charged with forcible rape, a Class A felony for which the maximum penalty is life in prison."

The boy whipped his head up at the camera, his mouth gaping at the judge's words.

"Do you have an attorney?" the judge asked. The boy shook his head mutely, robbed of speech. "The public defender will come see you."

Unseen hands pulled the boy offscreen and the picture disappeared. Mason had the feeling the boy was as lost as the image that had been on the wall.

"The next case is State of Missouri v. Bluestone," Judge Pistone announced. "State your appearances, Counsel."

Patrick Ortiz stood and announced, "The people of the State of Missouri appear by Patrick Ortiz, deputy chief prosecuting attorney."

Mason followed. "The defendant appears in person and by his counsel, Lou Mason. We're ready to proceed, Your Honor."

"Very well, Counsel," the judge said without looking up. "Will the defendant please rise."

Blues stood from his seat in the jury box. Mason could hear the faint etching sounds of the courtroom artists who were there for the TV stations whose cameras were not allowed in the courtroom.

Judge Pistone continued. "The defendant is charged with the crime of murder in the first degree in the death of Jack Cullan. Does the defendant understand the charges or wish to have them read?"

"We'll waive the reading of the charges, Judge. We'd like to discuss bail," Mason said.

"What's the state's position, Mr. Ortiz?" the judge asked.

"The People oppose bail in this case. The defendant is a former police officer who was forced to resign because of a shooting death that violated departmental rules on the use of deadly force. He has an extensive history of violent conduct. Though we acknowledge his ties to the community, he's both a flight risk and a danger to the public."

"Mr. Mason?" the judge asked.

"Your Honor, my client is entitled to bail. He owns a business that will be shut down if he's not there to run it. Everything he owns is tied up in that business and he's not about to run out on that. Mr. Ortiz is correct that the defendant is a former police officer. He's wrong about the defendant's history. He's never been charged with or convicted of any crime. The state's evidence in this case is as thin as yesterday's soup. While the victim was a high-profile member of the community, the court should reject any pressure to deny my client bail."

As soon as the judge looked up for the first time that morning, Mason knew he'd hit the wrong nerve. "Mr. Mason, if you have any basis for suggesting that someone is attempting to improperly influence this court or that I would be susceptible to such attempts, now is the time to share that with me."

Mason felt the color rise in his neck. He refused to look at Ortiz, who, he was certain, was smiling wide enough to suck down a bag of Doritos. He couldn't look at Blues. "I didn't mean any reflection on the court, Your Honor. All I meant that was that the state is pushing a lot harder on my client than they would in any other case with this kind of evidence. Whatever the reason for that, it's not sufficient to deny bail for Mr. Bluestone."

"You can take that up with the Circuit judge who gets assigned to this case. Bail denied. We're in recess." The judge banged his gavel once and left the courtroom.

Mason saw Rachel Firestone shake her head as he walked past. He was beginning to believe that Blues was right. Even though he had roused Joe Pistone's slumbering judicial dignity, the decision on bail had already been made. Mason's gaffe had given the judge all the cover he needed.

Once outside the courtroom, Mason weaved through the media throng, making his way into the hallway that connected to the judge's chambers. It was also the route by which Blues would be taken back to the county jail. He caught up to the sheriff's deputies and Blues just as they were getting onto the elevator.

"Mind if I get a word with my client?" Mason asked one of the deputies.

"Make it fast. This ain't a parade," the deputy said.

Mason pulled Blues by the arm as far from the deputies as he could without getting them too excited.

"Listen, I'm sorry about what happened in there, but I don't think it would have made any difference," Mason told him.

"It's cool, man," Blues said. "Like I told you, they're going to try to squeeze me."

"We'll get another chance in front of the Circuit Court judge. The prosecuting attorney can either ask for a preliminary hearing so that the Circuit judge can bind you over for trial, or take the case to the grand jury for an indictment I'm betting on the grand jury. That way Ortiz doesn't have to tip his hand. The grand jury meets every other Friday. The next session is a week from tomorrow. Once you're indicted, we can ask the Circuit Court judge to set bail."

"I've got a better idea," Blues said. "Don't ask for bail. If we don't fight for it, they can't hold it over me. Spend your time finding out who killed Cullan, not writing motions the judge is going to turn down anyway."

Mason studied Blues for a moment. "You won't have any friends inside."

Blues gave Mason a broad grin. "You'd be surprised how easy I make friends. There's just two things you need to worry about besides winning my case."

"What are they?"

"First thing is you got to find somebody to run the club. Try Mickey Shanahan. He's the PR guy whose office is next to yours. Mickey's always behind on his rent. Tell him he can work it off."

"Okay. What's the second thing?" Mason asked.

"You're on your own. Don't get dead. They'll throw away the key to my cell."