“Johnny, calm down.”

“Explain it to me, would you? Why some fuckin’ queer has more rights than I do?”

Christina eyed the door. If the guard outside heard this, their interview would be terminated but quick. “Johnny, please sit down.”

“If we’d beat up some white Christian guy, no one would care. A woman, even. Big deal. But because we took out a pervert, suddenly I’m public enemy number one.”

“Johnny, you can’t talk like that.”

“Why not?” he bellowed. “Don’t we have the First Amendment anymore?”

“You’re right, Johnny. We do.” She banged against the window to get his attention. “So I guess you’re going to have to make a choice. Do you want to express your constitutionally protected opinion, or do you want to live?”

Johnny lowered himself back into his seat, glaring.

Where did this kid come from? Christina asked herself. What could give birth to enmity of this magnitude? Normally, she would blame his parents, but Christina had met the guy’s mother and she seemed like a perfectly nice, well-educated person. Where had he gotten his indoctrination into hate?

“This is the sort of thing I should expect from a lawyer. Hell, not even Jesus loved lawyers.”

“Excuse me?”

“ ‘Woe unto you, lawyers! For you have taken away the key of knowledge.’ That’s what our Lord and Savior said. In Luke.”

Thanks so much for making my day… “Look, kid, I’ll level with you. I don’t know if I can win this case or not. I’ve read Kevin’s files, and what little defense he was planning to put on won’t cut it. This story about someone else coming along and moving the body won’t cut it. We need something more.”

“Like what?”

“Like proof that you didn’t kill Tony Barovick.” But only mangled and mutilated him. That’s all.

“How are we going to get that?”

“I don’t know. I’ll get my investigative staff on it immediately.”

“You think they’ll find something?”

“I can’t possibly predict that. But I know this.” She leaned forward. “If you don’t cooperate with me, we will lose.”

He stared through the acrylic at her.

“If you start spouting off in court, we’re history. You’ve got to do what I say, when I say it. Including keeping your mouth shut. And be nice about it. Got it?”

He saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

She began stuffing her notes back into her briefcase. “And one last requirement. You absolutely positively cannot keep secrets from me. None. I don’t care how bad it is. If there’s anything you haven’t told me, anything at all, I want to hear about it. Before the DA does.”

“Understood. I mean, I will.”

“I hope you mean that. I really do.” She rose. “I’ll be back tomorrow. There are some papers I need you to sign. In the meantime, your assignment is to search that little brain of yours for anything that might help your case. Even the tiniest detail. Maybe something you never told the police or Tony or anyone.”

“Well, I’ll… try.”

“Good.” She stood. “Can I give you one last piece of advice?”

“Sure. Shoot.”

“Don’t talk.”

He craned his neck. “You mean… to the police?”

“I mean to anyone. Not the cops, not the guards, not your cell mate. No one.” She smiled. “You’re in serious trouble, Johnny. So don’t make it worse than it already is.”

As Christina took the elevator up to Kevin Mahoney’s twentieth-floor office in the heart of the Magnificent Mile, all she expected was a pleasant pneumatic ride. And Kevin’s office! Compared to what she was used to working out of, it was like setting up shop in Taj Mahal. Gorgeous bay windows in every office looking down on Michigan Avenue. Nice clean carpet, modern art prints on the wall. The way a law office was supposed to look.

Except not today.

In the elevator lobby, covering the brass nameplates and the rest of the wall, was a spray-painted drawing of an upraised clenched fist. Beneath it were the words: NO MORE HATE. DEATH TO FASCISTS!

She took a deep breath, then slowly released it.

In the corner, Christina spotted a man with a digital camera photographing the display. He was obviously a professional.

“Tribune, or Sun-Times?”

He looked up from his viewfinder. “Tribune.”

“How’d you know?”

“Anonymous call. Group called ANGER.”

“And you really think this is newsworthy?”

“Are you kidding? This is front-page art. My editor loves a strong graphic. Hey, do you work here?”

“For the moment.”

“Mind posing in front of the fist?”

“As a matter of fact.”

She pushed past him and entered the lobby. Jones was sitting out front, having totally taken over the space normally occupied by Kevin Mahoney’s receptionist. He had a phone in each hand and a stack of pink message slips as thick as a sandwich.

“There you are!” he said. “Thank God. The phone has been ringing off the hook.”

“Why?”

“Morning papers announced that you’ve taken over the Christensen defense. You wouldn’t believe how angry some people are about it.”

“Because, of course, bad men aren’t entitled to attorneys.”

“That’s pretty much their view, yeah.” He passed her the messages. “Here’s more than twenty protests.”

“I saw some of that in the elevator lobby. What’s ANGER stand for?”

“Act Now for Gay Equal Rights.”

Christina pondered a moment. “Why is that name familiar?”

“The guy who shot your client’s codefendant was a member of ANGER. One of the local leaders, actually.”

“So we’re talking major extremists.”

“A lot of these people are threatening violence if you don’t drop the case. Not against the hatemongers-against you. Us. Letter bombs and stuff. Paula’s pretty concerned.” He wiped his brow. “I know I was in favor of taking this case, but now I’m wondering if we need to give this some more thought.”

“I gave his mother my word, Jones.”

“Nonetheless-”

“I’ve filed papers with the court. It’s a done deal.” She scanned the messages. “I don’t suppose any of these are supportive?”

“Actually, there was one. Even offered to help finance the defense.”

“Super! ACLU?”

“Nah. Some ultraright fundamentalist group. God’s Chosen, or something like that. Wants to support Christensen the holy crusader in his battle against the sodomites.”

Her eyelids fluttered. “Holy crusader. More like ignorant putz who joined the wrong fraternity.” She tossed the messages into her briefcase. “Has Loving’s plane come in yet?”

“Yeah. And Paula came up with him. They’re in the kitchen scarfing doughnuts.”

“Good. Team meeting in ten minutes. Main conference room.”

“Sure. Will Ben-?”

“Has he left Tulsa?”

“Not to my knowledge. What’s up with that, anyway?”

“Don’t know. But I’ve got some suspicions. I’ve got a call in to his mother.”

“In Oklahoma City?”

Christina shrugged. “Something my client said made me think there might be some history on this.”

“But-isn’t she kind of… frosty?”

“Says Ben. I adore the woman. Who knows, if I can squeeze in a visit, we might have time to go shopping.”

She knew she was wasting her time, even as she dialed the phone. But she couldn’t help herself.

“Ben, would you please reconsider-”

“No.”

“You don’t have to go to court. Just stay in the background. Give me the benefit of your wisdom.”

“No.”

“Ben, who’s gonna know?”

“Will she be there?”

Christina hesitated. “You mean Mrs. Christensen? Well, of course she-”

“My answer is no.” There was a staticky pause on the line. “Now I have to get back to my work.”

“Ben, I’ve known you since the day you started practicing, and you’ve never behaved this way.”

“What way? Smart?”

“As if you don’t care. About”-don’t say it, she told herself-“anything.”

“I don’t know what you’re babbling about.”