“What do you mean by language? What do you have? Magic words?”

“You bet your stagnant ass we have magic words,” Conrad said. “Rule one: Never use the defendant’s name. Never call him Kozlow, or Anthony, or Tony. That humanizes him and makes it harder for the jurors to vote against him. Call him ‘the defendant,’ or ‘the accused.’ Rule two: Always use the victim’s name, the cop’s name, and the witnesses’ names. Ms. Doniger, Officer McCabe, Ms. Harrison. That makes them seem more human and believable. Rule three: Never use the actual words of the crime you’re charging the defendant with. In other words, don’t say, ‘He committed a burglary,’ or ‘He committed murder.’ Those words sound scary to people, not to mention the fact that the jurors will start asking about all the elements of the crime before they’ll vote. To make it easier, say, ‘If you believe the accused stole from Ms. Doniger…’”

“And this really works?” Sara asked skeptically.

“In my nine years here, I’ve never lost in a grand jury,” Conrad said. “I may not win at trial, but I always get there. And I get there because I was taught to focus on the details.”

“And who granted you these pearls of wisdom?”

“The United States government,” Conrad said proudly.

“You were in the military?” Guff asked sarcastically. “No way. You’re so laid-back.”

“I gave them a three-year commitment, they put me through law school. But after three years, they force you out of the criminal side. When they told me I had to do boring civil stuff like wills and taxes and divorce work, I made the jump over here.”

“Love that combat zone, don’t you?”

“Can’t live without it,” Conrad said. “Now let’s get back to the point. Do you know what your game plan is?”

“I’m calling people in order of involvement. I’ll start with the cop, then Doniger, and then Harrison. Kozlow goes on last.”

“So Kozlow’s decided to testify?”

“He filed notice,” Sara explained. “I guess Jared figures he’ll make a likable witness. I’m hoping if he goes on last, the jury will have already made up their minds.” Pausing for a moment, Sara thought about the rest of her witnesses. Harrison was easily the best, since she was the only one who had seen Kozlow leave the house. But if she refused to testify, or even worse, denied that she had seen anything, Sara knew that Jared was right: The entire case was in trouble. Looking at Conrad, she continued, “One last thing – I know you won’t like this option, but if everything starts falling apart tomorrow, I have to think about dismissing it.”

“I’d never argue that with you,” Conrad said. “This is your case. And believe it or not, I appreciate the consequences.” Noticing the distant look in Sara’s eyes, he added, “I’m serious about that. It’s okay to be realistic.”

“Says the man who never settles.”

“Sara, not every case is a winner. Think about what you’ve faced: shaky witnesses, a shifty defendant, even your own husband. When it comes to emotional baggage, you’ve got more than a small piece of carry-on luggage here.”

“But this case-”

“I know you wanted this to be your breakthrough case, but you can’t make something from nothing. Well, sometimes you can, but now isn’t the time. When you get in there tomorrow, you’ll make your decision. And no matter what happens, you’ll live with the outcome.”

“It’s not the outcome that scares me, it’s the motivation behind it. You should’ve heard Jared last night – he did a guilt dance on my head that would’ve made my mother proud. And trust me, that’s saying something.”

“I believe it. Between the lack of witnesses and Victor breathing down your neck, you’ve got a ten-ton argument for washing your hands. You may not like dismissing it, but in this situation, it’s far better than losing.”

“I guess,” Sara said despondently. “Though it’s hard to see the difference.”

Rafferty reached across his sculptural leather sofa and answered the ringing phone.

“You said you wanted me to check in,” Kozlow said on the other end of the line.

“Have you forgotten how to say hello, or is that just a Neanderthal greeting?” Rafferty asked.

“Hello. How are you?” Kozlow growled. “Are we set for tomorrow?”

“We should be. Sara’s planning to subpoena both Claire and Patty at the crack of dawn.”

“Really? Are they going to be there to receive them?”

“Without a doubt,” Rafferty said. “Then when they give up nothing at the grand jury, we’re done with this nonsense.”

“Are you sure that’s the best way to do it?”

Rafferty refused to answer the question. “Where are you calling from?”

“Don’t worry,” Kozlow said. “It’s a pay phone. What do you think I am, stupid?”

“I’m not sure. Was it stupid to grab that diamond watch and the sterling silver golf ball?”

“Why do you have to keep bringing that up? I was-”

“I don’t want to hear it, you greedy little leech. If you’d never done that, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“What’d you call me?” Kozlow asked. “You think I’m greedy? Let me tell you something, you Kennedy-complex wanna-be, you were the one who-”

“Good-bye,” Rafferty interrupted. With a flick of his wrist, Kozlow was gone.

EARLY MONDAY MORNING, SARA PACED UP AND DOWN the dark, tiled hallways on the ninth floor of One Hogan Place, trying her best to look calm. Outside the grand jury room, a small line of assistant district attorneys was forming, all of them waiting for a chance to present their cases. Since the waiting room couldn’t accommodate everyone, the hallway was also filled with dozens of witnesses, family members, and defense attorneys. Sara stared intently at the ever-growing group, hoping to take her mind off her anxieties.

Lawyers in the crowd were easy to identify, with their navy-blue or gray single-breasted suits and stark white shirts. Anyone who wasn’t wearing the uniform was, by default, a witness, a victim, a defendant, or a family member there for moral support. To separate the ADAs from the defense attorneys, Sara needed only to read body language. The defense attorneys were relaxed and at ease. Since they were not allowed to participate in grand jury proceedings, they had nothing to lose. By comparison, the ADAs were usually younger, with a slight but noticeable tinge of nervousness in their eyes. A hand anxiously arched on a hip, bitten fingernails, a few too many glances at a watch – that was all it took to identify the prosecutors. That and their unmistakable attempts to look as calm as possible. The moment she realized the pattern, Sara stopped pacing.

Behind her, a man in a gray suit said, “I was hoping we’d be first, but I hear we’re seventh and eighth.”

Turning around, Sara recognized the man from her first day’s orientation. “Seventh and eighth?”

“To appear in front of the grand jury,” the man said. “Of the seventeen other ADAs who started with us, six have already done it. All got indictments but one. That guy Andrew from Brooklyn tanked it something fierce. My bet is he’ll be the first one to go. And rumor says layoff decisions are being made today.”

Sara raised an eyebrow at the news. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” she asked.

“Charles, but people call me Chuck.”

“Charles, Chuck, the both of you – do me one small favor? Don’t talk to me right now.”

The grand jury was selected once a month in a manner Guff called “the criminal justice version of bingo.” But unlike a traditional jury, which made a guilt determination in only one case, the grand jury usually heard dozens of cases each day and decided only whether there were reasonable grounds for the DA’s office to prosecute the case. Since the jurors served for a full month, the first Monday of the term usually meant a new grand jury – and the worst day to present a case. In the beginning of the term, the jurors were cautious novices, trying carefully not to indict the wrong man. By the end, they were jaded veterans, realizing that an indictment was only the first step of the process. In the beginning, they were nice people trying to do the right thing. By the end, they were average New Yorkers, ready to believe the worst about anyone.