“You seem… disturbed.”

“A little, yeah.”

“Surely you’re not losing your nerve. After all that time belittling those who would talk but wouldn’t act. Are you going to become one of them?”

“No. I’m not. But still… that man was seriously hurt.”

His friend considered this for a moment. “Have you studied the Crusaders?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m mean, not really…”

“The Crusaders were dispatched to the Holy Land, something like eight hundred years ago, to deliver sacred sites from the hands of the infidels. They were forced to fight, even to kill. Hundreds and hundreds of the Saracen heathens fell before the swords of the Crusaders. And yet, history remembers them as great heroes. There is no doubt that they were doing God’s will. And so are you.”

“I know.” He threw the towel down on the floor. “Still… it’s hard.”

The friend laid a hand on Manly’s shoulder. “Of course it is. Which is why not just anyone can do it. Why God needs you. The day of the Crusader has not passed. God still requires soldiers. And he will save them a sacred seat at his right hand in heaven.”

Manly’s resolve appeared to return. “I was being weak. Indulging myself. It won’t happen again.”

His friend clapped him on the shoulders. “Good. What next then?”

“Next?” Manly lifted his chin. His eyes glistened as he pressed one strong fist against the other. “We carry on God’s work.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” Jones paced around Ben, etching a well-worn circular track into the office carpet. “I don’t believe it!”

“Take a chill pill, Jones,” Ben replied. “It’s just a case.”

“Just a case? Just a case?” He pounded his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I was gone for four days. Four lousy days! A guy can’t even go on his honeymoon without someone torpedoing the firm while he’s away!”

“I think you’re exaggerating…”

“Do you? Do you really? Did you even consider the financial ramifications of this case before you accepted it?”

“Well…”

“I thought after that disaster with the Blackwell parents we had an agreement. No one was going to accept any unduly risky or expensive cases without it being put to a vote of the entire staff.”

Ben squirmed. “I don’t see this case as being all that expensive…”

“Oh, this is going to be one of our bargain-basement capital murder defenses? Have you mentioned that to your client?” He threw his hands up into the air. “Nothing personal, Boss, but as my grandmother used to say, you don’t have a lick of sense. Which is why I’m the office manager. And you’re not.”

“I also don’t see the case as being particularly risky…”

“You don’t? Well, let me explain it to you.” He swiveled Ben’s chair around to face him. “Your client is the chief suspect in two murders. He’s already been crucified in the press. Everyone in town thinks he’s guilty, including the prospective jurors, whoever they may be. He was seen arguing with the last victim minutes before she turned up dead. He was seen with her blood on his hands. His fingerprints were found on the murder weapon.” He grabbed Ben’s shoulders and shook them. “Does this case sound winnable to you?”

Ben shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.”

Jones pounded his head against the chair. “I’ve already heard the flak on the streets. Every lawyer in town thinks you’re going down in flames.”

“Then everyone in town is wrong. Father Beale did not commit those murders. And we will get him off. We have to.”

“And may I ask how this priest, whose salary is even punier than mine, is supposed to pay our fees?”

Ben coughed. “Well… I was really perceiving this case as more of a… a… more of a pro bono thing…”

“Aaaargh!” Jones threw himself against Ben’s desk. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I am hoping he’ll be able to cover some of his expenses.”

“Oh, well, wouldn’t that be dandy?” Jones stared at the carpet. “I can’t stand it. I just can’t stand it!”

At that opportune moment, Christina sailed through the front office doors. She took one look, then spoke. “What’s wrong?”

Jones lifted his head. “Christina, is there some kind of twelve-step program for attorneys addicted to unwinnable cases?”

She smiled. “Welcome back, Jones. We missed you.”

“We missed you? What is that? Some kind of patronizing remark? Why do I get the impression that no one is taking me seriously?”

“I can’t imagine.” She patted him on the head. “Now you run along and play. Mommy needs to talk to Daddy.”

Jones threw up his hands and stomped over to his desk.

Ben pushed himself out of his chair. “How did the oral argument in the Wooley case go?”

“Well, at least we managed to avoid summary judgment. We’ll be going to trial. But it still looks like my man breached the contract.”

“Have you got a defense?”

“Yup. Bad faith.”

Ben nodded. As every first-year law student knew, a contract can be voided if one of the parties acted in bad faith, by making misrepresentations or failing to disclose material facts. “Made the house sound a bit nicer than it really was?”

“No. Failure to inform. The roof suffered a lot of hail damage between the final showing and the closing. Seller forgot to mention that.” She tossed a newspaper down on the desk. “Read about the guy who got beaten up on his way to a pro-choice meeting?” She shook her head. “Is it just me, or do there seem to be more creeps, scumbags, and psychopaths out there every day?”

“It’s not just you. But at the moment, we have to focus on uncovering the creep, scumbag, or psychopath who killed Kate McGuire.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw some movement at the front door. He greeted Father Beale and his wife, Andrea. Beale was in his usual priestly regalia, black suit with white clerical collar. Ben knew that somewhere under all that he was also wearing another collar-an electronic one-but happily, it didn’t show.

Andrea fidgeted with her hands and seemed nervous. That was not altogether surprising; most people were when they visited a lawyer’s office for the first time.

Ben shook her hand. “Thank you for coming, Andrea. I can imagine how hard all this must be for you.”

She did not disagree. “Daniel wanted me to be here.”

“I wanted you to be here, too,” Ben said. “But I didn’t know if I would get my wish. Sometimes I think criminal prosecutions are harder on the spouses than the defendants.”

Again, the woman did not disagree.

“Nonetheless, I’m glad you could come.”

Her head nodded slightly. She glanced quickly at her husband, then back at Ben, then answered, simply, “I didn’t have any choice.”

Five minutes later, everyone was assembled in the main conference room-Ben, Christina, Jones, Loving, and Father Beale and his wife. Ben decided to plow right into the heart of the matter. Difficult though it might be, this was not the kind of occasion that lent itself to icebreakers. The best he could hope for was to get the work done as efficiently and painlessly as possible.

“I still haven’t been able to get the straight scoop on the forensic evidence,” Ben reported to all present. “But I’m convinced they have more that they’ve said-or think they do, anyway.”

“Can’t you file a motion to produce?” Christina asked.

“Already done. And they will eventually answer. But not any sooner than is absolutely necessary. They know the trial date is fast approaching, and since most of their work is done and ours is just beginning, they know that time is on their side.”

“I don’t understand,” Father Beale said. “Why play games with the evidence?”

Even Loving could answer that one. “ ’Cause prosecutors like to win.”

“But this isn’t a game,” Beale replied. “This is a forum of justice. Both sides should work together to arrive at the truth.”

“A noble sentiment,” Ben said. “But unfortunately, not the way it works. At least not here in the good ol’ US of A.” He glanced down at his notes. “We do know that they have some compelling fingerprint evidence. And we know they have many witnesses prepared to testify against you. Some of them”-he cleared his throat-“some of them are members of your parish.”