"To brief him?"

"I'd assume. Or just bring him up to speed. This thing's gotten big in a hurry, hasn't it?"

"It's crazy," Gina said. "You get a little celebrity buzz, you'd think the world revolves around it. But it's also, between you and me, the reason Clarence has to step in and call this thing off. It's going to be an embarrassment to him."

"Well," Treya said, "Gerry's been beating his own drum pretty hard too."

"Don't I know it."

Indeed, it would have been hard for anyone to miss. Since the arrest, the media had been having a field day with the story of the new-age outdoor writer and his brilliant doctor wife. And Gina had no doubt about the source of the dozens of leaks that fueled the nearly endless recaps and updates. Over the past two weeks, Gerry Abrams had become almost a household name in San Francisco, as had Stuart Gorman. And of course, this had increased Gina's profile as well, even if her mantra throughout it all had been that she had no comment except to say that her client was innocent, and would be acquitted if there was a trial.

But still, she had to admit that the constant barrage of media analysis was taking its toll on her confidence. While it remained true that the physical evidence pointing to Stuart's guilt was, in her opinion, light to nonexistent, nevertheless she found herself on several occasions over the last couple of weeks blindsided by one or another reporter's fresh recapitulation of all the circumstantial evidence. And-she had no need to remind herself because it remained a truism throughout her entire career-circumstantial evidence was sufficient to convict.

Gina had used her own spies in the Hall in the past couple of weeks to find out when Abrams was scheduled to appear in court, and she'd come down and sat in the gallery during two of his hearings. He had, to her mind, a scary amount of charisma and a persuasive style that, for all of its homespun sincerity, could not disguise the obvious intellect. She knew that a prosecutor such as Gerry Abrams could present his circumstantial case with such a strong narrative that it could quite literally trump a complete lack of physical evidence.

In fact, the pervasive onslaught had actually brought her back to some significant doubt about Stuart's factual guilt or innocence. By the time she'd come to the motel in San Mateo and talked him into turning himself in, she'd come to have faith in her client's story. All of his explanations and actions, even including going out to interview Caryn's business colleagues, had seemed convincing to her. But in the relentless prose of the print media and the endless analysis of the radio and TV pundits, the consistency of Stuart's guilty scenario was viscerally so powerful that it had literally, several times, made her sick.

And now on Stuart's behalf she was about to take another huge professional and personal risk. She hadn't been lying or making any kind of false threat to Devin Juhle when she'd referred to the DA as her close, personal friend. In fact, she'd been a member of Jackman's informal "kitchen cabinet," meeting regularly on Tuesdays for lunch at Lou the Greek's, for most of his administration. She considered him a fair, just, good man, and one with whom she shared a real friendship. The fact that he had apparently gone along with this prosecution, even to this point, filled her with a deep sense of foreboding. If he had serious misgivings about this case, he was keeping them private. But she knew that this wasn't Jackman's style. If he didn't believe in the case, he would have counseled-or ordered- Abrams to abandon it.

When she'd all but demanded this appointment after Stuart's arrest, Jackman had been uncharacteristically impatient, as though he found Gina's position-that her client was truly innocent-somehow distasteful. He'd granted the meeting, she felt, as a personal favor, rather than a professional courtesy. And this was another source of real discomfort.

Now she heard the door open behind her and turned to see her old friend, the city's chief prosecutor-all six feet four, two hundred and fifty pounds of him-standing in the entrance to his office. As always, Jackman wore a perfectly tailored suit, today in a dark blue, with a light pink shirt and muted blue tie. His face, though smiling in greeting, was a slab of jet-black granite under a tight gray buzz cut. He tended to speak very quietly, but the pitch of his voice was so deep, it seemed to resonate in her bones when he said, "Aha! And here's my favorite defense attorney now."

If Gina was Jackman's favorite, she would not like to imagine how the scene would feel to someone he liked a little less.

It was all low-key and ostensibly cordial, of course. Clarence didn't go to his power position behind his desk, but he made sure Gina was comfortably seated in the upholstered chair out in the living room section of his office, that she had a fresh cup of good coffee, that business and her health were both good. Preliminaries out of the way, he got himself situated on the leather couch across from her, coming forward with an open expression, elbows on his knees. "Now, Gina," he began with the voice of God, "how may I help you?"

"I guess the best thing you could do, Clarence-for me, for my client Mr. Gorman, and maybe for you yourself-would be to drop this insane prosecution, at least until Gerry Abrams gets some evidence that might tie my client to the crime of killing his wife."

Jackman's face was set in a patient neutrality. "I take it you're convinced of Mr. Gorman's innocence."

"That's not the point, sir. The point is that Mr. Abrams and Inspector Juhle have worked this case from the beginning with a presumption of Mr. Gorman's guilt, and not his innocence. And without that presumption, that illegal and unethical presumption of guilt, there is simply no case against him."

Jackman, nodding thoughtfully, said, "What about the neighbor girl who saw his car?"

"Excuse me, sir, but she allegedly saw his car. She never saw him, Clarence, because he wasn't there. The People have to prove he was there. I don't have to prove he wasn't. That's exactly what I'm talking about."

"And your client's threats to her?"

"He never made threats, Clarence."

"That's not what she said. It's not how she felt."

"He never saw her."

"I hope you're not denying that his daughter did see her. Twice."

"To find out what she really saw. That was all."

The DA appeared to be considering her words. "All right. Let's even, between you and me, grant that. How do you explain the attempt at CPR?"

The question was unnerving. Jackman had apparently been thoroughly briefed on the details of the case. He'd been prepped by Gerry Abrams and looked like he was going to be ready for her objections. But she wasn't going to roll over without a fight. "Frankly, I don't know what made him do that. Panic, frustration, a last-ditch hope? Her body was still warm, remember. He just couldn't give up without trying something."

"And the domestic violence? His arrest some years before? What about those? Inadmissible? Irrevelant?"

"Maybe both, really. But the truth about those, Clarence, is that both times the police were called out to their house, it was because of fights they were having with their daughter."

"Says he."

"Well… yes."

"Have you talked to the daughter about that? And even if you have, don't you think that if it could have a bearing on saving her father from going to prison, she might decide it's okay to lie about that? This is the same girl who went across the street and threatened her neighbor, right? I can't see that a little perjury for her father's sake would bother her much." Jackman pushed himself back into the couch and straightened his back. "I am not prejudging your client, Gina, but you keep referring to the lack of evidence in this case, and I'm not at all certain I agree with you." "I'm talking about physical evidence."