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  "Okay, then I guess we proceed to the next phase," said Marshall.

  "We've seen your evidence," said Rashad. "The whole case hinges on ballistics, and we can punch holes in that big enough to drive a car through."

  "We have DNA," said Marshall. "You can't punch a hole in that."

"We'll see," said Leslie. "We'll see."

  "Your confidence is noted for the record," said Marshall. "We'll need a blood and hair sample from your client ASAP."

  "We oppose that," said Leslie.

  "Why?" asked Marshall. "If it doesn't match, your boy is off the hook."

  "We oppose because the scientific procedures used to match blood and hair are controlled by you and we cannot guarantee a fair result," said Rashad.

  "Fine," said Marshall. "I'm sure the trial judge will disagree with that great logic."

  "And what judge has the government selected?" asked Rashad.

  "It's random," said Marshall. "You know that."

  Leslie Reed snorted a laugh.

  "I'm sure the chief judge will want the case," said Rashad. "That will suit us just fine."

  "So, what is it that your client wants?" asked Marshall.

  "Nothing," said Rashad. "He wants his day in court. He wants to show this country that it is sick and needs to heal itself."

  "Jesus," Bob Ryder said from behind them.

  "You can come and sit at the table with the grown-ups if you want, Mr. Ryder," said Leslie. She had a smile on her face that was positively evil.

  "No, thanks," said Ryder, obviously a little upset. "I'm fine back here watching you two tread water."

  Marshall loved the big-ball posturing attendant to litigation. It was always so much fun to watch lawyers try to win cases with psychological intimidation and words. It never worked, but he guessed that it was a way for them to fight the frustration brought upon by the slow process of justice.

  "If we are through taking potshots at each other, we can agree on a trial timetable to present to the judge."

  "We want to go to trial as soon as possible," said Rashad.

  "Sometime within the next six months?" asked Marshall. "That's fast, but doable."

  "No, we mean within the next six weeks," said Leslie.

  "What?" Marshall heard Roberta say softly from behind him.

  "We can't do that," said Marshall.

  "Isn't Ms. Newhall the one who decides that?" asked Rashad. Leslie grinned at the mild insult to Marshall's authority.

  "I'll inform her, of course," said Marshall, "but I can safely say she'll oppose it. This case is much too complex to be rushed."

  "Then I guess we'll find out just how 'speedy' a constitutional speedy trial can be," said Rashad.

  "Will you stipulate to the taking of Mbutu's blood and hair sample?"

  "I can't agree," said Rashad. "Surely you understand that a stipulation to something so crucial puts me in the statute."

  He was right. A blood match would be a very persuasive piece of evidence, and a lawyer had a duty to try to keep it from getting into evidence.

  "I'll see what my boss thinks," said Marshall. To his team, he said, "Let's go."

  Marshall was happy. He'd gotten something out of the legend but had not really given up anything. Rashad's suspicion of the government was working against him. He would have to remember that during the trial.

  "By the way, Counselor," said Rashad. "You should know now that we plan to throw out all statements made by Mr. Mbutu on camera and to you as well as all of your ballistic evidence."

  "I welcome the challenge," said Marshall. "You might get the statements suppressed, but the ballistic evidence is sound." Marshall stood up and started to walk away. From behind him, he heard:

  "Perhaps, but it only makes sense if my client fired those bullets," said Rashad.

  Marshall turned to face the man, staring into him as if to make sure he had just heard him right.

  "That's right," said Leslie. "Our defense will be that another shooter killed Farrel Douglas."

* * *

Danny now had both guns in hand. He watched the robbers with intensity.

  "When they leave, we follow and call it in," said Vinny.

  Danny wasn't listening. He was raising the .45 above the table.

  "Don't," said Vinny. "There are too many people in here."

  "Take it off, bitch!" Danny heard the muscular man say. Danny focused his attention on the man. They had the money from the register, and now they were robbing individual people. The muscular man had his gun on a heavyset woman and demanded her watch. The woman screamed and struggled to get it off. The thin robber kept his gun out in front of him on the crowd.

  "Follow me," said Danny. Before Vinny could say a word, Danny was standing, both guns out in front.

  "Police!" he yelled. "Drop your weapons!"

  The muscular man turned. Danny's .9mm fired, catching the man in the throat. The man's shotgun fired into the floor. He let go of the heavyset woman. She fell back into her chair, unharmed. Danny hit the muscular man with the .45 in the chest, sending him flying backward.

  The thin man turned toward Danny, when Vinny fired from behind him. Her shot caught the man in the side. The thin man's revolver fired, then he fell. His gun flew out of his hand and skittered across the floor.

  Danny heard Vinny yell. He turned and saw her fall back into a wall, holding her abdomen. She was hit. Danny ran over to Vinny. Customers were running out of the restaurant, falling over each other, screaming.

  "Dammit, I'm okay," she said. "Get him." She pointed to the thin robber. "Before he gets to that gun."

  Danny walked over to the injured robber. The muscular man was dead, lying in a pool of blood. The thin man bled from his wound, but he was alive. His gun was well out of reach.

  Danny's head throbbed. His heart raced, and all he could see was the man who had shot his Vinny. Danny stood over the man, holding both guns. He breathed hard, his eyes were narrow slits of rage.

  "Okay, okay," said the thin robber. "Don't shoot, man! I ain't got no gun." He moved away from Danny, pushing himself away. He left a thick trail of blood on the floor.

  "Shoot his ass!" a man yelled from outside the restaurant. A crowd had gathered at the window, watching the aftermath.

  Inside, Danny followed the injured man, holding both guns on him.

  "Danny!" Vinny yelled from behind him. "Don't!"

  "Yeah, Danny, don't do it, man," said the robber wincing in pain. "Come on man, you can't shoot me."

  Danny stopped suddenly, and the robber sighed in relief. Danny put his guns on a table, then grabbed the man, lifting him from the floor. Behind him, Vinny yelled something that he couldn't understand. His ears were filled with white noise, surrounded by his rage.

  He hit the robber hard in the face. He heard a bone snap, and felt a hot flash of pain in his hand. The robber screamed something, but Danny kept hitting him, again and again. Blood flew, landing in sprinkles on Danny's angry face. The robber pleaded for his life, but the assault continued as Danny heard Vinny yelling behind him, and the muted cheers from beyond the restaurant's doors.

C
hief District Judge Clark Langworthy was not in a good mood. His face furrowed at the lawyers' every word. His eyes darted from one face to the next, as if he was accusing everyone of something.

  Langworthy was one of the last members of the old judicial guard. He was one of the few judges his age who had not retired. All of his friends were going out to pasture, but Langworthy was sturdy and looked like he would live forever.

  Langworthy had fought in Korea, but had opposed Vietnam. He had become a civil rights lawyer in the 1960s and 1970s. He was a lifelong liberal who'd backed every Democrat from Clinton all the way back to Harry Truman.

  He was also a smart judge and leader of the district court. He could be salty and profane, but he knew the law as well as anyone. Langworthy also hated Farrel Douglas with a passion. He had referred to Douglas in print as "a traitor to democracy."

  Langworthy had assigned the case to himself, and no one was surprised. A case of this size and significance could not go to some junior jurist looking to make a reputation for himself.

  Marshall had mixed feelings. While no judge worth anything would sway a case like this, Langworthy was clearly out of the Oliver Stone school. He had lit up like Christmas when he heard Rashad's conspiracy theory. Marshall also remembered that this man had thrown him into jail not too long ago in the Quince case and then had given unfavorable jury instructions, which probably caused him to lose.

  Rashad was planning a war, and he was taking no prisoners. To engage the conspiracy theory was to invite chaos. Marshall had been on the phone for an hour with Toby and Nate Williams, talking about Rashad's intention to promote a second-shooter scenario.

  Nate thought it was an insane, desperate attempt to find a defense. But Toby was worried. She felt that our society was always ready to believe a conspiracy. Off the record, she herself had doubts about major assassinations. So, Toby told Marshall to investigate the theory himself, so that the government could disprove it with hard evidence.

  "Why are you here wasting my time with this?" asked Judge Langworthy. "The government's motion goes to the heart of this matter, Muhammad."

  They were in Langworthy's chambers in the Federal Building. The Detroit River sparkled outside a window. Marshall and Roberta faced off with Rashad and Leslie. Roberta was glad to have finally been given the call. And she had been ready, masterfully putting the motion package through and getting all of the motions granted, except Mbutu's statements and the hair and blood samples, which were now in debate. Langworthy wanted a stipulation, but Rashad was fighting until the end. The room was thick with attitude and tension. Here in the preliminary rounds of justice, every punch was a potential knockout blow.

  "None of what Mbutu said to us or on camera was coerced," said Marshall. "He spoke freely, and arrogantly, I might add."

  "But the statements don't amount to a confession," said Rashad. "They are prejudicial and add nothing to the government's case."

  "Muhammad has a point, don't you think?" said Langworthy. "Why are you planning to introduce the statements?"

  "They go to motive," said Marshall. "He didn't like Farrel Douglas's politics." Marshall tried not to show his dis pleasure at Langworthy's use of Rashad's first name. The two men knew each other but not well enough to get Langworthy to recuse himself from the case. Their chumminess was already pissing him off.

  "That specific statement was not made," said Leslie. "And you can't extrapolate it from anything he said."

  "Your Honor," said Rashad. "My client was asked repeatedly if he killed Douglas. He didn't answer, as was his right, but to a jury, that might look like guilt. In court, my client never has to take the stand. Allowing this evidence is tantamount to violating his Fifth Amendment privilege."

  Marshall was about to say something, but Langworthy cut him off. He turned in his leather chair for a moment, looking at the ceiling. He seemed to enjoy his power over those in the room, but all judges did. It was a perk of the profession.

  "I'm excluding the statements," said Langworthy.

  "Your Honor—" said Marshall.

  "Here's why, Mr. Jackson. I worry that the statements, even though made out of custody, are more harmful than valuable as evidence. I also worry that many prospective jurors will have already seen the tape or have read about it in the newspapers. I cannot wipe away that prejudice, but I sure as hell can stop it from being reinforced in this case."

  Marshall was silent. Langworthy was a bastard, but he knew his stuff. The decision was right, under the circumstances. A judge's duty was to insure fairness as much as possible. Mbutu was already under a national microscope, which tore away at the presumption of innocence. Langworthy was just leveling the playing field.

  "Okay, Your Honor," said Marshall, "but we would like the record to show our strenuous objection."

  "It will," said Langworthy. He was ever so slightly annoyed by Marshall's request.

  "Now, as to the DNA tests," said Rashad. "We can't be sure of the government's procedures. I can't have my client's DNA analyzed by those who clearly have an interest in the test coming up positive."

  "The government represents the people," said Marshall. "The defendant is one of those people and—"

  "Please, not that old speech," said Leslie Reed. "We need a chance to conduct our own test."

  "The sample isn't large enough, Your Honor," said Roberta. "We've only got one shot here."

  "And given that fact, I think the government should conduct the test," said Marshall.

  "Perhaps the defense will want to have an observer there," said Langworthy.

  Rashad was about to respond, when Leslie blurted out: "I think we need to have a hearing on the matter."

  Langworthy leaned back in his chair. "Oh, is that what you think, Ms. Reed?"

  "Your Honor, she didn't mean anything by that," said Rashad.

  But it was too late. Langworthy was primed for a reaming, and he was not about to be stopped.

  "Okay, Ms. Reed, here's your hearing: your motion has merit, but you cannot deny that a test will prove that the defendant was either there or not. The government presents a ton of case law showing that in every matter like this, the court rules in their favor and is upheld on appeal. You lose the motion, embarrass yourself, and incur my temporary, but considerable, contempt."

  "We are not going to oppose," said Rashad.