“I think that’s a bit of a stretch,” Ben said.

“Of course you do. You’re a good guy. So you assume everyone else is, too. But mark my words, Ben-one day that foolish assumption is going to drop-kick you right between the legs.”

Actually, Ben thought, it already had, on more than one occasion, but those were stories he didn’t care to repeat.

Glancy stretched back into his chair. “So what are the odds? Fifty-fifty? Better? Worse?”

“I never make predictions,” Ben answered. “Juries are too unpredictable.”

“Aw, come on. Give me a hint.”

“Sorry. I don’t know. We’ll all find out together.”

“Fine.” Glancy scrunched down in his seat. “But if we lose, I’m not inviting your mother to my annual May Day barbecue.”

“Just as well,” Ben said, smiling slightly. “She wouldn’t come.”

The outside door whipped open. Padolino leaned inside. “It’s showtime!” He shut the door behind him.

“Already?” Glancy said. “They’ve barely been out two hours! What does that mean?”

Ben glanced at Christina, his lips pursed. “It means they didn’t need much time to make up their minds.”

Ben thought they got it from television, but Christina’s theory was that every person-and thus every juror-had a secret sadistic streak, a Mr. Hyde lurking in the back of the cerebral cortex waiting for a proper exercise of power to give it expression. Either way, it was a universal constant that when the jury returned from deliberation, they took great pains to give no indication of their decision. Their faces were blank. They looked at no one.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Judge Herndon asked.

“We have,” said the foreperson, an older woman sitting on the far left of the front row. The bailiff took the folded verdict form to the judge, who carefully scrutinized it with the same stoic expression that was plastered on the jurors. Finally, without a word of comment, he returned it to the bailiff.

“The defendant will rise.”

Glancy did so, followed by his counsel. To their surprise, just behind them, Marie Glancy rose as well.

The foreperson cleared her throat. “We the jury, in the case of the District of Columbia versus Todd K. Glancy, on the charge of first-degree murder-” She stopped.

Ben winced. Why did they always insist on the dramatic pause?

“-on the charge of first-degree murder,” she continued, “and for that matter, on the charge of second-degree murder and manslaughter, we find the defendant Todd K. Glancy not guilty.”

The courtroom exploded. That was the only way Ben could describe it. Some people were shouting with joy. Some were expressing disgust. But whether out of surprise, relief, or pure cynicism, everyone was talking.

“Oh my God,” Ben heard Glancy muttering softly beside him. “Much as I tried to keep my spirits up, I never really believed-never thought it was possible-” His voice choked. “Oh. My. God.”

Ben closed his eyes. They had actually managed to pull it off. Against all odds, he and Christina had actually managed to pull it off. O frabjous day!

Glancy was nearly in tears. He thanked the jury, then tried to hug Christina and shake Ben’s hand, both at once. He looked silly and confused, clearly so overwhelmed he hardly knew what he was doing. Judge Herndon slammed his gavel several times, making a mostly futile effort to quiet the courtroom. When the tumult had finally subsided sufficiently that the judge could be heard, he thanked the jury, gave them a few more final instructions-including reminding them that they were not required to speak to the press and that he personally advised against it-and discharged them. Then he turned his gavel to the main attraction in the courtroom.

“Mr. Glancy,” he said sonorously, “you are free to go.”

There was more cheering now, less mixed than before. The opposition was leaving the courtroom-Ben had seen both Steve Melanfield and Brad Tidwell depart with shocked expressions on their faces-and Todd’s friends and staff were gathering around him, embracing him, congratulating.

“Thank you,” he said graciously, “but the accolades should go to Ben and Christina. They’re the ones who made this happen.”

There was more jubilation, slapping of backs, and aggressive hand-shaking. Marie Glancy stepped up to Ben and quietly whispered in his ear. “Thank you,” she said, and she kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You’ve pulled off a miracle.”

“That’s why I get paid the big money,” he replied.

Christina gave him a wry expression.

“I feel as if I’ve gotten my whole life back,” Glancy said. He still seemed stunned, utterly amazed. “All the anxiety, the turmoil, all these months. And now, it’s finally over.”

Of course, Ben knew it wasn’t. There was still a possibility of statutory rape charges. If Padolino could figure out a way to pursue them that didn’t make him look like a poor loser spitefully determined to put Glancy away on any charge he could scrape up. And the only way Glancy could avoid being censured in the Senate would be if he resigned first.

The celebration continued. Ben was surprised to feel a hand tugging on his back. It was Joe Padolino.

“Kudos, counselor,” Padolino said graciously. “You tried a fine case. Hell of a closing. I think that’s where you won it.”

Ben brushed the compliment away. “The evidence won it. The jury knew Beatrice Taylor was telling the truth.”

“Yes, but on cross, I-” He stopped himself. “Aren’t we lawyers pathetic? We never know when to quit.” He smiled, then passed Ben a scrap of paper. “When all the celebrating is over, would you give this to Christina?”

“What is it?”

“My phone number.”

“Um-oh.”

“I just thought now that the trial was over, she might have more time for… you know. Socializing.”

Ben nodded slowly. “I’ll see that she gets it.”

“Great.” He slapped Ben’s shoulder. “And congratulations again.”

Ben returned to the frenzied activity surrounding his client. Hazel had her steno pad out, taking notes. Amanda was doing some scribbling as well. Glancy was firing off one assignment after another. Apparently, now that the trial was over, he wasn’t wasting a minute before taking charge again.

“-and I want the Blue Beetle replaced once and for all, even if it has to come out of my own pocket. Next time I’m caught in a national crisis, I don’t want my interns running to Kinko’s to get the press releases copied.”

Everyone laughed. Tears were in many eyes.

“What about a press conference?” Amanda said. “I think we need a press conference.”

“No,” Glancy said. “We’ve had a wonderful result, but that doesn’t change the fact that a tragedy occurred. We don’t want to appear to be taking political advantage of that poor girl’s death-or any of the other deaths.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Amanda scribbled a few notes onto her legal pad. “We’ll let a day pass, then put out a press release.”

Glancy rolled his eyes. “And finally- Marshall?”

His executive assistant wheeled to the forefront. “Yes, sir?”

“Toss me your cell phone.”

“Sorry, Boss-I misplaced my briefcase somewhere this morning and my phone was in it.”

“Well, when you find it, call that damned overpriced appeals expert we bought-and tell him he’s fired. We don’t need him anymore!” Another round of cheers filled the courtroom. “All right, you clowns, get me back to the office. I want to see what a mess you’ve made of it in my absence. And I have a bottle of Dom Pérignon 1963 I’ve been saving for a special occasion. I don’t think they’re going to get any more special than this.”