Emil worked for forty years as a mail carrier and just got in the habit of walking, plus he had a touch of phlebitis and he was supposed to stroll three or four miles a day, keep his circulation up.

Balian wasn't shy. He talked incessantly, telling Glitsky and Thieu all about his life in the neighborhood. He bought into St Francis Wood back when a working man could afford a nice house. Eleanor, his wife, had a job, too – and this was in the days before women worked like they do now. They hadn't had any children, so pretty much had their pick of neighborhoods. Money wasn't much of a problem back then, not like it is now being on a fixed income.

During this extended recital, Glitsky kept trying to back away, get to the house. He knew they were going to have to canvass the area sometime for witnesses anyway. He was reasonably certain that this old man was talking for the sheer pleasure of hearing himself talk.

But it turned out better than that.

Jenkins crossed the floor and came to rest a couple of feet in front of the witness box. 'Mr Balian,' she began, 'would you tell us what you did on the evening of June 7th of this year?'

'I sure will. I had supper with my wife, Eleanor, at our home on Casitas Avenue, and after supper, like I always do, I went out for a walk.'

'And what time was this?'

'It was just dusk, maybe a little before, say eight o'clock, thereabouts. We always eat at seven sharp, used to be six, but about ten years ago we went to seven. I don't know why, really, it just seemed more civilized or something. So it was seven.'

'So to get the timing right, was it seven o'clock when you began dinner, but near eight when you started your walk?'

'That's right.'

'Was there any other way you could mark the time? Did you check your watch, anything like that?'

'No, I don't usually wear a watch. In fact, I don't ever wear a watch. After I retired, I said what do I need a watch for anymore and threw the old thing in my drawer…'

'Yes, well, was there any other…?'

'The time. Sure. As I said, it was near dusk. When I left it was still light out and when I got back home, maybe an hour later, it was dark. While I was out, the street-lights came up, so that ought to pinpoint it.'

'Yes, it would, thank you.'

Jenkins turned back to where Glitsky sat at the prosecution table and he gave her a reassuring nod. The way Balian answered questions drove Amanda crazy, and she didn't want to lose patience with him. After all, he was her witness, the backbone of her case. She took a breath, turned and faced him again.

'All right, Mr Balian. Now on this walk, did you happen to notice anything unusual?'

'Yes, I did. There was a different car parked out in front of the Murrays'.'

'A different car. What do you mean?'

'I mean the Murrays don't own that car, or else they just bought it, so I wondered who it was might be visiting them, was how I come to notice it.'

'Can you describe the car, Mr Balian?'

'It was a late-model, light-brown Lexus with a personalized license plate that read ESKW.'

Jenkins entered a photograph of Dooher's car into evidence. The vanity plate was meant to be sort of a humorous rendering of ESQ, for Esquire – Dooher's advertisement that he was a lawyer.

'And what street was this car parked on?'

'Down the end of my own street, Casitas.'

'Which is how far from Ravenwood?'

'Two blocks.'

'And did you ever see this car again?'

'I sure did. The very next day, which was how I remember it so clear.' Balian was getting caught up in his story, enthusiasm all over him. Glitsky knew that this was where he tended to embellish, and hoped Jenkins would be able to keep him reined in.

'And where did you see this car?'

'It was parked in the driveway at 4215 Ravenwood Street. That's why I was still standing out front when the police got there the next day. I thought I'd go by and see the house where there'd been the murder- it was all on the TV – and there was this same car the next day in the driveway, so I was looking at it, wondering what the connection was.'

Farrell got his blood up when it was time to perform. Leaning over to both Dooher and Christina as Jenkins handed him the witness, he whispered, 'It's almost unfair.'

He rose slowly and made a little show of pretending to be reading something from a file in front of him, getting his questions down. From the table, finally, he raised his head and smiled at the witness. 'Mr Balian. On the night we've been talking about, June 7th, before you took your walk, you had dinner with your wife at your home. Do you remember what you had for dinner that night?'

At the opposite table, Christina saw Glitsky and Jenkins exchange a look. They must have known what would be coming, but that didn't make it any easier to sit through.

On the witness stand, Emil Balian crossed his arms and frowned. 'I don't know,' he said.

Farrell looked down at the file before him again and creased his own brow. 'You don't know? And yet in your second interview with the police, didn't you tell Lieutenant Glitsky that you'd had corned beef and cabbage for dinner on that night?'

'I think I said that, yes, but-'

'I've got the transcript of that interview right here, Mr Balian. Would you like to see it?'

'No, that's all right, I know I said it.'

'But in a later interview, were you as sure of what you had for dinner?'

Balian nodded. 'Not really. But that was a week or so after I first talked to the police, and Eleanor reminded me she thought we'd had pork chops and applesauce that night, Tuesday, if it was going to be important. The night before was corned beef. It doesn't have anything to do with the car,' he added petulantly.

'Do you remember now which dinner it was, the corned beef or the pork chops?'

'No. I'm not sure.'

Farrell put his pad down and walked around the table, out into the center of the courtroom. 'Mr Balian, would you have had a drink with either of these dinners? Let's say the corned beef?'

'Usually with corned beef, I'd have a beer.'

'One beer? A couple of beers?'

'Sometimes a couple of beers.'

'And how about pork chops? Would you have a drink with pork chops?'

'Sometimes. White wine.'

'A glass or two?'

'Yes.'

'But on this night, you don't remember what you ate or if you had anything to drink exactly, do you?'

'Not exactly, no.'

'You do admit, however, that you probably had a couple of drinks – that was your habit with meals – regardless whether it was corned beef or pork chops.'

'That's the first thing I said, wasn't it? That I didn't know?'

'Yes, it was, Mr Balian. That was the first thing you said, that you didn't remember what you'd eaten. But now, let's get on with what you say you do remember, the car with the ESKW license plates. You saw this car parked on your street on Tuesday night, June 7th?'

On more solid ground for a moment, Balian settled himself in the witness chair. He loosened his collar at the knot of his tie. 'I did. It was in front of the Murrays' house.'

'And where were you? Did you walk right by it?'

A pause. 'I was across the street.'

'Across the street? Did you cross over to look at this car more carefully?'

'No. I could see it fine. I didn't study it or anything. I just noticed it, the way you notice things. It wasn't a car from our street.'

'Okay, fair enough. Is Casitas a wide street, by the way?'

The petulance was returning. 'It's a normal street, I don't know how wide.'

Farrell went back to his table and turned with a document in his hand. He moved forward to the witness box. The questions may have been barbed, but his tone was neutral, even friendly. 'I have here a notarized survey of Casitas Avenue' – he had it marked Defense E – 'and it shows that the street is sixty-two feet from side to side. Does that sound right, Mr Balian?'