As Torrey stood to begin his questioning, Hill lifted his gavel and touched it down lightly. The decibel level dropped a few points, Torrey greeted Strout, and the hearing had begun.

'Dr Strout, for the benefit of the court, can you tell us briefly your occupation, as well as the training and experience that qualify you for that position?' Strout quickly qualified as an expert and gave the preliminary information about the case. In about ten questions, Torrey got to the point. 'Doctor, what killed Elaine Wager?'

Strout leaned back in the witness chair and crossed his legs. 'She was shot once in the back of the head at point blank range with a twenty-five caliber bullet. Death was instantaneous.'

'And the manner of death?'

'Death at the hands of another – homicide.'

As Hardy listened to the uncontested testimony, his spirits continued in their downward spiral. The prosecution, after all, only had to prove two things and it was already halfway there in less than five minutes. But, he thought with relief, that's over now. Homicide has been established. The second half, as Yogi Berra would say, was ninety per cent of it. But if he thought that things couldn't get more depressing from here, he was mistaken.

Torrey: 'Now, you carefully examined the deceased body in your forensics laboratory, did you not?'

'I did a complete autopsy, yes, sir.'

'And during this autopsy, did you discover any other injuries to the body?'

'I did.'

'Would you please describe them for the court?'

Strout, in his element, turned slightly and spoke directly to the judge, describing in homespun terms the gash on Elaine's neck, the broken ring finger, the damage to her earlobes where the pierced earrings had been pulled out. By the time he'd finished the short recitation, the susurrus in the gallery had ceased. Torrey introduced the eight-by-ten color photographs of Elaine that documented all of this testimony and Judge Hill spent several minutes examining them minutely, leaving Strout on the stand while he did so.

When he finally got the pictures back and entered as People's Exhibits, Torrey told Strout he had one more question. 'These injuries, Doctor, were they administered before or after the decedent's death?'

Strout replied, 'From a medical standpoint, it's impossible to say with certainty in the cases of the neck and ear injuries. Certainly near to the time of death, say within an hour. The finger, however, was broken after the decedent's heart had stopped pumping blood.'

'In other words, after she was dead?' In his laconic drawl, Strout granted that death usually went along with when the heart stopped and stayed that way. A ripple of amusement – tension breaking in the gallery – greeted this reply. Torrey let it die out, then passed the witness.

Hardy stood up. 'Dr Strout,' he began, 'the injuries you described earlier, including the gunshot wound, the pictures we've seen – was that the extent of damage to the decedent's body?'

The witness considered for several seconds. 'Yes, sir,' he answered with finality.

'Were there any other broken bones, physical marks, bruises, abrasions?'

'No.'

'Did you examine her extremities, Doctor?'

'Yes, of course.'

'And were there any scratches or scrapes on her knees, or elbows, or on her hands?'

'No.'

'Aside from the bullet wound, was the same true of her head?'

Another wait while Strout considered carefully. 'Yes.'

'Doctor, was there any abrasion, no matter how slight that, in your expert opinion, would be consistent with her dropping dead – instantaneously, as you said – and falling directly with gravity onto unyielding concrete or asphalt?'

'No, there was none.'

Hardy thought he'd nailed down his point succinctly enough. The Cadaver had listened intently, even had taken a few notes. He'd have to let the information – and inferences to be drawn from it – hang fire for a while, but when the time came, it might be persuasive.

In the gallery, the noise bubbled up again. Hardy didn't know if the Cadaver used it for the same purpose, but suddenly the waxing and waning of the background sound struck Hardy as a kind of barometer. While he was asking his questions of Strout, the room had been almost completely silent. Which told him he must have been getting somewhere, making people think. Even if the majority of them, like Cole, were ignorant of where he intended to go, what his questions meant. But he knew.

And the gallery would remember them, waiting for an answer, for closure. So, Hardy believed, would the judge. He bowed his head slightly to Strout. 'Thank you, Doctor. No more questions.'

By the time Hardy was back at his table – six steps -Hill had directed Torrey to call his next witness. As he sat down, Cole whispered, 'What was that all about?' and Torrey stood and asked Steven Petrie to come forward. Hardy looked around Cole to Freeman. The old man pointed to the yellow legal pad on the desk in front of him. In block letters, he'd written 'Petrie'. He smiled helpfully.

'What?' Cole asked again.

Hardy patted his arm, whispered to him, 'It's like a movie, Cole. You pick it up as it goes along.'

Petrie, the officer who'd been first on the scene, was in uniform today. Blond and crew cut, he had a runner's body and a military air, and seemed nearly as uncomfortable as Strout had been composed. He gave his name, his rank, his duties and time on the force. Torrey was up, standing in front of him. 'Officer Petrie, would you please describe your actions on or about twelve thirty a.m. on the morning of Monday, February first, of this year?'

Hardy conceded that this was a good way to loosen up the stiff cop. Petrie seemed to sag in relief- he wasn't going to be answering a barrage of questions, at least not right away. He glanced up at the judge, then back to Torrey, and began his recital in a normal voice.

The details were familiar enough to Hardy, but he knew that a straightforward chronology of events would be helpful to the judge. Eventually, also – he hoped – it would serve him. But for now, he sat forward, listening for factual error, taking notes.

Petrie told it clearly. He and his partner, Daniel Medrano, were cruising downtown on their regular beat when they saw some suspicious movement at the head of Maiden Lane, at Grant. As they pulled closer, they brought their squad car's spotlight to bear, and saw a man squatting over a fallen figure. He turned and began to run. Petrie's partner Medrano got out and gave chase while Petrie first called for backup, then got out to see to the fallen figure, a young African-American woman, who appeared to be dead.

He took under a minute satisfying himself that he could do nothing to help the victim, but he called the paramedics anyway. By the time he finished, Medrano was returning with the suspect, whom he'd apprehended at the Union Square end of Maiden Lane. Medrano told him that, in the dark, the suspect had run into a fire hydrant and fallen down.

Shot out of a cannon, Hardy was on his feet with an objection. He heard Freeman call his name hoarsely, but he was already up, committed. 'Hearsay, your honor.'

Hill's eyes narrowed with displeasure. 'Absolutely,' he replied. 'And as such permitted in a preliminary hearing when offered through an experienced officer, as you no doubt remember from your days in law school. Mr Torrey, please continue.' But another thought struck him. 'Oh, and Mr Hardy, try to refrain from frivolous objections like this as we go along here, would you? We've got a lot of ground to cover. Thank you. All right, Mr Torrey, you may proceed.'

Hardy sat down heavily and Freeman reached around Cole to pat his arm. 'I tried to tell you,' he said. It wasn't any solace.

Torrey brought Petrie back to where he'd been and he continued. 'So Dan – Officer Medrano – came back down Maiden Lane with the suspect. He also had a gun that he said the suspect had dropped when he fell.'