“Don’t kick yourself about it. Just keep going – use the book and find the crime.”

Opening the book, Sara flipped through its pages. Speed-reading through New York’s numerous offenses, she searched for the answer to Guff’s hypothetical question. For almost three minutes, Conrad and Guff stared at her, not saying a word. Finally, she looked up. “Fortune-telling.”

“Explain,” Conrad said.

Sara read from the book. “In New York, if you pretend to use occult powers to exorcise or affect evil spirits, you can be charged with fortune-telling.”

“And the defense is?”

“You can do it if it’s for the purpose of entertainment or amusement,” she said, wiping her brow.

“Exactly,” Conrad said. “Which is why we haven’t busted the Great Zamboni and all the rest of them.”

“What does this have to do with my burglary case?”

“Are you sure it’s burglary?” Conrad countered. “Maybe it’s breaking and entering. Maybe it’s larceny. And what about robbery? The only way to find out is by looking at the individual facts. Knowing the facts tells you the crime. For example, if you take someone’s money and then hit them, it’s a robbery. But if you take their money, throw it back at them when they scream, and then hit them to shut them up, it’s no longer a robbery because you don’t have their property. The key is to get all the details.”

“Think of it as a movie,” Guff said. “Break it down frame by frame. If you’re missing a frame, you still don’t have the complete picture.”

“Okay,” Sara said, refusing to be overwhelmed. “I can do this.” She read from the complaint report: “After receiving a radio call reporting a break-in and describing the defendant, the officer picked up the defendant two blocks from the burglary. When they returned to 201 East Eighty-second Street, the victim identified the defendant as the burglar. After searching defendant’s pockets, a diamond Ebel watch, a sterling silver golf ball, and four hundred and seventeen dollars were recovered, all of them belonging to the victim.”

“Now,” Conrad said, “that gives you about three percent of what actually happened.”

“Why?” Sara asked, confused.

“Because of the way arrests work – everyone’s trying to make himself look great.” Leaning forward, Conrad grabbed the complaint report from Sara’s hands. “You can see it right here: The cop uses the word ‘burglary.’ It’s not the cop’s job to identify the crime that’s supposed to be charged. That’s your job. And how do we know the description on the radio matched what Kozlow was wearing? And who reported the burglary? Was it the victim or was it an anonymous tip? If it’s anonymous-”

“The judge may exclude the evidence if the source can’t be verified,” Sara said. “So you’re saying I need to talk to the cop.”

“Exactly,” Conrad answered. He pointed to the tiny video camera on top of the ECAB computer. “Face-to-face on the videophone.”

“That’s pretty high-tech,” Sara said, moving her head close to the camera.

“I actually think it’s terrible,” Conrad said, “but I won’t get into it.”

“Well, I think it’s fantastic,” Guff added. “Things like this bring us one step closer to the Jetsons and their magical animated world of the future.”

Ignoring Guff, Sara said, “Okay, so I call the cop up and get all the details. Then when I’m done with that, I write up the official complaint and start all over again.”

“What do you mean start all over again?”

“I mean, if I’m dead set on keeping this job, I’m going to need more than one measly case, don’t you think?”

“I told you she was hungry,” Guff said.

“Without question, you should grab every case you can get your hands on,” Conrad said to Sara. “But don’t forget one thing: As long as Victor’s supervising, he’s not going to give you anything but throwaways. You’re going to be prosecuting every pickpocket in Manhattan.”

“Is there any way around that?”

“Considering you already pissed off Evelyn, I doubt it.”

“Okay. No big deal. That’s why they call it paying your dues,” Sara said, trying to sound positive. “Whatever it is, I’m ready to do it.”

“Keep up that attitude,” Conrad said. “But when you’re done catching cases, make sure you go home and rest for a while. The arraignment’s going to be at around eleven o’clock tonight.”

“Tonight?” Sara asked. “I didn’t know arraignments went on that late.”

“This is New York City,” Conrad said. “Home of sixteen million people, all of whom hate each other. Arraignments here are open around the clock.”

“I’ll be there.” As she picked up the phone and dialed Officer Michael McCabe’s telephone number, Conrad got out of his seat. “Where’re you going?” Sara asked.

“I have my own work to do. I’ll see you in arraignments – it’s on the first floor of this building. Get there early to be safe.”

“See you later,” Sara said as Conrad left the office.

When the officer answered his phone, Sara explained that she was calling about the Kozlow arrest and wanted to speak to him via videophone. She then hung up the phone and waited for the officer to call her back. Two minutes later, her phone rang.

“Pick it up and hit ‘Receive,’” Guff said, pointing to an electronic icon on her computer screen.

When she followed Guff’s instructions, Officer McCabe’s face appeared in full color on her computer screen. “Can you hear me?” Sara asked, leaning toward the tiny video camera.

“Oh, great.” The officer rolled his eyes. “A rookie.”

“Save your moaning. I know what I’m doing.”

“She’s got six years of law firm experience,” Guff said, sticking his head into the camera’s path.

“Who the hell is that?” McCabe asked.

“No one,” Sara said, pushing Guff away. “Now why don’t we get started. Tell me everything that happened.”

With his high-back Moroccan leather chair pulled up to his nineteenth-century French partner’s desk, Oscar Rafferty calmly flipped through the pages of the Cat on a Hot Tin Roof German rights contract. All it took was a phone call. Actually, that wasn’t true. It was a phone call and a quick visit in his office. That’s what closed the deal. Since the moment Rafferty entered the world of intellectual property, he’d known the power of making an impression. That was how he had gotten where he was. From the hand-sewn carpets to the Calder mobile in the corner of the room, he always did his best to show the best. And if he needed more proof of the payoff, all he had to do was look at the drying ink on the contract in front of him. It had taken less than forty-five minutes to make that four million dollars. Even by banking industry standards, that was a great hourly rate.

Expanding on a theme, Rafferty always kept three phones on his desk. With current technology, he could easily combine them in one, but the visual effect on his clients was worth the loss of desk space. When the middle phone rang – his personal line – he picked it up on the first ring. “This better be good news.”

“I don’t know if it’s good news, but it is information,” the private detective said at the other end of the line. “Her name is Sara Tate. She’s thirty-two years old and was born and raised in Manhattan. Six months ago, she was fired from her old law firm, which really brought her down a peg, and she just started at the DA’s office. According to some of her old associates at the law firm, she’s aggressive, blunt, and as passionate as they come. One guy said she second-guesses herself a lot and that she can be real volatile, but he also agreed she’s no fool.”

“What else did they say?” Rafferty asked, searching for weaknesses. “How is she in court?”

“Only one of them had seen her do anything firsthand. He said she comes off as a real person, which is a tough feat for most lawyers these days.”

“You think she’s a threat?”

“Every new prosecutor’s a threat. When it’s their first case, they’re all trying to succeed. What makes Sara dangerous, though, is that it’s about more than success – with the cutbacks, she needs this job to survive, and that means she’s going to be pulling out every stop to win.”