“Yeah, Guff told me about that. While you were interviewing McCabe, we placed a call to the Twentieth Precinct. They’re on it, but they don’t have a clue. Chalk it up to bad luck and forget it.”

“What’re you talking about? What about your speech? About doing everything you can to stop crime?”

“That was just for show,” Conrad joked. “Although you may get lucky when they get the fingerprint results.”

As Conrad finished, Guff entered the office. “Shame, shame, shame,” Guff said. “Now you’re sounding like a real eighty percenter.”

“Do you eavesdrop on every conversation?” Conrad asked him.

“Just the good ones,” Guff said. Turning to Sara, he added, “Got you some news on the trial front. First, Doniger’s neighbor, Patty Harrison, said she’s happy to testify. You can call her today to set up a time. Second, I looked up the conflict-of-interest issues. According to the rules, husband against wife is a definite conflict. The bad news is you can get around it as long as you get written consent from the client after a full disclosure of the conflict.”

“Damn,” Sara said. “So all Jared has to do is-”

“Hold on a second,” Conrad interrupted. “Your husband’s the defense attorney?”

“I told you it’s not my imagination,” Sara said. “Got any advice for this one?”

“Tell him to get off the case or you’ll divorce his ass,” Conrad said. “I saw this once before – you’re looking at an ugly situation.”

“So it’s allowed?” Sara asked nervously.

“Only under certain circumstances,” Guff said. “The firm has to do some legal maneuverings, and at the very least, Jared has to get written consent from Kozlow. Also, Jared must be able to conclude that despite your involvement, he can adequately represent the interests of the client. That’s how they deal with the conflict-of-interest problems.”

“And you better get all of that in writing,” Conrad said. “The last thing you want is to win and then have your victory taken away when Kozlow appeals and cries that he was given an unfair trial.”

“So as long as Jared gets consent, he can stay on the case?” Sara asked, not looking forward to the answer.

“Sorry, I wish it were better news,” Guff said.

Conrad pointed a finger at Sara. “Be careful with this one. I know you’re dying for the victory, but don’t let the case take over your entire life.”

“Too late,” Sara said.

Ignoring hunger pains and a pile of pink message sheets, Jared worked straight through lunch. He reread the burglary statute, made a list of possible defenses, and started searching for every criminal case in the past ten years that had similar facts.

Even Jared’s office showed off his current obsession. The Woody Allen poster that had hung on the wall behind his desk was now replaced by a large piece of poster board containing a professionally enlarged image of the crime scene – from Doniger’s and Harrison’s houses, to Officer McCabe’s location when he received the call on his radio, to the exact spot where Kozlow was stopped. Every morning, Jared planned to start his day the same way: He’d come in and stare intently at the poster, silently accounting for every second of the incident. Each day, he’d run through all the details, constantly searching for another debatable point he could use to his advantage. At trial, all he needed was the tiniest of mistakes – one slip-up, one misidentification, one moment unaccounted for. That was all it took to win on the facts; that was all he needed to protect his wife.

At the same time, if he couldn’t win on the facts, he could try to win on the client. As he had seen in countless trials, some defendants were so believable – indeed, so likable – that the jury couldn’t help but vote not guilty. But as Jared watched Kozlow bite his nails and spit the remnants into a coffee cup, he realized Kozlow wasn’t one of them.

Kathleen walked into the room. “Ready for a pick-me-up?” she asked. “I’ve got Brownie on the phone.”

Jonathan Brown was one of Manhattan’s least prominent and most unlikely antiques dealers. Specializing in entertainment memorabilia, he was also Jared’s one-stop-shopping source for the hardest-to-find collectibles. They had met at an antiques show when Jared was in law school, but it wasn’t until Jared bought the Chinatown knife that Brownie realized he had a client for life. A salesman first and a collector last, Brownie always said that Jared got the exclusive first look at his newest inventory. And since he liked Brownie, Jared, for the most part, believed him.

“Ready to deal?” Brownie said as Jared picked up the phone.

“Listen, Brownie, now’s really not the-”

“Uh-oh, here he goes – he’s taking out his violin. Ohhhh, Brownie, we’re still paying off loans. Lower the price a little bit and I’ll think about it. Well, that gig’s not working today, baby. Because I just found me the veritable goose that lays the golden eggs.”

“I’m serious-”

“Before you say it, let me finish. Remember that wish list you gave me? The one with the words ‘If You See These, Buy Them for Me’ in big letters? Well, I found the number three item on your list. For a price to be negotiated, you can soon be the owner of your very own – get a load of this, Mr. Movies – your very own scuba mask from The Graduate! I’m talking authenticity here. From the famous pool scene. Good as old and almost sol-”

“Brownie, I don’t have time for this now.” Jared hung up the phone. “You almost done with that paperwork?” he asked Kathleen.

“Here you go,” Kathleen said, handing a small pile of papers to Jared.

After quickly reading each page, Jared walked to Kozlow and placed them on his lap. Handing Kozlow a pen, he said, “Read these, and if you agree with what they say, sign them.”

“What are they?” Kozlow asked.

“They’re consent forms to let me be your attorney. And more important, by acknowledging that the prosecutor is my wife, they also show that you’ve had full disclosure about the situation and that I’ve obtained adequate consent. That way, if we lose, you can’t go tell the appellate court that you need a new trial because you didn’t know we were husband and wife.”

“So if I don’t sign these, I can still get that appeal.”

“Sure you can. But if you don’t sign them, Sara won’t bring the case. She’s too smart to not require this paperwork.”

As Kozlow leaned over to sign his name, Jared said to Kathleen, “Have you been able to get in touch with Doniger’s neighbor or the officer yet?”

“Why so early?” Kathleen asked. “We usually wait until after the grand jury. At this point, we don’t even know if they’ll indict.”

“I don’t care. I want you to call them,” Jared said, refusing to take his eyes off Kozlow. “When it comes to this case, we have to pretend the worst has already happened.”

At four o’clock that afternoon, Sara picked up her phone and dialed Jared’s number. Kathleen put her through.

“What do you want?” Jared answered.

“Nice greeting,” Sara said. “Very warm.”

“Sorry, I don’t have time right now. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason,” Jared said. “So what do you want?”

Surprised by her husband’s tone, she asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m just busy with the case. Now what’s up?”

“I wanted to make sure you know about the consent forms so we can-”

“I already had them drawn up and sent out. They’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

“Good,” Sara said. “Now are we still on for dinner tonight?”

“Dinner? Oh, crap, I forgot. I’m sorry. I’ll never make it in time; I’m completely swamped.”

“Jared, don’t give me that. You promised Pop you’d be there.”

“I know, but-”

“But what? You have too much work? Kozlow hasn’t even been indicted yet.”