Mason breathed deeply, collecting himself. "No, I haven't, Your Honor. I will speak to him today, but I doubt that he will want me to withdraw. I'm confident that I won't be charged with either of those crimes. My client will probably consider the threat to charge me as just another part of the prosecutor's strategy to pressure him into pleading guilty to a crime he didn't commit, and will insist that I remain his counsel. That's how he and I view the prosecutor's opposition to bail and that's how I view these threatened charges."

"What about that, Mr. Ortiz? Why has the state taken such a hard line on bail? I've reviewed the court file on this case. You're relying on circumstantial evidence and one fingerprint for a capital murder case against a man with longstanding ties to the community and the financial ability to post a considerable bond. I've routinely granted bail in such cases. Why shouldn't I do that now?"

Ortiz clenched the sides of his legal pad, plainly frustrated at the change in direction Judge Carter had taken. "The defendant has a history of violent behavior. He's a threat to the community, he's-"

"Getting bail in my court, Mr. Ortiz. Mr. Bluestone has never been convicted of a crime. He served his country in the military. He served this community as a police officer. I hope you are devoting as much time to proving your case against him as you are the one against his lawyer. I'm setting bond at $250,000. That will be all, gentlemen."

Ortiz exploded out of his seat, nearly running over Judge Carter's secretary on his way out. Mason rose more slowly, making certain that his legs weren't shaking before he stood up. Judge Carter took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her desk drawer, leaned deeply into the back of her chair, and lit up. She blew the smoke out her nose, ignoring the no smoking sign that hung on her wall.

"You know something, Mr. Mason?" she said quietly. "You wasted a very expensive favor. I would have granted your client bail anyway."

Mason found the men's room, bent over a sink, and splashed his face with cold water until his skin stung. He wiped his face with paper towels, scrubbing at invisible stains. He challenged his image in the mirror for an explanation, but found no answers in his own bewilderment.

He had wasted more than an expensive favor. He had wasted Judge Carter's career, laid her bare to whatever hold Fiora had on her. If he didn't find a way to unring this bell, he would have wasted his own career as well.

At least, he reasoned, Blues would be out of jail in a few hours and together they could try to find a way out of the wilderness. Mason found a room reserved for lawyers to meet with their witnesses, locked the door, and used his cell phone to call Mickey.

"The judge ordered Blues released on bail," he told Mickey, his voice slightly unsteady.

"You want me to cancel the e-mail to Rachel Firestone?"

"Immediately. Make two copies of the bank records on floppy disks. I've got a safe-deposit box at City Bank. The key is in the top drawer of my desk. Put the disks in the box. I'll call the bank, and tell them that you are coming over to use the box. Then wait for me at the office."

"What are you going to do?"

"Arrange for the bail and wait for them to process Blues' release."

"You don't sound so good, boss. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just trying to figure out the part where Jupiter crushes the Titans."

"Don't forget your wingman, boss. You don't have to go it alone."

Mason paused, realizing Mickey was right about that. He didn't have to go it alone, but he didn't want to take anyone else down with him. "I'll talk to you later," he said.

Mason's next call was to Carlos Guiterriz, Mason's favorite bail bondsman. Carlos ran a one-man shop, and took it personally when the prosecutor's office opposed bond for a defendant, claiming they were conspiring against him in his effort to support three ex-wives and five children.

"Guiterriz Bail Bonds," he said when Mason called.

"Carlos, it's Lou Mason. I need a bond for a quarter of million this morning. Can you do that?"

"Who's it for?"

"Wilson Bluestone, Jr., and let's keep it our secret. The press will pick it up soon enough."

"Holy shit, Lou! That is too sweet! How in the hell did you swing that?"

Mason anticipated the question, and knew that Carlos would repeat the answer a hundred times before the day was out. "Judge Carter ordered the bail. She said she'd granted bail to other defendants in cases like Blues and that she wouldn't treat Blues any differently."

"I'll bet that tight-ass Patrick Ortiz shit sideways!"

"It was a thing of wonder," Mason said. Guiterriz's enthusiasm took the rough edge off Mason's mood. "Blues will put up his bar as collateral, and I've got stocks worth fifty thousand bucks if you need more than that. Get the bond to the courthouse right away."

Guiterriz laughed loudly enough that Mason had to hold his phone away from his ear. "A thing of wonder," he quoted Mason when he stopped laughing. "I would have put up the bond myself to see Ortiz take it in the shorts like that. Give me an hour."

Mason wandered downstairs to the first-floor lobby of the courthouse, undecided how to kill time until Guiterriz showed up. He stood at the glass doors that fronted Twelfth Street and watched as pedestrians and drivers fought to keep their balance as a new coating of ice descended on the city.

City Hall was across the street. Mason hadn't heard from Amy White since their meeting in the parking lot of the Hyatt Hotel. If Carl Zimmerman had been keeping her informed about the status of the homicide investigation, she might know something about Zimmerman's whereabouts the night Shirley Parker was killed.

Clutching his topcoat tightly around his collar, Mason made the crossing from the courthouse to City Hall, shook the ice from his shoulders, and rode the elevator to the twenty-ninth floor in the hope that he would catch Amy in her office.

She was waiting for the elevator when it opened on her floor. She stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor.

"Perfect timing," Mason told her as he kept his finger on the button to open the elevator door. "I hoped that I would catch you in the office."

"Lousy timing," she answered. "Whatever it is, I don't have time unless you have a hundred thousand tons of salt and a fleet of trucks to spread it. The weather service says we're going to get two inches of ice and ten inches of snow in the next twelve hours."

"I need to talk with you about something. It's important."

"What is it?"

"Carl Zimmerman."

Amy's mouth tightened as if a sudden pain had struck her. "You've got as long as the elevator takes to get downstairs."

Mason punched the buttons for all twenty-eight floors. "This may take a while," he told her.