Slowly he got out of bed and began to get dressed. Naomh stirred. Softly he walked out of the room, holding his shoes in his hands, not wishing to make any unneeded noise that might wake her up.

Five minutes later, he stepped into his Bugatti and was rushing back toward the center of Manhattan and his office. He charged down Bronx River Parkway toward the skyscrapers of the city that he loved to hate. But as he drove down FDR Drive and took the 63rd street exit that led him to his Midtown offices, he changed his mind. He took a right and turned into a side street that would lead him back onto the highway and continued straight in the direction of Chinatown. He took the City Hall exit and headed toward the financial district.

When the traffic cleared enough, he floored the Bugatti and accelerated as fast as he could. It did not take him long to reach City Hall. But he did not turn into Park Row; instead he drove past it, to a charcoal brown office building between Chinatown and City Hall. The building with the unassuming architecture on the corner of Chambers and Broadway where his old offices were; the Federal Plaza, the New York State headquarters for the office of the FBI.

He parked the Bugatti in the front of the building and ran in. He checked his watch and knew Albert would only just be heading in. He knew his old partner's habits by heart and he was not wrong. Within a minute, Albert came in with a cup of coffee.

“Albert!” he greeted his old partner, who looked a bit stunned.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Helping you out.” Donovan said as happily as he could, knowing how much it would annoy Albert.

“Thought you had to be in court or something? Stupid Lavoie kid? Yesterday, in fact.”

Donovan shook his head. “It was postponed to today. Got another two hours before that.”

Albert nodded, looking bored and annoyed. “So what are you doing here? Not sure you're supposed to be here. You couldn't just call, could you?”

“You've probably got some link with the NSA anyway, so you can tap my phone. Not sure I want one of your spies or database analysts overhearing what I need to tell you. Bit sensitive.”

It took Albert a moment to realize what he meant. “You spoke to her then?”

Donovan nodded. “She said I should look at the Lang's siblings.”

“Yeah, I did that already. That sister, Mary?”

“Mara.” Donovan corrected him.

“Right, her. Well, she died under your wheels right?” Albert shrugged. “Maybe they blame you for that too, but Quinn has gone to ground, Denny is dead and Mara is dead. Unless we can find Quinn, that's a dead end.”

“I was with Sedakis last night.”

“Ugh, that horrible man.” Albert interrupted.

“Shut up, he's a nice guy.” Donovan threw in. “He's just gotten married to this teenage chick. She claims she went to boarding school with Mara Lang and her younger sister.”

Albert shrugged. Then his eyes opened wide. His brain was still slow in the morning. The coffee had not yet taken effect. “Her younger sister?”

“Yes. Kid disappeared from the Québec boarding school when she was fourteen. Nobody has heard or seen of her since.”

“Interesting...” Albert smiled and patted Donovan on the shoulder. He turned away and walked past the desk into the office. “Haven't completely lost your touch have you, Boyo?”

The Court Administration was a hive of activity when Donovan got there. Naomh Walsh was already waiting in the lobby area as he walked through the main entrance doors. He came to stand next to her and took her hand, fingering the ring on her finger. “Did you cheat on your husband last night?” he asked her quietly. She just stared straight ahead, not giving anything away. “Honestly, I don't know,” she said in low tones. “Wanted to, but I'm not sure I did. Damned ouzo.”

Donovan grinned. “Yeah, well... dinner tonight?”

She looked at him then. “Husband is flying back tonight. Sorry.”

Donovan nodded. He tried to make out he was not bothered, but secretly he was. He had enjoyed spending time with Ms. Walsh, much more than with any of his other recent conquests. But, he figured, you win some, you lose some. Que sera, sera and all that jazz.

A large, black limousine drove up to the curb and the door opened. First out of the car was a big Eastern European-looking man with muscles the size of boulders. He was dressed in some shiny, silk harem pants and nothing more. He held two small dogs, both of them barking like mad. Behind him, a woman in latex pants and bra got out. A huge purple strap-on dangled from her waist as she stood there on her high heels, waiting for the last person to exit the car. That last person was a petite blonde woman. The blonde woman was really still a girl. A girl who made both Donovan and Naomh look down in despair.

Justine Lavoie, it seemed, had not even bothered to dress. She had simply thrown on a jeans skirt that was so short it looked almost like a belt. She wore no top, just a short fur coat that she had not even closed. Her small breasts were almost fully exposed, as were her private parts as she stepped out of the car. She wore obscenely high shoes again and her makeup was that of a porn star, again.

When she stood and rose out of the limo, she smiled to the large gathering of paparazzi that seemed to have become a part of her entourage. She pulled the two people that accompanied her close in. She kissed the woman and stroked the strap-on in her hand. She pushed her bottom into the crotch of the topless man and began grinding against him, all the while looking straight at the cameras.

The cameramen and photographers egged her on, but Donovan's patience just snapped. He rushed forward, making his way through the assembled press and grabbed Justine Lavoie by her arm. “Good day, Miss Lavoie. If you would be so kind as to follow us into the courthouse. Can't keep the judge waiting.” He just pushed her. The topless man tried to ward him off, but he was able to bully the girl toward the main door. In the short, close-up observation, he had already noticed she had no pupil in her eye, and he already began wondering whether he should not just let it happen. Maybe he should let her make a fool out of herself, mess things up in the court and be convicted to mandatory rehab. Maybe the conviction would steer her away from what seemed like her looming demise and maybe even a membership to the 27 Club.

The whole thing should have been a routine affair. An appearance before the bench and a quick decision. Most of the minor offenses were dealt with in that manner. You were given a number, called before the bench, told your story in a few minutes, the clerk would read the police report and then the judge would pass a ruling. You could then accept the verdict or decide to take it higher, demanding trial by jury. Or you could simply make things worse by showing contempt of court.

It should have been easy, and Donovan hoped it would be, though, as the situation unfolded before him, he feared it would not be. Naomh Walsh did not show what she was thinking, but her objective was not getting Justine Lavoie off or getting her the best suitable arrangement. Her job was to make sure the girl got publicity, preferably good publicity, of course. But publicity was the name of the game. The only thing she seemed to be afraid of was that her client's behavior would appear so deranged that she would end up generating too much negative publicity, to the detriment of her record and ticket sales.

Neither one of them had control over the situation, and neither one was willing to admit to the fact. With so much press there, this was a show entirely devoted to Justine Lavoie and her whims. The moment their number was called Justine Lavoie jumped up and trotted toward the bench. She took off her short fur jacket and bowed to the judge. There weren’t supposed to be any cameras in the courtroom, but there were some anyway. Various people present in the room pulled out their cell phones and took snapshots. Several paparazzi had managed to sneak in past the security and even a camera crew from the news station had managed to get in.