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  night?"

  "They didn't. They've mentioned the possibility, but we haven't made a

  decision about whether that's the right way to go yet."

  "Maybe you've got some mixed signals. Susan Kerr tells me that the

  police, in addition to being very curious about the state of the

  Easterbrooks' marriage, asked the husband for a poly last night, just

  minutes after telling him that his wife's body had been found. That's

  why she was upset enough to call me."

  "Shit. Well, she didn't mention it to me, and she just left me a

  message this morning."

  "She thought it would be best not to put you in an awkward position

  between her and your detectives, so she brought her concerns to me."

  "I don't know what to say, Duncan. I'll ask the MCT guys about it."

  "Good. I need you to be the woman you're being today on this,

  Samantha, the person who came in here for your interview; not the

  hothead who puts a line of attorneys outside my door complaining about

  bad behavior."

  It has never been a line: a slow dribble, maybe. "I only know how to

  be one person, sir."

  "Dammit, Sam. You know what I mean. I'm just warning you, you're

  dealing with some very influential people on this one who don't look

  kindly on mistakes. In addition to Mrs. Kerr, you've got Townsend

  Easterbrook. Let me be clear: If he's the guy, you crush him. But not

  until there's good reason to. He's not your typical perp who's used to

  being thrown against the car and frisked for looking the wrong way.

  He's the chief administrative surgeon at OHSU. For Christ's sake, the

  man singlehandedly got the hospital's pediatric transplant wing off the

  ground again after everyone wrote the project off as dead. He's Mother

  Teresa with a penis."

  "So you're asking me to give these people special treatment." It

  wasn't a question.

  "If you could even begin to think like a realist, you'd know I was

  asking you to give them the expected treatment."

  There was no use putting up a fight over this, since I'd already been

  treating Townsend and Susan "as expected." I assured him I got the

  message, loud and clear.

  Back at my desk, I put in a page to Johnson. Why hadn't he told me

  about the polygraph? My phone sat silent, though, as I finished

  screening duty with just a few more strokes of the pen. I couldn't

  wait here all day for him to call it was time to get my hands on

  Clarissa's files.

  I got lucky. My first choice judge, David Lesh, had just finished a

  plea and was working in his chambers. Lesh was a former prosecutor. He

  was also a former employee of the City Attorney's Office, but his job

  there was to advise the police. He wouldn't look kindly on Dennis

  Coakley's obstructionism.

  He gave me a warm welcome. "Get in here, Kincaid. I haven't seen you

  since all hell broke loose. How are you holding up? You look

  great."

  "Thanks, Judge." Lesh was a regular fixture on the happy-hour circuit

  and an absolute nut, but his position required certain formalities.

  "I'm doing surprisingly well. I took some time off, and now I'm in the

  Major Crimes Unit."

  "Well, good for you. You deserve it. If it means anything, I think

  you did a great job in the Derringer trial."

  His delivery, without an iota of irony, evoked a sharp laugh from me.

  An actual guffaw. "Oh, yeah, ended beautifully," I said.

  "At least you've got a sense of humor about it. So what are you here

  for?"

  "I'm working on the Clarissa Easterbrook case."

  His tone changed markedly, as was Lesh's way. Irreverence always took

  a backseat to the things that mattered. "I heard about that this

  morning. The saddest thing. She was such a nice woman. Did you know

  her?"

  "No, but I did meet her once. I guess you knew her from the City

  Attorney's Office."

  "Not from work so much as just being around City Hall together. She

  was a really great gal, the kind of person who genuinely wanted to hear

  the answer when she'd ask how you were doing. Are you guys getting

  anywhere on nailing whoever did this to her?"

  "Bureau's working on it," I said, shaking my head, "but nothing yet.

  That's actually why I stopped by. We want to look at her files to see

  if someone might have had a grudge, but we're having some problems

  getting in. I don't want to get too far into an explanation since it

  would be ex parte, but I'd like to get someone over here from the City

  Attorney's Office, if you don't mind."

  Judges weren't supposed to talk about a case with only one of the

  lawyers present.

  "I take it Coakley's not letting you in?" he asked.

  "Well, he hasn't said one way or the other, but I wanted to do the file

  review yesterday. I even walked over there and was ready to do it."

  "Let's see what he's got to say about it."

  He picked up his phone and punched in a number from memory. After Lesh

  was a prosecutor and before he was a judge, Coakley was Lesh's Duncan

  Griffith. Some bad blood was rumored, so this might be fun.

  "Dennis Coakley, please. This is Circuit Court Judge David Lesh."

  Lesh was too much of a pro to drop his poker face, but I'd heard him

  make calls before. He's usually just plain old David Lesh.

  "Mr. Coakley, how are you? .. . I've got Samantha Kincaid in my

  chambers. Do you have a second to walk over here for a quick

  discussion? .. . Well, she doesn't seem to agree.... Unless you tell

  me she can get in there right now to see what she wants to see, I think

  you do have a disagreement.... I know it's unconventional, but it's

  also the easiest way to do it. Do you really want to formalize this? I

  could have her apply for a warrant, in which case you wouldn't even be

  here for my decision.... All right, I'll see you in a few."

  A pissed-off Coakley walked in a few short minutes later. If we'd been

  in Toon Town, his face would have been red, his ears smoking, and he

  would have been storming in at a forty-five degree lean. In the real

  world, his neck vein was pulsing. Not nearly as cute.

  "All right," Lesh said, once Dennis was settled, "any need for a court

  reporter?" We both declined. "Just so you know,

  Ms. Kincaid was careful not to tell me too much about the nature of

  the dispute until you were here. I know she wants to look in Clarissa

  Easterbrook's files, and you told me you didn't feel you were able to

  accommodate that, at least not on the DA's timeline. Is that about

  right?"

  I nodded, but Coakley had come ready for a fight. "Honestly, Judge, I

  can't even believe we're here. Ms. Kincaid showed up at my office

  yesterday, unannounced. I gave her the one and only file she described

  as being of interest, and I've been working ever since to view the

  remaining files for privileged information. I'm nearly done, and

  pulling me away from that process only slows things down. I feel

  ambushed."

  Lesh asked me if I wanted to respond.

  "I was not trying to ambush anyone, your honor. The problem is that

  Mr. Coakley assumes he has the singular right to d
ecide when and where

  and under what terms those files can be reviewed as part of a pressing

  homicide investigation. The fact of the matter is I could have applied

  for a search warrant and shown up at City Hall with police to execute

  it. I thought having a judge mediate the discussion might facilitate

  an agreement about the matter."

  "Right," Coakley scoffed, "and you just happened to pick a judge who

  used to work for me."

  Lesh made a T with his hands. "Whoa, that judge is still in the room,

  thank you very much. As you know, Dennis, I made a decision when I

  became a judge not to remove myself from all cases involving the city

  or the DA's office, just the ones that were pending while I worked for

  those offices. That said, if you think I'm biased, you are welcome to

  ask me to recuse myself, and I won't fight it. We'll get another judge

  for you. Just say the word."

  Local custom holds that judges will remove themselves from a case based

  solely on an attorney's request. But local practice holds that no

  lawyer ever actually makes such a request lest it burn them down the

  road, either with the challenged judge or the one unlucky enough to

  pick up the extra work.

  "That's not necessary, your honor."

  "Then let's get down to business. You know why the DA wants to get

  into those files: There's always the possibility that someone on a case

  had it out for Clarissa. Tell me precisely what your concern is about

  letting her have a look." Lesh gestured at me. "You'd be doing the

  review, right? Not your officers?"

  "That's correct, your honor."

  Coakley repeated the same line he'd given me the day before.

  And Lesh had the same response. "Wait a second. I don't understand

  why her files would contain any communications with you. The city's a

  party, for Christ's sake."

  "We don't know what kind of internal memoranda she made about other

  privileged matters in an employment context, though, your honor, or how

  she maintained those memoranda. I just want a chance to peruse each

  file and ensure that it contains only case information. It's standard

  practice in document production."

  Lesh made my argument for me. "Maybe in a civil suit, but this is a

  murder investigation. You're talking about a theoretical possibility

  that Clarissa Easterbrook who is now dead, by the way not only had a

  conversation with someone in your office but that she recorded it in

  some form and then placed it in a case file where Ms. Kincaid might

  stumble upon it unwittingly. And you think this possibility warrants a

  delay in a murder investigation?"

  "Not a substantial one, your honor. As I said, I'm almost done."

  Lesh shook his head. He had worked both the civil and criminal sides

  of the bar, but even he was incredulous at this particular civil

  litigator's priorities. "How far have you gotten, Dennis?"

  Coakley pursed his lips and thought a second. "Probably eighty

  percent."

  "And was there anything in that eighty percent that you needed to

  redact?"

  "No, there wasn't."

  "Of course not," Lesh said. "OK, here's what we're doing, kids.

  Dennis, get the files that you've completed ready for Ms. Kincaid to

  review at City Hall. Where should she go?"

  Coakley clearly thought about arguing, but hedged his bets that things

  could get worse and relented. "Clarissa's office would probably be

  best."

  "Good. While she reviews those, you're free to continue working on the

  remaining twenty percent. But if she gets done before you do, too bad.

  The two of you can race to the finish."

  We both said thank you and started to leave. Before I walked out, Lesh

  called me back. "Samantha, do you have a minute?"

  "Of course, your honor."

  Once the door was closed, he asked me to sit down. "What was that all

  about?"

  "I'm not sure what you mean."

  "I certainly hope that's not the case, or you're going to have a very

  rough career ahead of you. Did you really need me for that?"

  "We were at an impasse, your honor. I thought you'd help us reach a

  compromise, and you did."

  "It's my job, Kincaid, and I haven't turned into one of those lazy

  sacks who's complaining about more work yet," he said, knocking on his

  wood desk. "But you didn't even talk to Coakley about this before

  coming to me, did you?"

  "Not since yesterday," I said.

  "Before Clarissa's body was found," he said, shaking his head. "The

  guy was eighty percent done, so he meant it when he said he'd been

  working on it. The fact is, you could have come to the same solution

  with a phone call. But he probably gave you a hard time yesterday, so

  you decided you'd teach him a lesson. And don't think for a minute

  that I'm not aware why you handpicked me as your weapon."

  I didn't say anything.

  "It's not my business, but just some friendly advice. I know Coakley,

  and I'd bet money that word of this will get back to Griffith." That

  would be terrific, given the meeting we'd just had. "Don't forget,

  I've worked for that office too. You've got to stop butting heads, or

  you're in for a world of hurt."

  People feel perfectly free to lecture me about butting heads, but who

  scolds the butt heads Maybe Lesh could bend the will of jerks like

  Coakley through charm and personality, but I've found those kind of

  people will run me over if I don't stand up for myself. I still loved

  Lesh, but until he walked a mile in my Ferragamos, he didn't have a

  clue as to what my job was like.

  I thanked him again for his help and headed back to my office.

  Five.

  While I was packing up what I needed for the file review, I heard a tap

  on my open door and turned to find Russ Frist wheeling my long-lost

  leather chair into the office.

  "Lucy," I said in my best Desi impersonation, "you got some 'splaining

  to do."

  He flicked a manila envelope onto my desk in front of me.

  "Good shot." I looked at the envelope but didn't open it.

  "What can I say? Too much ultimate Frisbee in the Corps."

  "I wouldn't have guessed that about you, Frist. When I was in college,

  the ultimate Frisbee guys were big dope smokers."

  "Right, but they probably never inhaled. Let's just agree that you

  probably shouldn't extrapolate too much from your Harvard experience,

  Kincaid."

  "Nor you from the Marine Corps."

  "Touche."

  "Now shut up, soldier, and tell me why you have my beloved chair."

  "Open the envelope," he said.

  Inside, I found two Polaroids of my chair and a series of ransom notes

  written with letters cut from magazines.

  "A couple of the guys heard about your unhealthy relationship with the

  office furniture and thought it would be a funny way to welcome you to

  the Unit. I put the kibosh on it after Duncan called you out on the

  Easterbrook case. Seemed like it would be in poor taste."

  "Gee. You think?"

  "Just take the chair, Kincaid. You have been spared the usual rites of

  passage."

&n
bsp; "Spared, or is this simply a reprieve?"

  "You're a smart woman."

  "Great. I'll keep my back up."

  "Like you wouldn't anyway?"

  As he turned to leave, I said, "Don't you want to know about the

  Easterbrook case?"

  "Of course I do. I was just waiting to see if you'd tell me on your

  own."

  I was starting to like this guy. I filled him in on what I'd learned

  so far from the investigation. "I was just about to head over to

  review the victim's files." I left out the part where I hauled the

  City Attorney into court to speed access. "You want to come with?"

  "The joys of document review. No thanks. If I liked scouring through

  boxes of files on the off chance of finding a little nugget, I'd be

  over at Dunn Simon making a shitload of money."

  It's helpful as a prosecutor to remind yourself occasionally of the

  things (other than lots of money) that go along with civil practice at

  the big prestigious firms. I was a summer associate at Dunn Simon

  after my first year in law school. I got paid twice what I make in my

  current position for what amounted to a two-month job interview. But I

  knew I'd never want to work there after a young partner explained to me