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TWENTY-ONE

JUDGE KANE’S COURTROOM IS already packed when I step inside. As the door closes behind me, I look around, nod, and breathe deep. I’ve spent the last two weeks and change filling my lungs with the cleanest air on the planet.

Just not this air.

I shake hands with Kevin Ahearn, who is already seated at his table, before shaking hands with his second chair, a red-haired woman he introduces as Maggie Florescu. There’s no second chair for me. I’m still doing a single.

I see Jimmy and Ben right behind our table as I take my seat next to Rob Jacobson.

“You look good, Janie,” Jacobson says.

“Try not to sound so surprised.”

“I mean, because of where you just came from.”

Only he can wipe the smile off my face.

“You know what we’re not going to talk about, Rob,” I say, keeping my voice low as I lean closer to him, “today or ever? Where I just came from. Or why I was there.”

Before he can even attempt to get a last word in, we’re all rising because Judge Kane has entered the courtroom and is about to take her seat behind the bench. She is small, blond, pretty, full of commanding attitude, projecting without saying a word that she’s not going to take any shit.

The only empty seats I see are in the jury box. But we’re a long way from filling those. I’m a long way from having to explain away questionable evidence with an even more questionable timeline. Rob Jacobson’s fingerprints on a murder weapon the cops found months after the fact. DNA matches on both Lily Carson and her daughter, made only after Jacobson became a suspect. And the magical appearance of a time-stamped photograph of Rob Jacobson outside the Carson house the night before the whole family got gunned down.

One of my old law professors once told me that jobs without problems generally don’t pay very much.

For now, the only job that matters is getting Rob Jacobson out of jail before Kevin Ahearn tries to put him there for good, and forever.

Ahearn goes first.

“Your Honor,” Ahearn says, “I’d like to begin with an apology for wasting the court’s time with this frivolous and rather outlandish request for bail from the defendant and his new attorney. Or should I say old?”

I shake my head, grinning.

“Who you calling old, Kevin?”

That gets a rap of the gavel. Today even that is music to my ears.

“Ms. Smith,” Judge Kane says. “We’re all aware what a noted wit you are. Save it for when you’re back outside and addressing the media.”

“Now it’s my turn to apologize, Your Honor. It won’t happen again.”

Well, we all know that’s a lie.

“I’m well aware that you’re not much for boundaries,” the judge continues. “Just you be aware that I’m a bear for them.”

Less than five minutes in and I’m not just back on the ice, I feel like I’m on my way back to the penalty box.

As I listen to Ahearn, I’m reminded all over again what a good lawyer he is, even if I did take him to the place Jimmy calls Beatdown City the last time we faced each other. He still has that commanding courtroom voice, and presence, and good timing, even playing to a jury of one today.

He’s also playing a much stronger hand than mine.

Maybe everything old is new again.

“I understand, Your Honor,” he says, “that the defendant’s previous trial should, by law, have no bearing on this one. But as we all know, that’s a mere legal distinction. Because how can the fact that the previous charges against him were for equally hideous crimes possibly be considered irrelevant to the matter we’re here to discuss, however a previous jury found?”

He walks over and sits down on the railing in front of the empty jury box, dropping his voice down a couple of notches, turning his tone conversational, as if he and Judge Kane are the only ones in the room.

“This man was previously accused of murdering a father, a mother, a teenage daughter. A daughter, as a witness testified in open court, with whom the defendant was having a wildly inappropriate relationship before her death.”

“Objection,” I say.

“No objecting today, Ms. Smith.” She shakes her head, slowly, almost sadly. “No sustaining, no overruling. But you know that, don’t you? This is a bail hearing, not a trial. So please don’t interrupt again.”

“Sorry, Your Honor.”

“If you’ve already had to apologize twice, we’re not really off to a good start, are we?”

This is Killer Kane, in full. I did a lot of reading about her on the plane, after I finished writing out the remarks I’m about to make. I know she’s someone you don’t want to antagonize, but sometimes I can’t help myself. My pop used to tell me that no maple tree he ever saw ever turned into an oak.

“In conclusion,” Ahearn says, “let me remind the court that this man is about to stand trial for a second triple homicide—same MO as the first one. How many times has something like that ever happened in this country’s justice system? Never . And never will again. So we aren’t just talking about a potential flight risk here. We’re talking about a potential serial killer. For those reasons alone, bail should be denied.”

He is walking back to his table when he stops and points a finger at Rob Jacobson.

“You’ve heard the expression about locking up your daughters, Your Honor? This man makes us want to lock up whole families, until the state locks him up for good.”

You done good, Kevin, I think.

You’re just not as good as me.