Farrell's own personal idea of hell was to have any of his own three grown children come and stay with him and Sam for more than a long weekend, but here was a chance to sound cooperative, if not conciliatory, and maybe bring this uncomfortable interview to a close. "I understand how you can feel that way," he said. "And I promise you I'll review the case closely and do everything I can to address your concerns."

Which, he knew, would be precious little.

But the finality in his tone conveyed his intended signal. Theresa smoothed her skirt and stood up. "That's all we ask, Wes. Really."

Cliff stared disconcertingly into Farrell's eyes for another second or two-threatening?-but then he, too, got to his feet. "It's good to know who your friends are," he said. "And you know that the Courier's been good friends with a lot of politicians in this town."

"Well, I'm not much of a politician, as the election made pretty clear," Wes said. "But I do hope I can keep trying to do the right thing."

Theresa took his proffered hand and gave him a prim little nod. "That's all we can ask for. Thanks for sharing so much of your valuable time."

"My pleasure. To both of you. My door's always open." Just down the hallway from his own office, Farrell knocked on the open door of his chief assistant, Amanda Jenkins.

Despite a long history together-or maybe because of it-theirs was an awkward relationship. The conflict might have been purely endemic-Jenkins was historically prosecution and Farrell was dyed-in-the-wool defense. More personally, in the sensational murder case that had made his bones in the city, Farrell had gone head-to-head against Jenkins and beaten her in court, getting a clean acquittal for his client.