Scott let them absorb the facts for a moment. ‘So if you’re me and you want this case, I mean you really want this case, what do you do?’

This was the kind of information the clerks came here to lap up. They were rapt as he continued. ‘I’ll tell you what I did do. I went to Ms Pratt’ – San Francisco’s District Attorney, Sharron Pratt – ‘and told her, promised her, that if she gave me my own investigator, I would bring the case before the grand jury to get an indictment.’

The second young woman spoke up. ‘How?’

Scott flashed a grin. ‘I’m glad you asked that question, Kimberly. And here’s the answer: the grand jury is your friend. You know how it works – no defense lawyers allowed, no judge in the room. You present your case to twenty average citizens, and do it without worrying too much about legalities. If you’re not brain dead, you get your indictment.’

‘But if the police don’t have a suspect, who do you call as witnesses?’ Kimberly asked.

‘Everybody I can think of, including Kerry, his campaign manager Al Valens; Jim Pierce, this Caloco oil vice president who was Bree’s old mentor. Then I go after the personal connections – and remember that no matter what else might be involved, murder is usually personal.

‘So I subpoena Bree’s husband Ron, Ron’s friends and friends of friends, her professors, colleagues, lab partners. Somewhere I’m betting I’m going to pull a break.’

‘So it’s a fishing expedition,’ the first clerk commented. ‘But we’ve always been told not to-’

Scott was brusque. ‘Forget the garbage they taught you in law school. Here’s Real Life One-A. There’s lawyers who win in front of juries, they’ve got careers. All the others wind up pushing paper or crunching numbers. Your choice. So I’m going to take this murder of Bree Beaumont and get my name on the marquee. The grand jury’s my vehicle. I’m riding it and taking no prisoners.’