“So have you come to apply for a job?” Amy asks, tilting back in her chair that always seems to swallow her.

The question takes me by surprise. I have never considered working this side of the street. Why not? It is not a point of honor, or is it? I do not think of myself as a crusader for the proverbial “little guy” (whoever that is), but that is always the side where I end up. I lean forward and rest my arms against her desk.

“I’m going to defend Andrew Chapman.”

Amy nods, now understanding the purpose of my visit.

“Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

This is the opening I wanted. I want to find out whether it is the police or the prosecutor who is driving this case.

“Why?” I scoff, pretending indignation I don’t feel.

“It was obviously an accident.”

Amy’s normally elfin face is expressionless.

“Gideon,” she says carefully, “I’m not in Jill’s inner circle anymore.”

Surprised, I ask, “Why the hell not? I figured you’d be chief deputy, as good as you are.”

Without warning and for the second time today, a woman bursts into tears in front of me.

“Gideon,” she sobs, “I’m three months pregnant.”

I try not to gawk at her. Pregnant? I look more pregnant than she does. I study the photographs on her desk while she grabs a tissue. Stupidly, I ask, “Are you positive?”

Ignoring my idiocy, she bobs her chin.

“Jill is just rigid on the subject of children. She’d like to fire me, but since she can’t, she wants me to take maternity leave and have it.

I’m thinking of an abortion.”

I look at the picture other father, wondering if he knows.

What if Sarah brought me this news?

“This is tough,” I say, hedging. What do I think? I don’t know.

“Have you told your family?” I ask, hoping she isn’t looking for my advice.