He allowed as how he had a few minutes he could spare.

"I just got a call from a woman named Jennifer Witt. Do you know who she is?"

Hardy's feet were suddenly on the floor. Phyllis stepped further into the office. "She was arrested this morning and wanted to talk to David but he's in court." Freeman was always in court. "And none of the associates is here."

Freeman had a small crew of young lawyers working for him and managed to keep them all busy.

"David want me to go down?" Hardy was already up.

"I buzzed him and he just called me back. They were having a recess. He's afraid Mrs. Witt will go to someone else if we don't get a representative down there in a hurry. He asked if you wouldn't mind…"

"Jennifer Witt?" Hardy repeated.

Phyllis nodded. "I think it's maybe a big one," she said.

*****

Coverage of the crime itself had been all over the newspapers and television. It was the kind of grist that was the lifeblood of local news – Larry Witt, a doctor, and his seven-year-old son Matt had been shot to death in their home. The mother had been out excercising. A neighbor had heard shots and dialed 911. When the mother returned from jogging, a policeman had just arrived at the door and had told her to wait downstairs while he went up. He then discovered the carnage.

In the first couple of weeks news reports had advanced the theory that a professional hit man had, for some unknown reason, been hired to wipe out the Witt family. Mrs. Witt had allegedly seen a suspicious man – an Hispanic or African-American – in the vicinity on the morning in question.

Jennifer Lee Witt, the wife, was hot copy on her own. Even the worst likenesses of her, two columns in the Chronicle or frozen as a teaser for the 6:00 p.m. news, crying or in apparent shock, revealed the photogenic face of a young woman just past innocence. The good shots tended to be so captivating that she almost appeared to be posing.