“I don’t know, Len,” Yuki said. “I counted six jurors that wouldn’t meet my eyes.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Parisi said. “I’m glad Duffy put the squeeze on, but don’t get your hopes up.” He shook his head, asked rhetorically, “What’s the hang-up? Stacey Glenn did it.”

“I’m guessing it’s Rose Glenn’s testimony,” Yuki said. “When she said, ‘My baby would never hurt us.’ It’s got to be that -”

Parisi had stopped listening. “So, okay, we wait it out. Meanwhile, Gaines, get a haircut. Castellano, help Kathy Valoy after lunch. She’s swamped. That’s it. Thank you.”

Parisi picked up his ringing phone, spun around in his chair, faced his window.

“I would have gone for it,” Nicky was saying as he and Yuki walked back down the hallway. “But he didn’t even look at me. I couldn’t get a quip in edgewise. Or a retort. Or even a pun.”

Yuki laughed.

“And believe me, I’ve got jokes ready to go. Have you heard the one about the priest, the rabbi, and the hippo who walk into a bar -”

Yuki laughed again, a musical chortle that was just short of manic. “You made me laugh,” Yuki said. “That’s something. You did good, number two. I’ll see you later.”

Yuki left Gaines in the bull pen, took the stairs down to the lobby, and drafted behind a large cop who strong-armed the heavy steel- and-glass doors leading out to Bryant Street.

Yuki quickly scanned the reporters loitering on the steps outside the Hall. No one had seen her – yet.

Which was good.

Sometimes when the press fired questions at her, she wanted to answer and often couldn’t prevent her thoughts from stampeding out of her mouth unchecked. So when Yuki saw Candy Stimpson, a feisty reporter from the Examiner, she walked quickly down the steps, making a straight line for the corner.

The reporter called after her, “Yuki! Is the Glenn trial going into the crapper? How are you feeling right now? I just want a quote. One stinking quote.”