"What?"

"I don't know," Tony said. He shook his head and looked past her again, out the window, unwilling to meet her eyes. "Just think, if Lipton really did kill that girl and you tear the father apart on the witness stand. It's not good."

"Goddamn it, Tony!" she said, boiling over. "Whose side are you on? I say black, you start talking about white. I say I don't want to represent someone, you say we should. I say okay, you go back the other way. My job is to exonerate Professor Lipton. I'm not worried about Donald Sales or his feelings. My God, leave me alone already! If he's not the killer, he'll get over it."

"He'll get over it?" Tony looked at Casey with an expression she had never seen before, and it cut her to the quick. "Listen to yourself. Get over it? The man's daughter was brutally murdered. You're going to put him up on that stand and suggest he was the killer. You think he'll get over that?"

"Are you going to help me or not?" Casey snapped. "Because if you're not, I have to find someone who will."

Tony sat silently for a minute, contemplating his tie. After a heavy sigh he rose from his seat and said, "No, I'll do it. If you're going to do it, I might as well be the one to help you."

"I mean really help," she said curtly. "I don't want you to pull back because you don't like what I'm doing."

Tony stopped on his way out the door and glared at her. "Excuse me?"

Casey kept her mouth closed and dabbed at the sweat that was rolling down her face. She waited.

"Have I ever not done a job all out?" Tony asked.

"I just want to make sure, Tony," she told him. "I don't have any time. I'm in this thing. I'm not looking back and I wish you wouldn't, either."