“I thought he was finished.”

“It was making noise when you were in there with your brother.”

“What else did you hear?”

“I think you should take your brother's case.”

Seeley took the chair next to her desk. “Why would I want to do that?”

“How long can a trial take-two weeks? Three?”

She hadn't only listened in on the conversation, and she hadn't just taken Leonard's telephone messages. Mrs. Rosziak and Leonard had talked; they had conspired. Leonard was a natural seducer, someone who would know exactly how to pluck the strings of this practical woman's sympathies.

“AIDS, San Francisco. Suing a big company. You could use the publicity, taking on a case like this.”

“You know what the Chinese say, Mrs. Rosziak: The nail that sticks up is the one that gets hammered.”

“I'm not talking about making a TV commercial. What can you lose if someone sticks a microphone in front of you? I bet your brother wouldn't run the other way.”

Seeley understood her frustration. But if his legal career wasn't headed in the direction of redemption, she would have to accept that.

“Harold and I are grateful for what you did for him.”

Mrs. Rosziak's cut-rate services were Seeley's reward for winning a modest settlement for her bachelor son who was beaten by three uniformed patrolmen in a downtown duplex where he had gone to meet a friend. A part-time housepainter with a rap sheet for getting into fights at the local 7-Eleven, Harold was white and overweight with a sour disposition, which meant there was nothing about him to win sympathy from the local press or political activists-or, Seeley feared, from a law-and-order jury. Seeley persuaded the city to settle the civil case when no one could explain how a handcuffed man managed to sustain a broken nose, six cracked teeth, and a gash across his forehead requiring twenty-four stitches without having his civil rights violated. The settlement was large enough to keep Harold in twelve-packs for years to come. Seeley also got the DA to drop the resisting charge.