The chocolates, the translucent silk drapes, Oriental rugs, antique furniture, and the scale of the room-the office was at least five times the size of Leonard's-were all for show. Steinhardt might at one time have been a dedicated researcher, but the surroundings made Seeley wonder how much of his energy he now invested at the laboratory bench. A recording of a string quartet played from speakers hidden in the ceiling.

A side door opened and Steinhardt entered the room, moving quickly but gracefully. He tilted his head and arched an eyebrow in the direction of the room he had just left. The scientist's fingertips no more than grazed Seeley's hand. “You must forgive me. There are always crises in the lab and-I am sure someone told you-I must be on a plane to Paris in three hours. You will excuse me if I keep our meeting brief.”

“That's up to you,” Seeley said. “We can go over your testimony now or the day before trial.” “I don't think a rehearsal will be necessary.”

Steinhardt's narrow face, the neatly trimmed goatee and mustache, the slicked-back gray hair were moderately forbidding. Seeley imagined that it was a long time since anyone had called him Al. Still, he thought that with some sandpapering he could turn the scientist into a passable witness-not lovable but authoritative. A juror who was looking for a father's approval might be persuaded to believe in him.

“As I said, it's your decision. But I'd recommend that you leave yourself some time. Right now, you're my lead witness and St. Gall is going to go after you on cross-examination like you're the only thing that stands between them and a profitable fourth quarter. If you're not prepared, you're going to wind up looking look like a real horse's ass.” He stopped to make sure the scientist was paying attention. “The press loves it anytime a prominent witness gets torn apart on cross-examination.”