So she waved goodbye.

The throng pressed in on her. A tide of human misery and injustice seeking asylum. Casey wished she were God and could make all their problems disappear. Women bound to men like slaves so they could get green cards. Women working for poverty wages with infants who needed lifesaving operations. Women hiding from abusive husbands, desperate for the protection of a law whose effectiveness worked on a sliding scale dependent on wealth. Women robbed of their virginity, their dignity, and their savings by a race of criminal opportunists without conscience or fear of judicial retribution.

At eleven-fifty she ushered a pregnant teenage girl-hoping for child support from the married executive of a large software company-out the door with promises of help. She thanked Tina and told her to take lunch. As Tina passed through, Casey saw Stacy marching toward her with a file. Before she could get her office door closed, Stacy jammed her foot between the door and the frame and barged in, closing it behind her.

"Wait," Stacy said. "One more."

"Give it to Sharon."

"She says she'll only see you."

"I've got a lunch and I've got the DA," Casey said, looking at her watch.

"Just one more."

"There's always one more," Casey said, rounding her desk and stuffing some files into her briefcase.

"Maria Delgado," Stacy said, slapping a hand on the desk. "You helped her older sister get away from some creep. She has another sister, younger. Her husband's dead. She's got a two-year-old baby, and they've got her in custody and the baby in some foster home."

"Drug dealer?" Casey asked, glancing up.

Stacy shook her head. "A hunting accident."

"It's really important?" Casey asked, snapping the case shut.