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In the head?”
    “Oh.” Ben fell into one of Mike’s chairs. “Are you handling the case?”
    “Nope. Outside my jurisdiction.”
    “Can’t you make it your jurisdiction?”
    “No.” Mike fingered a manila folder on his desk. “I’ve got bad news for you. And Christina. What do you know about jurisdiction over crimes committed on tribal lands?”
    “I know it’s incredibly complicated. Why?”
    Mike opened the file and read an address aloud. “That lodge where Lombardi was killed is on tribal land. Creek Nation. With a name like Lombardi, I would’ve sworn he was all-Italian, but it turns out he was part-Creek.”
    “Are we talking about tribal courts?”
    Mike shook his head. “Christina was arrested by FBI agents in the course of an ongoing narcotics investigation. They’re planning to charge her with drug-related homicide under the new ‘continuing criminal enterprise’ statute—which, I might remind you, is the only death penalty statute in the entire federal criminal code.”
    Ben felt a dryness in his throat. “Give me the bottom line, Mike.”
    “This one’s going to be tried in federal court.”
    “Oh, great. A murder trial in federal court. With the death penalty.” He pressed his fingers against his temples. “She was in the county jail.”
    “That’s where the feds keep their prisoners. They don’t have cells of their own, so they rent space from us.”
    “Will the feds push this?”
    “They will,” Mike said grimly. “This isn’t a grounder, Ben. It could be a grand slam for them. With all the connections Lombardi had to organized crime and South American drugs, the case takes on a larger significance.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “This is the kind of case a guy like Alexander Moltke can really make pay off for him.”
    Alexander Moltke, the U.S. Attorney. Sailing through life with one eye on his press clippings and the other eye on a soon-to-be-available Senate seat. “You think he’ll use this case for a publicity play?”
    “That’s what prosecutors do, isn’t it? Stay away from controversy, wait for the right case, and run for election in the courtroom.”
    “Damn. And the FBI is involved?”
    “Like you wouldn’t believe. The white shirts have been trying to get the goods on Lombardi and his druglord bosses for over a year. And they’re still trying.”
    “So Christina ends up as shark bait. Let some blood and try to attract the big fish. This stinks, Mike. How long till the grand jury sits?”
    “Not long. The feds have filed a complaint so they can detain her in the meantime. And as you well know, the grand jury is just a formality. The government can get any indictment it wants.”
    Ben took a deep breath. “Mike, I need—”
    “Let me stop you right there. What I’ve told you so far is already a matter of public record. Beyond that, I can’t help you.”
    Ben stared at him, stunned. “What do you mean, you can’t help?”
    “Just that.”
    “You know damn well Christina wouldn’t kill anybody.”
    “On the contrary, Ben, if I’ve learned anything during my time as a police officer, it’s that anyone is capable of doing anything, under the right circumstances.”
    Ben could see Mike was falling into his tough-guy routine again. That was Mike: the shell of Hammett, the heart of Rimbaud.
    “How do I know what happened this morning?” Mike continued. “Maybe Lombardi was two-timing her. Maybe she decided to join the war on drugs. Maybe he tried to molest her. Anything could have happened. Anyway, I can’t help you.”
    “Not even for old times’ sake?”
    “ Before we were both working together to accomplish the same goal. This is different. This time we’re on opposite sides.”
    Ben couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I didn’t realize we were on sides. I thought we were both trying to discover the truth. What really happened.”
    “Well, you’ve been needing to grow up for a long time now.” Mike took his pipe and tamper out of