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bargaining was necessary because of the overcrowded court system. “More than that,” he said, “by putting away the boss of a major crime family, you disrupt it. Chances are good that it will fall into disarray. And, Ms. Clausen, I suggest you read the papers more carefully. Mr. Sammy the Bull Gravano did not take a walk. He’ll do twenty years’ hard time.”
    “But what about the attorney for Gotti?” she persisted as Smith gathered up his papers and books and prepared to leave. “He can’t see it your way. His client is away for life.”
    “True,” Smith said over his shoulder. “But Sammy the Bull’s attorney is as happy as a pig in mud. Have a good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I intend to.”
    As he walked from the classroom to his office, he couldn’t help but second-guess himself on his exchange with Clausen. In all honesty, he agreed that going to bed with a devil like Gravano in order to make a prosecutor’scase against a mob boss was distasteful. Perhaps even wrong. But he was no longer interested in crusading to change the legal system in which he’d functioned—flourished—for so many years as a criminal attorney. His current responsibility was to prepare his students for the real world of justice. The imperfect world. And hopefully, along the way, to slip in a dose of ethics, moral truth, fidelity to principle and, in Ms. Clausen’s case, an understanding of how to protest without ending up with a rap sheet. In reality, he liked her. At least she had convictions, as tedious as they might be. His more “realistic” students bored him. For them, their professional lives as lawyers would center about running outrageous time sheets for outrageously wealthy corporate clients. For Ms. Clausen—assuming she would learn how to stay out of jail—someone with a small budget and a large, worthwhile cause would benefit from her fire and legal training. At least he hoped so.
    The phone in his cramped office rang at three-thirty.
    “Hello,” he said.
    “Mac. This is Wendell Tierney. Sorry to bother you at work, but—”
    “No bother, Wendell. This isn’t work. I teach. We get summers off. Annabel was delighted with her first board meeting. She said you run a smooth ship.”
    Tierney drew a deep, audible breath. “Mac, I need to talk to you. Something dreadful has happened.”
    Smith pushed half-glasses up on his forehead and leaned back in his chair. “I’m listening.”
    “I received a call an hour ago from the police. Pauline has been … she’s been murdered.” There was a momentary break in his voice.
    “Your assistant? Pauline Juris?”
    Forced breathing on the other end steadied the voice. “Yes. Her body was found this morning on Roosevelt Island.”
    “You’re sure it was murder?
They’re sure?
MPD, I mean.”
    “That’s what they told me.”
    “How was she killed?”
    “I asked, but they wouldn’t say. Mac, I’ll get straight to the point. I would be extremely grateful if you could find time for us to get together today.”
    “I don’t understand,” Smith said.
    “I need some clear thinking,” Tierney said. “I don’t know what will come of this—legally, I mean—but there’s no one in this city whose judgment I trust more. Will you? I’ll make myself available any time, any place.”
    “I suppose so, Wendell, although I remind you that I am not a practicing attorney.”
    “That doesn’t matter. I’m not seeking legal representation. Just some smart thinking. Will you?”
    “Of course. An hour from now?”
    “Will you come to the house?”
    “Fiver?”
    “I’ll be waiting.”
    He called Annabel at her gallery.
    “Pauline Juris murdered? I was with her last night at the board meeting.”
    “I know. Tierney says they found her body on Roosevelt Island.”
    “I don’t believe this,” Annabel said.
    “I’d rather not believe it. Wendell did seem desperate to talk to me, and he is … well, sort of a friend.”
    Her silence said