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for good people, not murderers.
    The killer looked at his hands.
    “Your Honor,” the killer’s lawyer said, “I explained the charges and proceedings to my client, but he has not communicated with me about his plea. This is an issue I will take up at a 1368 hearing.”
    “Is that really called for here,Ms. Field?”
    “I believe it is.”
    “Mr. DiCinni,” the judge said, “is there a reason you are not communicating with your attorney?”
    Nothing. Mona could not see the killer’s face, but it had to be defiant, unrepentant.
    “I am addressing you, young man,” said the judge. “I want an answer. Why aren’t you talking to your lawyer?”
    No response.
    “Your Honor,” Leon Colby said, “the people will not object to Ms. Field’s withdrawing from the case. We want the defendant to have counsel he can cooperate with. We don’t believe a 1368 hearing is called for.”
    “Your Honor, I do not believe Mr. Colby is the one who should be deciding who withdraws and who doesn’t. I am Mr. DiCinni’s lawyer for this arraignment, assigned by Judge Greene. I would request that a 1368 be set, at which time the permanent counsel issue can be settled.”
    The judge glowered. “All right. Mr. DiCinni, you need to understand something. You are not going to get away with this act in my courtroom. You are going to speak when you are spoken to, do you understand?”
    The killer, of course, said nothing. Mona’s contempt grew like a fireball, a flare from the sun of her hate.
    “Speak up, young man. Do you understand?”
    The killer shrugged.
    “On the record, Mr. DiCinni. Yes or no?”
    “I guess,” the killer said.
    “I will take that as a yes . And how do you plead, guilty or not guilty?”
    Another shrug.
    “I will enter for the record a plea of not guilty.” The judge was clearly ticked off now. “The court accepts the plea. Defendant’s motion for a 1368 hearing is granted. I can’t figure out if he’s all there or not, so let’s let the experts decide. Next case.”
    What? What just happened? It was moving too fast. All Mona could gather was that the defendant was granted something. What? What? And why didn’t Leon Colby say something?
    Dawn Stead said to Mona, “And so it begins.”
    “What?” Mona said.
    “The defense lawyer’s gonna try to get the kid off on an insanity deal.”
    “Off?” The word pecked at Mona’s chest. Off? As in walking out of the courtroom? As if he had never killed her son? “But she can’t.”
    Dawn’s smile was rimmed with cynicism. “Just watch her try.”
    2.

    Lindy felt a hand on her arm.
    “What’s your hurry?” Sean McIntyre smiled, his perfect white teeth reflecting sun. His dark brown hair was worn short and spiky, not enough to call attention to himself but enough to announce his cutting-edge status in the world of local crime reporters. Under his tight blanket-stitched turtleneck Lindy could make out the impertinent pecs and biceps he worked so hard to maintain.
    “What are you doing creeping around?” Lindy didn’t want to talk to him, not now. She wanted to choose the time and place.
    “This is a public parking lot, last time I looked.”
    “So?” She was poised with her keys, seated on her Harley, ready to go. At least she’d slipped the other reporters. She wasn’t ready to make a public statement on the case yet. She wasn’t ready for Sean McIntyre, either. Too much emotional fodder in the blender at the moment, thank you.
    “So here I am, standing with Lindy Field, who’s got the hottest case in the country, and I’m thinking, I’m the one reporter who deserves an in.”
    “What makes you think—”
    “Because I’m the one who knows where Lindy Field likes to park her bike. Guy like that deserves a comment, doesn’t he?”
    “Call my assistant.”
    “You don’t have an assistant.”
    “Exactly.” She pointed her keys toward the ignition. Sean snatched them away.
    “Hey!” Lindy pawed the air.
    Sean flashed more teeth.