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me.
    "Tell me, Mort."
    "It's accepted in our society," he said.
    "What is?"
    "Hating rich people." Mort threw his hands up, outraged. "You hear it all the time. 'I hate him, he's so rich.' Look at Enron and those other scandals. It is now an encouraged prejudice-to hate rich people. If I ever said, 'Hey, I hate poor people,' I'd be strung up. But call the rich names? Well, you have a free pass. Everyone is allowed to hate the rich."
    I looked at him. "Maybe they should form a support group."
    "Up yours, Cope."
    "No, I mean it. Trump, the Halliburton guys. I mean, the world hasn't been fair to them. A support group. That's what they should have. Maybe hold a telethon or something."
    Flair Hickory rose. Theatrically, of course. I half-expected him to curtsy. "I think we're done here. See you tomorrow, handsome. And you", he looked at Loren Muse, opened his mouth, closed it, shuddered.
    "Flair?"
    He looked at me.
    "That Cal and Jim thing," I said. "It just proves she's telling the truth." Flair smiled. "How's that, exactly?" "Your boys were smart. They called themselves Cal and Jim, so she'd say that."
    He raised an eyebrow. "You think that will fly?"
    "Why else would she say that, Flair?"
    "Pardon?"
    "I mean, if Chamique wanted to set your clients up, why wouldn't she use their correct names? Why would she make up all that dialogue with Cal and Jim? You read the statement. 'Turn her this way, Cal.' 'Bend her over, Jim.' 'Whoa, Cal, she's loving this.' Why would she make that all up?"
    Mort took that one. "Because she's a money-hungry whore who is dumber than dirt?"
    But I could see that I'd scored a point with Flair.
    "It doesn't make sense," I said to him.
    Flair leaned in toward me. "Here's the thing, Cope: It doesn't have to. You know that. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps it doesn't make sense. But see, that leads to confusion. And confusion has the major hots for my favorite hunk, Mr. Reasonable Doubt." He smiled. "You might have some physical evidence. But, well, you put that girl on the stand, I will not hold back. It will be game, set, match. We both know that."
    They headed to the door.
    "Toodles, my friend. See you in court."

Chapter 4
    Muse and I said nothing for a few moments.
    Cal and Jim. The names deflated us.
    The position of chief investigator was almost always held by some male lifer, a gruff guy slightly burned out by what he'd seen over the years, with a big belly and a heavy sigh and a well-worn trench coat. It would be that mans job to maneuver the guileless county prosecutor, a political appointee like me, through the rings of the Essex County legal system.
    Loren Muse was maybe five feet tall and weighed about as much as your average fourth grader. My choosing Muse had caused some nasty ripples among the veterans, but here was my own private prejudice: I prefer hiring single women of a certain age. They worked harder and were more loyal. I know, I know, but I have found this to be true in almost every case. You find a single woman over the age of, say, thirty-three, and she lives for her career and will give you hours and devotion the married ones with kids will never give you.
    To be fair, Muse was also an incredibly gifted investigator. I liked talking things out with her. I would say "muse"-ing them over, but then you'd understandably groan. Right now she was staring down at the floor.
    "What's on your mind?" I asked her.
    "Are these shoes really that ugly?"
    I looked at her and waited.
    "Put simply," she said, "if we don't find a way to explain Cal and Jim, we're screwed."
    I stared at the ceiling.
    "What?" Muse said.
    "Those two names."
    "What about them?"
    "Why?" I asked for the umpteenth time. "Why Cal and Jim?"
    "Don't know."
    "You questioned Chamique again?"
    "I did. Her story is frighteningly consistent. They used those two names. I think you're right. They simply did that as a cover, so her story would sound idiotic."
    "But why those two names?"
    "Probably just random."
    I frowned. "We're missing