chambers. Your dad sent me to find you.'
Amanda's shoulders sagged. Judge Robard had made her life miserable in the few trials that she'd been unfortunate enough to have before him. The only solace in being in his court was that he made life equally miserable for the prosecution. Now he'd ruined her workout. Unfortunately, there was no way that she could turn down an urgent summons from a circuit court judge without ruining her legal career.
'I'll change and go straight downtown,' she sighed. 'You can go back to my dad and tell him you've accomplished your mission.'
'He's cooking dinner for you at his house and wants you to drop by after you see Robard.'
Judge Ivan Robard was a fitness fanatic who spent his vacations running marathons. A vegetarian diet and all that exercise had left him with zero body fat on his five-foot-six frame. Robard's sunken cheeks and deep eye sockets reminded Amanda of a shrunken head she'd seen in a New York City museum. It was Amanda's theory that the judge would be much more pleasant if he ate more and worked out less.
Robard was seated behind his desk writing an opinion when Amanda was shown into his chambers. The walls were covered with pictures of the judge racing along city streets in Boston, New York, and other marathon locales, standing on top of mountains, hang gliding, bungee jumping, and white-water rafting. Just looking at them was exhausting.
'At last,' Robard said without looking up from his work.
'My investigator dragged me out of the pool,' Amanda answered. If she was looking for sympathy from a fellow athlete, she didn't get it.
'Sorry about that,' Robard answered without conviction as he stacked the papers on which he was working in a neat pile and finally looked at Amanda, 'but we've got a situation.'
A punch line from an old joke--'What you mean we , white man?'--raced through Amanda's head, but she held her tongue.
'You heard about Wendell Hayes?'
'It's all anyone's been talking about.'
'You know anything about the guy who killed him, Jon Dupre?'
'Only what I read in the paper.'
'He's a pimp, a drug dealer. I just heard a prostitution case where he was the defendant.'
Amanda suddenly knew the reason for Robard's hasty summons and she didn't like it one bit.
'What happened?' she asked, to stall for time.
'I had to dismiss. The state's key witness no-showed. After I dismissed, she turned up dead. Anyway, Harvey Grant got the bright idea of assigning me the homicide because I handled the other case. So, as I said, we've got a situation. The Constitution says that I have to appoint counsel for Dupre, but that wonderful document doesn't tell me what I'm supposed to do when every attorney I call says that they would rather not represent someone who stabbed his previous lawyer to death.'
Amanda knew what Robard wanted her to say but she wasn't going to make it easy for him, so she sat silently and waited for the judge to continue. Robard looked annoyed.
'What about it?' he asked.
'What about what?'
'Miss Jaffe, the one thing you are not is stupid, so don't fence with me. I asked you here because you've got more guts than any lawyer in town, and I need a lawyer with guts on this case.'
Amanda knew that he was thinking about Cardoni, and she wanted to tell him that her lifetime allotment of courage had been used up last year.
'You should hear the excuses I've been getting from your fellow advocates,' Robard went on. 'What a bunch of babies.'
'I thought Dupre had the money to hire a lawyer. The papers said his parents are rich.'
'They disowned Dupre when he was kicked out of college and decided to deal drugs and sell women.'
'What about the lawyer who handled the promoting case?'
'Oscar Baron? Don't make me laugh. He's as scared as the rest. Says Dupre can't afford his fee. And he's got a point. Only millionaires can scrape up the money to pay a lawyer in a capital case. Besides, he's not qualified to handle a death-penalty case. So, what do you say?'
'This is a bit overwhelming, Judge. I'd like some time to think, and I'll want to talk it over with my father.'
'I spoke with Frank earlier,' Robard answered with a weaselly smile. 'I can tell you that he's all for it.'
'Oh he is, is he? Well, I'd like to know why. So it's either give me some time or I'll politely decline your kind offer to spend the next few months with a homicidal maniac.'
'Time is of the essence, Miss Jaffe.'
Amanda sighed. 'I'm having dinner with my dad tonight. I'll get back to you tomorrow.'
Robard's head dipped a few times. 'That's fair, that's eminently fair. I'm usually here at seven.' Robard scribbled something on his business card. 'Here's my back line. My secretary doesn't get in until eight.'
Amanda Jaffe's mother had died the day Amanda was born, and Frank Jaffe was the only parent she'd ever known. In his youth, Frank had been a man's man, a brawler and carouser who believed that a woman's place was in the home. He had never imagined himself raising a little girl by himself. Then Amanda's mother died, and Frank put every ounce of his energy into the job. Because he had no idea what he was supposed to do, Frank did everything. There had been dolls and ballet lessons, but Amanda had also learned to raft white water, pump iron,
