Trial Junkies

this document in regard to these proceedings.'

'Its relevance will become clear in just a moment,' Waverly told the judge. 'The court ruled that the defendant would be allowed to explore the witness's previous cases, and this is part of that exploration.'

Judge O'Donnell nodded. 'Please continue, counsel.'

Waverly looked at Meyer. 'Detective, can you tell us the nature of the show you appeared on?'

'I believe it was a call-in show about politics and current events.'

'And what was the topic under discussion that night?'

Meyer shifted again. 'That was a long time ago. I don't really remember.'

'May I approach the witness, Your Honor?'

'By all means.'

Waverly moved to the witness box and handed Meyer a copy of the transcript. 'Maybe this will refresh your memory.'

Meyer took it reluctantly, then glanced down at it.

'If you look at the top left corner,' she said, 'there's a show number, the date, and the title of that night's show. Can you please read that title for the court?'

Meyer fished for a pair of glasses and put them on. ''The Ones Who Got Away,'' he read.

'Not very original, but does it refresh your memory at all?'

He nodded. 'The host wanted to talk about criminal cases throughout history in which the prime suspect was either acquitted by a jury or was never charged with the crime.'

'People like Lizzie Borden and OJ?'

'Yes.'

'And Rebecca Tyler?'

He hesitated. 'Yes.'

'Which is why you were invited on the show, correct? To talk about the case.'

'Yes,' Meyer said, looking like a man in a desperate search for his swagger.

Waverly paused, then pointed to the transcript in Meyer's hand. 'Detective, there are numbers on the side of that document. Lines thirty-two through thirty-four are a comment and question posed by the host of the show, a Mr. Alan Crane. Can you read that passage aloud for us, please?'

Meyer hesitated, then dropped his gaze to the transcript. Then he read, ''Crane: It looks to me like it all worked out, Detective Meyer. The brother confessed. The ex-husband got twenty to life for what he did. You got your man. So why do you seem so dissatisfied with the outcome?''

Waverly nodded and gestured to the sheet of paper again. 'Now can you read your response? Lines thirty-five through thirty-nine.'

'Objection!' Abernathy shouted, seeming to have forgotten the famous dictum, never let them see you sweat.

'Overruled,' Judge O'Donnell said immediately. 'Read the passage Detective.'

Meyer once again shifted in his seat and stared down at the page. All the fight had gone out of him. ''Meyer: Yeah, I'm dissatisfied, because I don't think the guy and his brother were the only ones involved. I think that little slut manipulated him into murdering her kid, so she could go out and party all night and screw anyone who winked at her.''

The courtroom was silent. Even though Meyer had read it in a weary monotone, the statement said more about him than the hours of testimony preceding it, and his claim of not being a woman hater had been rendered as hollow as a bamboo saxophone. The women on the jury were looking at him in a whole new way now.

This didn't negate the fact that the prosecution still had some pretty damning evidence against Ronnie, but Waverly had successfully managed to remove Meyer's teeth and set the stage for a wrongful prosecution rap. And everything Meyer had said, everything he would say from here on out, would be regarded with deep suspicion.

Bravo, Hutch thought. She had played it expertly.

'Isn't it true, Detective, that you were reprimanded and suspended for this remark?'

'Yes,' Meyer said.

'And didn't Ms. Tyler's attorney threaten a lawsuit against both you and the department for defamation of character against his client?'

'Cops get threats all the time,' Meyer said. 'Most of them don't amount to much.'

'What about this one? What was the outcome?'

'It was eventually withdrawn after a deal was made by the city's Corporation Counsel.'

'And what were the terms of that deal?'

'Objection, Your Honor. I doubt those terms are for public consumption.'

'Overruled.'

'The terms, Detective?'

Meyer shifted once again. 'Ms. Tyler agreed to forego the suit in exchange for a small sum of money and a personal apology.'

Waverly arched a brow. 'I think you've left something out. What else did Ms. Tyler ask for?'

Meyer clearly didn't want to answer, but knew he had no choice. 'My enrollment in a two-week gender sensitivity class.'

'Gender sensitivity,' Waverly said with a nearly imperceptible smile. 'I think I'll leave it to the jury to decide whether or not it was effective.'

— 37 -

'If you ever need a helping hand,' Matt's father used to say, 'you'll find one at the end of your arm.'

It was a Yiddish proverb that his old man, a strong believer in self-sufficiency, would drag out whenever times were tough. And Matt's family had certainly seen their share of tough times over the years.

Matthew Isaacs, Sr. was a bank clerk who never quite worked his way up past the halfway point of the ladder, and when Matt was fourteen years old, his father was laid off in the midst of a restructuring deal. A couple of very lean years had followed, with Matt Sr. struggling to get any job he could find-mostly temporary day labor that involved his hands more than his brain, and paid just enough to keep them a half-step ahead of the bill collector. But he was a proud man who refused to take any kind of assistance.

Matt himself wasn't a stranger to tough times. Two marriages and divorces in the span of eight and a half years tend to take their emotional toll. And with the death knell of the newspaper business ringing loudly around the world, and his year-long relationship with a married woman coming to an abrupt and messy end (surprise, surprise), he felt as if he needed to regain some control of his life.

Channeling his energy into Ronnie's survival was his way of doing just that.

Last night, when Hutch had proposed that they all do what the cops had failed to do-what the cops had no real interest in doing-that Yiddish proverb had immediately come to mind.

If you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of your arm.

In short, Hutch was right. They couldn't rely on fate or Waverly's legal team to get Ronnie out of this mess. They'd have to do it themselves.

So, first thing this morning, as the others cued up at the courtroom to watch the trial, Matt paid a visit to the Wyndham Academy of Pet Grooming.

The place was run by an officious little bitch (and, yes, that was the appropriate word here) whose disdain for reporters, or men, or both, seemed to run very deep. It was a case of detest at first sight, and all the ammo in Matt's charm locker couldn't penetrate this woman's Kevlar. Matt didn't know who had done her wrong, but he'd done it good.

'I'm sorry, Mr. Isaacs,' she'd said through lips pursed so tight you could use them for a band seal, 'but I don't