“Detective Mungo.” Judge Bovine had had enough. “What probable cause did you have to search Mr. Anthony’s brown paper bag?”

“Your Honor, it’s like I said.” Mungo was unmoved. “I asked him what was in the bag. He told me.”

“He told you crabs and suggested you crack these crabs yourself,” said the judge, who really had to go now.

“Gee. I don’t know. I thought he said crack.” Mungo tried to be fair.

This sort of thing happened to Mungo more times than not. He’d always found it easier to hear whatever he wanted, and when one was as big as him, one could. The case was dismissed, and before the judge could adjourn to her chambers, the agitated A.D.A. called the next, and the next, and the next, and the judge did not interrupt, because it was one thing she would not do. Citizens arrested for burglaries, car thefts, rape, murder, and more drug dealers and those who patronized them stood with their public defenders. A.D.A. Pond was mindful of the judge’s constricted body language and miserable demeanor. Pond was accustomed to the judge’s frequent visits to her chambers and knew that capitalizing on her disability was his only hope.

Each time Her Honor started to rise from her bench, A.D.A. Pond was off and running on the next case. As fast as he could, he announced Johnny Martino once again, in hopes Pond would break the judge, wear her down, and subject her to the water treatment until she could take no more. Her Honor would hear the state of North Carolina versus Johnny Martino so Hammer and West could return to life’s highways and the hospital. A.D.A. Pond prayed Hammer would think kindly of him when he ran for D.A. in three years.

“Johnny Martino,” A.D.A. Pond said as fast as he could, again, moments later.

“I’m not ready to hear that case yet.” The judge could barely talk.

“Alex Brown,” the A.D.A. blurted out.

“Yeah.” Mr. Brown stood, as did his counsel.

“How do you plead to malicious wounding?”

“He started it,” Mr. Brown stated for the record. “What I’m supposed to do, huh? In Church’s getting a quart of chicken livers and he decides he wants the same thing, only he’s going to get mine and not pay.”

Hammer had tuned back in long enough to make an assessment of her surroundings and those in it. This was much more disheartening than she had imagined. No wonder her beat officers and investigators got so discouraged, so jaded and cynical. There had been a time when she’d had no sympathy or use for people like this. They were lazy, no-account, self-destructive, self-absorbed wastrels who added nothing to society and took from everyone around them. She thought of Seth, of his money, privilege, and opportunity. She thought of the love she and others had given him. Chief Hammer thought of many people she knew who were no better than anybody in this courtroom, really.

West wanted to kill Judge Bovine. It was outrageous making a chief and deputy chief sit through all this. West’s attention wandered back to Brazil about every other minute. She wondered if he had returned to the newspaper, and her ominous foreshadowing got denser and more chilling. If she didn’t get out of this courtroom soon, she might cause a scene. Her boss, oddly, had returned to the present and seemed fascinated by everything around her, as if Hammer could sit here all day and think those private thoughts that had made her who and what she was.