"Next you do a spate of media interviews repudiating the judge, arguing that the error shouldn't have been enough to get the case into Appellate Court, let alone warrant nullification from the bench," she said. "Even more seriously, you allege that the judge was bought and paid for by the killer's father. They go on television with their counterclaims, say you have some kind of personal ax to grind. A number of details from your departmental records are leaked to the press, including information that you'd received counseling for problem drinking and depression while on the force. There are stories that you have a bad attitude. When it's all over, the kid is still free and you've turned in your badge. The general impression is that you were given the choice of either resigning or being discharged without pension."

She sat quietly again, watching him.

"That's not bad, far as it goes," Ricci said. "But there's also what you left out."

"I didn't want to sit here giving a recitation," she said. "It might be better to hear the rest from you. If you care to tell it."

Ricci nodded. "Sure," he said. "In the interest of good public relations."

She waited without comment.

"The murdering little prince's father was a Beacon Hill millionaire," he said. "I learned during the trial that the judge belonged to the same A-list country club as Dad, which in my opinion ought to have been enough to have him removed from the case. Prosecution could've taken it up in district court, but didn't, and since it's their call I couldn't let myself worry about it. After the trial's over, though, I hear from a couple of staffers at the club that there were three separate meetings between Dad, the judge, and the oak wainscoting while the jury was in deliberation. One of them's the manager, a solid guy who's been working there forty years and has no reason to be spinning tall tales. Came forward out of feeling guilty, like the other two." He shrugged. "They denied it later on, when I went public."

"Somebody cured their guilt," Megan said. "Money and power being the prescribed remedy. If I'm to believe your version."

Dead silence. Ricci looked hard at her, the fire tossing shadows across his angular features.

"What is it exactly that bothers you about me?" he said at last.

His blue eyes level and probing.

She opened her mouth as if to reply, closed it, and merely stared back at him without saying anything.

"I believe it," Nimec said, breaking into the silence. "His account, that is."

Ricci turned to Nimec, leaving Megan surprised by her own relief at being out from under his steady gaze.

"I don't need an advocate," Ricci said.

"Your credibility shouldn't be at issue here."

Ricci's features beamed with sudden intensity. "I told you I don't need to be defended. Not by you or anybody else."

Megan raised her hand in a curtailing gesture.