She participates in workshops and seminars at the Federal Judicial Center, where I’ve run into her on a number of occasions, her expertise electronic discovery, which of course includes e-mails. I can’t help but suspect that Steward deliberately set me up for exactly what I’m getting because he wants to sic me on his nemesis, as if I’m his pet pit bull when in fact what he’s manipulated more likely has given Donoghue an advantage.

“Come on and tell me. No bullshit. Any chance that’s Mildred Lott you just pulled out of the bay?” he says somberly, quietly, his narrow face tense, his gray eyes flat behind his glasses.

“I can’t know anything with certainty at this time.” I watch Donoghue head into the courtroom, and maybe it’s my imagination, but she seems to be smiling.

“You can’t say it’s not her?” Steward asks. “It sure would be good if you could.”

“I’ve barely looked at the body. I haven’t autopsied it. At this time I have no idea who she is, but preliminarily and at a glance I didn’t see scars from cosmetic procedures such as breast implants, liposuction, a face-lift, that we know she’d undergone. No physical similarities I saw so far under the circumstances.” I stop short of saying what condition the body is in.

“What circumstances, exactly?” he asks.

“The circumstances of my having time only for a cursory exam before I rushed here.”

“What about age, hair color?”

“Her hair isn’t dyed platinum blond. It’s naturally white,” I answer.

“Are we sure Mildred Lott’s hair was dyed?”

“I’m not sure of anything.”

“The way she’s dressed, any personal effects, such as wedding and engagement rings, an antique locket necklace Mildred Lott was known to wear and was believed to have on when she disappeared, that sort of thing?”

“I found nothing consistent with any of that.”

“Any idea when this newest case, this lady, may have died and how?”

“I’m certainly not going to be compelled to testify about a dead body I’ve not even autopsied yet, Dan,” I reply, with a trace of resistance that I can’t seem to keep out of my voice.

“Hey. It’s all about what Jill’s buddy Judge Conry permits.”

“Her buddy?”

“You know. Rumors. Not me who’s going to repeat them.” Steward glances at his watch. “I’d best get back in there.”

I wait until everyone has gone inside, and I stand alone between inner and outer wooden doors, listening to the strong timbered voice of the clerk as he instructs everyone to rise for the judge. The sounds of people standing and resettling, and the gavel cracks, and court is back in session. Then a commanding woman’s voice, what I call a radio voice, Jill Donoghue’s voice, announces into a microphone that she’s calling me as her next witness.