Caitlin brushes an errant strand of hair from her eyes and goes on. “Anyone who feels uncomfortable about this, see me in my office. You’ll be excused with no questions asked and no negative consequences.”

A blond guy in the back says, “And go back to covering board of supervisors meetings?”

“At least there’s comedy at the supervisor meetings,” squawks a dark-haired girl with a Brooklyn accent. “Try covering the flower shows.”

Caitlin holds up her hands. “Before we disperse, I want Mr. Cage to say a few words.”

Facing the ring of expectant young faces, I feel as I did addressing new assistant district attorneys in Houston, smart kids who concealed their idealism behind shells of aggressive cynicism. “First of all, everyone here calls me Penn. No exceptions. Second, when I made those charges against Leo Marston, I had no intention of setting foot in a courtroom. But Marston is a powerful man, and there is going to be a trial. That trial is five days from now. I have five days to prove Leo Marston guilty of murder.”

Skeptical sighs blow through the conference room.

“The good news is, he’s guilty. The bad news is, the people who know that won’t testify. Your job is to wade through documentary evidence. You’re looking for several things. First, illegal activity. You’re not lawyers, but if it looks or smells dirty to you, it probably is. Second, any correspondence mentioning Ray Presley or the Triton Battery Company. Third, any reference to or correspondence with the federal government, particularly with FBI Director John Portman or former director J. Edgar Hoover.”

“Whoa,” says one of the anarchists. “This is like X-Files, man.”

A ripple of laughter sweeps through the group.

“This case may be more like the X-Files than any of us wants to believe,” I tell him. “Just remember that none of you are Fox Mulder or Agent Scully, okay? People are dying in this town, and they’re dying because of this case. I don’t want anybody in this room trying to win a Pulitzer by going after Ray Presley. He’s killed before, and he probably set the fire that killed Ruby Flowers. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill any of you if he felt you were a threat to him. Is that clear?”

Grim nods around the room.

“Are there any questions?”

One of the goateed reporters raises his hand. “This murder happened thirty years ago. It’s gone unsolved all that time. Do we have a hope in hell of solving it in a week?”