Petronelli, on the other hand, didn’t need to believe. He needed a story he could sell to a jury, and he thought he had it. He put the glasses on again and looked at Ted. “Maybe not all of it. I want to hear your side. I’d like to hear that Cheryl with the hair up to here orchestrated the whole deal. There was something off about her approach. Did she try to hire you to do the deed? Maybe you turned her down. Maybe you didn’t.”

There remained two one-hundred-dollar bills in an envelope in Ted’s jacket. They would have Cheryl’s prints on them, he was sure.

“What are you offering?” Mervyn asked.

Ted couldn’t help himself. He gave his lawyer a hard, glowering look. The alternative story was as unbelievable as the first. Why was Mervyn opening negotiations?

“How do I know until I hear his story?” the ADA said.

Ted had no story. At least, nothing that would match the epic fictions he had just heard.

“Cooperating witness,” Mervyn said.

“Of course,” Petronelli answered. It cost him nothing.

“Remand,” Mervyn said.

“Come on, I can’t let a murderer out on bail,” the ADA said.

“He didn’t do it.”

“That’s his whole story?” Petronelli didn’t like it. “I thought we were talking here.”

“That’s not my story,” Ted blurted, unable to keep his temper in check any longer. “It’s the truth.”

Mervyn made a deep sound somewhere between a hum and a growl, loud enough to cut Ted off. “I’d like a few minutes alone with my client,” he said into the ensuing silence.

Magic words. Petronelli and the two detectives stood and left the room. Kasabian was last out the door, and he paused there, looked at Ted, and grinned like a man who was about to carve up the holiday turkey. “Gotcha,” he said softly.

“What are you doing?” Ted said the moment the door swung shut.

“They want this Cheryl person,” Mervyn said. “That gives you leverage. Let me do my job.”

“It’s only worth something if I’m guilty.”

“You’re in my world now, Ted. It’s not the same as the corporate legal world.” Mervyn sounded both firm and sympathetic, as though imparting these realities was a sad duty he had to perform too often. “Petronelli wants you for the murder. He’s not alone. You saw that cop. He’s got you in his sights, and you are going down. If you tell me to fight this, I will. But as your legal advisor here, I am telling you that you are making a big mistake. Right now I can get you a deal. But if you don’t appear to be cooperating, they’ll do an end run around you, and your next stop will be Rikers Island.”