“Which is why I want to hear it again, including what this new lawyer said.” I look at Lawrence. “What’s his name?”

“Peter DeFiore. No frills, big reputation. His claim to fame is defending men accused of rape or assault. But not high-profile cases. The ones you never hear about.”

“And? What does he think about Billy’s chances?”

“Not great. He said nine times out of ten, cases like ours—where it’s one person’s word against another—are settled out of court. He’s upfront about the fact that he tries to steer clients away from jury trials, even when the evidence is clear. The outcomes are too unpredictable.”

Nate sneers. “So he’s pussying out even before he meets us?”

“He was talking in generalities, Nate. When I told him about Billy, and his relationship with the girl, he perked up. So that’s good,” Lawrence says, but he grimaces.

“What’s with the face?” I ask.

“DeFiore said that anyone who hears about Billy’s case will assume he did it. His exact words to me were ‘The second you started talking, the word guilty rang in my head.’”

“That’s bullshit,” Nate says. “No decent lawyer would say that. I hate this guy already.”

“Your mother felt similarly. DeFiore is coarse, but I appreciate his bluntness and can overlook his bad manners. More important, we need him more than he needs us.”

Lawrence takes us through the past twenty-four hours. According to the Bowtie, although Billy struggled at first, he was respectful and compliant at the police station. He willingly gave a DNA sample and consented to a blood test and full-body search. “Burt said the detention center isn’t terrible—it’s not Rikers, thank God. But it’s concerning nonetheless. Billy is scheduled to appear before the judge tomorrow, but I’m hoping DeFiore can get him out today.”

“Why can’t he post bail?” I ask.

“No cash bail in New Jersey. It’s a vestige of prison reform from years back.”

“See, Cassie?” Nate sighs. “I told you there’s no bail. You never believe anything I say.”

Lawrence nods. “Nate’s right. Billy’s going to be assigned a score based on how likely he is to return for trial. For all we know, the DA will argue that our finances make him a flight risk. Either way, they can hold him for forty-eight hours. I don’t want him to spend one more night in that place.”

“It’s Sunday, Lawrence,” I remind him.

“It doesn’t matter what day it is; anything can be worked out.”

“With the proper encouragement,” Nate adds.