Miles Reid, Attorney At Law

[Corwin]

<--->

Relaxation time is at a premium in the law business. Prosecuting attorneys just don't get much time off. It isn't just the constant onslaught of cases- thank god you're not taking one right now- but there's the constant research. Precedents, recent cases, the news; the law is a harsh mistress, and without review, it's impossible to fit everything in.

Even excluding that, there's the necessities of the job; networking, assisting your younger, fresher colleagues, and the endless backlog of paperwork. So when one of your old university friends called and asked if you felt like drinks tonight, it was a terrible idea, but you didn't care. Kicking back, thinking about the easier days- you needed it to function.

Some might call it sleeping with the enemy, but Jenny and you were always close. Just because you've ended up on opposite sides of the fence doesn't matter. It really did feel like old times- she used to be a real partygoer, the star of the campus nightlife, but her career seems to have led her to become rather prudish.

It's sharp suits and hair in a bun with her, as opposed to the racier, more daring girl you remember from years ago. You arranged to meet up at Flannery's, a local bar. But when you get there, instead of a blast from the past, you see all the signs of a mid-life crisis- Jenny, along with Robert, a mutual friend (not in the law business, though, one of those head-in-the-clouds liberal arts types) are at a table in the corner.

Jenny looks like she's been hitting the liquor pretty badly, and she doesn't look like she's being a happy drunk. She hasn't dressed for the occasion, still in a plain suit/skirt, while Robert is in more casual leather and jeans. He waves when he sees you enter, gesturing you over.

With a wave, Miles makes his way to the table, seeking a seat opposed to Jenny's. "You two started without me," he notes, not really complaining.

"You know the rule, the last one in drives the others out," jokes Robert, but it sounds forced- you notice he doesn't have a glass in front of him.

Jenny does, though, and she slugs down the contents like a true champion. "Hey, Miles. I'm glad you made it," she says, though it's clear she's anything but happy. "It's been a while, huh?"

"It seems so," Miles saying, adding quite bluntly, "I don't recall you being so friendly with liquor the last few times we've met."

"Weird thing to say in a bar. What's wrong with liking a drink? Can't do what I do sober all the time, after all." She snorts. "I'll bet you've needed one from time to time."

Robert looks a little uncomfortable. "Hey, Jenny..." he interjects, his tone of voice indicating that he's trying to placate her.

"No one would take that bet," Miles agrees. "It's usually pretty bad when I'm like that, though, so what's up?"

"Nothing much. I'm just going through a period of hating my life, so sorry in advance for being depressing company," she replies. She waves at the bartender, who obliges by bringing out another martini.

"Wrapped up a case today. I won. Yay."

Miles wonders how the other guy must look after losing, but keeps the stray thought to himself. "Winning one case at a time. What's wrong with that? It sounds like congratulations are in order."

"Who says I wanted to win? You prosecutors get it easy, if you want to lose a case, you can fuck it up and make it look good, but I can't." She swirls the olive in the martini around, staring at the rippling liquid.

"I suppose if you didn't care about keeping things strictly legal, there are ways for the defense side to lose as well," Miles muses, and adds, with a glance at Robert, "Hypothetically-speaking, of course."

That has Jenny right back in the drink, while Robert just shakes his head. "Man, remind me never to get either of you in court with me," he mutters.

Jenny sets down the glass. "I guess. Innocent until proven guilty can really suck sometimes, though. I mean, it was all there this time, but no evidence and... he fucking admitted it to me!" She slumps onto the table, miserable. "I've never hated this ethics bullshit more than now!"

"No system is perfect," Miles says reasonably. "The one governing what we call justice isn't particularly worse than the rest, really. But you probably don't care about that right now." He signals the bartender himself. "What did this guy do?"

"He didn't do anything. Technically. In the eyes of the law. In my eyes, he's guilty as sin. Sold cheap XTC to the ghetto kids. Around schools, clubs, that sort of stuff. Not all of it was clean, either. A few died, poisoning."

The bartender approaches, ready to take your order but staying silent nontheless. Jenny finishes off her drink and waves for another.

"I didn't know this when I took the case, okay? Every client deserves a fair shake. There were a couple witnesses, though. I said it didn't look good for him. Next day, they're found in a dumpster by the pier. No evidence. No anything. No conviction. He fucking gloated to me about it in confidence, so what the hell should I have done?"

Miles asks for a martini as well. "Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that. All you can really do is learn from it. And scum like that? He's bound to be caught, it's just a matter of time."

"He's scum, and I'm defending him! And he's probably not the only one!" Jenny hiccups, whilst the bartender soon returns with your drinks. "Doesn't that make me scum, too?"

"Only if you knew he was guilty when you took the case," Miles states categorically. "Did you? No. There you go."

"But.. but... it's bullshit!" she emphasizes, implacable. "And what about the next time this shit happens, huh? God, I wish I could pull off his fucking smug... face. Right back on the streets already, I bet."

"It's not your fault," interjects Robert, lamely. "I mean, if they prove a guilty person guilty but with the wrong method, they can do the same to an innocent one, right? Better one guilty man walks free than one in-"

"Ah, shut up!"

"You could always just cross the lines," Miles mentions. "Help us put these guys away. There's plenty of work, after all."

"Yeah, I'd love to put them away. That's a good fucking idea, Miles-, oh, god, but I wouldn't be able to take it if I put an innoc-"

She just collapses on the table with her hands in her eyes. "God, I can't take this job anymore."

It's not for everyone. "If that's really how you feel, there's plenty you can do where you're not faced with such decisions. Corporate law, say? Intellectual property cases should be pretty safe, too, all things considered. Especially if you defend people from the RIAA and the MPAA. No one likes those."

Jenny just starts to laugh, a choking, weary sound, while Robert shakes his head, and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about it," he adds. "This shit just happens. It's like Miles said before, a guy that dumb will wind up in the box again, just watch."

He shoots you a look that seems to ask 'why are you so dense?'

Miles shrugs in response. "There's really nothing I can say to make it better. No one can. All I can really do is drink martinis here with you for as long as you want to."

"Looks like it's gonna be a long night," mutters Robert, as Jenny signals the bartender again (that can't be healthy.)

Most of the conversation ends up being between you and Robert, after that. He doesn't drink, accepting his grim duty to ensure you all get home without killing each other, and it's around 11:00pm when you finally stumble out of the bar, Jenny clinging to your arm, all but asleep.

The evening passed with no fatalities, thus far.

"Thanks for being with her through this," Miles tells Robert, doing his best to prop Jenny up.

"She needs a holiday," he opines, opening the back doors of his car (an 80s sedan, slightly battered but servicable and reliable.) "You two should go to Hawaii together or something, spend some of that six-figure salary before the job eats you alive."

"Hawaii sounds nice," Miles agrees, helping Jenny into the back seat before climbing in after her to help her with the seatbelt. "Though prosecutors don't make that much, compared to the private sector. A shame, that."

"I can do it myself," she mumbles with a start, fumbling with the belt and slipping it in.

"Still pays more than the library, I bet," snorts Robert, heading around to the driver's seat.

"Another safe bet."

Turning the key in the ignition, he revs up the car and slowly pulls it out into the streets. Robert takes you away from Flannery's and winds his way through the local clubs. It gets a bit noisy- you hear a few of the gearheads with tricked-out cars and very loud subwoofers tooling around a couple blocks away, and see the usual share of crazy motorists doing stupid things (most likely under the influence.)

Jenny suddenly sits up at one point, staring angrily at one of the local bars- "Alberto's", or something, before muttering "He's not there..." and leaning back in the seat. About ten minutes after that, Robert pulls up outside Jenny's apartment block, an old place with a spiky iron-wrought fence and all the hallmarks of classical architecture- hell, there's even a gargoyle on the roof.

Though he might not be at his best, Jenny is certainly worse off, and Miles does what little he can to help her get to her apartment.

"Fifth floor," manages Jenny. The elevator is apparently out of order, courtesy of a piece of paper taped to the doors. The two of you stumble to Jenny's door, which she unlocks and opens. "Hey, thanks for coming out," she drawls, turning back to face you.

You can see her room behind her- her apartment is pretty nice and kept in good order, even if it's rather small. A dressing table with a large mirror lies just across from the door, assorted makeup supplies still scattered across it.

"When you need me, I'm there?" Corny, perhaps, but true.

Her eyes flicker back into her room for a moment, and she seems to shake her head for a second.

"Yeah. I'll pay you back someday. Night, Miles."

Miles smiles at Jenny. "No need. Take care. I'll call you tomorrow, alright?"

"Sure, I'll take tomorrow off," she says, giving you a slight wave as she closes the door.

There's not much left to do but stumble back down, and see if there's a doorman or guard of some sort for the building.

Doesn't seem like it; what passes for an apartment lobby is tight. There's a small window and office where someone like that might have once worked, but it's deserted, bare of both a guard or any of their trappings.

Jenny really should move to a safer place, Miles thinks, making his way outside.

You dimly recall having a conversation about this with Jenny a while back, and there was some reason she was confident about her personal safety, even here.

Robert is keeping the engine running outside- it's fairly chilly, so it's no wonder he'd like to keep his heater going.

Miles takes a seat next to him. "Does her case bother you, too?" he asks Robert, leaning back with a sigh.

Robert shrugs. "Funny to hear you saying that," he remarks, leaning on the wheel. "Of course it bothers me, but what can you do?"

"I meant beyond the ethical issues," Miles says with a frown. "How he confessed to Jenny, and how all the witnesses just turned up dead? Could be just the influence from work, but I don't like what it implies."

Robert rubs his chin, and he seems tired. The old engine revs up and he pulls away from the gothic apartment.

"I'm guessing he arranged that particular stunt. Coincidence would be pushing it too close. But like she said, without solid evidence..."

"I'll look into it tomorrow," Miles decides. "Talk to the prosecutor. Maybe there's something we can nab him for, after all. Better sooner than later, in that case."

"Isn't that kinda dangerous?" asks Robert. This part of suburbia seems to have a number of broken streetlights. Only Robert's high-beams illuminate the road- "SHIT!" He swerves rather sharply to avoid... something..., sending your head spinning.

"Everything's dangerous," Miles starts to respond, and then his full efforts are consumed with battling the sense of vertigo.

"Fucking dog or something, can't people keep their pets leashed?" he mutters, driving more slowly from now on.

"Anyway, yeah, won't she get in trouble if someone finds out she broke professional confidence like that? Just be careful, man."

It takes a bit longer for Miles to get a hold over himself. "Someone broke professional confidence?" he asks in what certainly sounds like genuine, if slightly slurred, surprise. "News to me."

"Man, you're the lawyer, right? Even I know defence attorneys aren't supposed to go talking about what their clients say behind closed doors. Even to friends. I mean, it's cool and all, but some people take a dim view of that, right?"

"You're right," Miles agrees. "Though given it's happened after the trial and neither of us is involved, she hasn't actually sabotaged her client's defense. I doubt he'd have much of a case, there, considering he won. There'd probably be a reprimand or some other slap on the wrist if it got out, so let's keep that from happening. I don't need to provide a reason for looking into a case, anyhow."

Robert nods as he drives along. "True enough. If he's smart, he'll lie low on the drugs for a while, but, well, criminals..."

He pulls up at your own apartment block in short order- a more homely place than Jenny's (there is a night watchman, for one thing, and the neighbourhood is a bit sweeter.)

"I'll see you around, alright? We should get together more often, preferably when you've both won cases you can be proud of."

"I'm always proud of winning my cases," Miles protests with a snort. "It's losing that's the problem, really...."

"To hear you talk, that doesn't happen often." Robert snorts, himself. "Still, I'll remember tonight when you're the one asking for drinks. 'It's okay, just change jobs' indeed!"

"That won't work on me!" Miles gets a contemplative look on his face. "Unless I just start losing everything on purpose. But it's bound to be a very short career."

"We could always use your filing skills. Give me a call if you develop an obsession with paper."

"Will do," Miles promises, leaving the warmth of the car at last. "Later."

"Seeya."

After you get into your apartment, Robert takes off, heading back to his own house (he shares with some immigrant, rent costing what it does.)

There's plenty to do, but all of it can wait for the morning. Miles goes straight to bed, only stopping to prepare a glass of water and a few anti-migrane pills next to his alarm clock.

You fall asleep like a log, dreaming of surreal colours and images that mean nothing.

When the alarm clock shakes you from your sleep, you find that every blaring signal it emits is as a knife ramming through your skull.

Sadly, it's not the first time. Operating on autopilot, Miles consumes the pills, helping them down with the water. And then, he drinks some more, to ease his throat.

The pills rarely work as well as advertised, but you do feel a slight numbness overlapping your terrible headache, ameliorating some of the agony.

He is coherent enough to check the time, at least, followed by going through his day planner. The electronic things are pretty useful, saving plenty of time.

Looks like a fairly drab day ahead. You're supposed to be in the office at around 9:30 to help out with mentoring a couple of the younger attorneys, and there's still some stuff from your last case (a matchless victory) that needs filing away. After that, there's a luncheon, including a judge and several attorneys- the DA is going to be there- but it's likely to be more hellish than anything (the venue is a snooty French restraunt, where manners must be impeccable.) Nonetheless, you must attend- despite their supposed impartiality, being on good terms with a judge is never a bad thing.

There'll be another meeting at the local office, too, and you'll probably be assigned another case to get to work on, and of course you need to fit in research wherever you can.

Not to mention your community activities afterwards. And you still need to give an answer to the local university- they've asked you if you'd like to speak at an upcoming seminar.

Drab, perhaps, but busy nonetheless.

He'll get to the office right on time, using what period of grace he has to recover from last night. A boring day sounds about right, and he'll deal with it the same way he usually does: one thing at a time.

It's around nine when you head out to your car, but as you open the driver's door, your mobile starts ringing.

Miles flips it open, studying the name on the display screen briefly.

Jenny Langston. Frankly, you're surprised she's out of bed this early.

"Hi," Miles says, answering the call. "Feeling better?"

"Miles, I'm-" Jenny stops, and stutters a little, before starting again. "I'm in deep trouble."

Miles gets in his car, starting it, and places the phone in its cradle. "What's the matter?"

"Paolo's dead, and... and... my gun's missing."

Ah, you remember. That's why she's fine living in a dangerous neighbourhood.

"Paolo is, of course...?"

"Uh. My former client. Paolo Escrivar. The cops called me and told me he got shot last night. They want me to go down to the station today, and.. sorry, can you come over? Everything's so messed up, I can't take this."

"I'll pick you up. There are two things for you to remember, however. You want a lawyer present. You don't say anything without your lawyer, even your name. Simple, right?"

"I have to give my name, but I know the rest pretty well. Thanks."

"No problem," Miles returns, navigating through traffic to Jenny's apartment. "Oh, and one more thing. A lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client. You'll be surprised how many colleagues slip up with this one, so always keep it in mind."

"Yeah, actually, about that, uh, ever thought of jumping the fence? I could really use a good fence-jumping around about now."

"Let's see first where I'll be most useful," Miles tells her. "The irony's well-appreciated, however, and I would be a hypocrite if I didn't listen to my own advice at a time like this."

Jenny offers her thanks again- over the course of the conversation, it was plain that just speaking to you about this was having a calming effect.

Traffic is busy around peak hour, but not so much in the way you're going, and you soon arrive outside Jenny's apartment for the second time this week....

<--->

[Corwin]

<--->

The travel time is well-used to free up Miles's schedule as much as possible. The meeting with the DA has to stay, and having a friendly judge has just become even more important. The rest, however, will almost certainly have to be pushed back.

Most of it can be put off, just this once.

An old woman, carrying a pair of shopping bags and smelling slightly of wet fur is walking back into her room while you knock on Jenny's door, which promptly opens. "Oh, thank god."

She looks like she hasn't slept very well, and is wearing slightly less formal (but no less stuffy) clothes; a rumbled blouse and long skirt. Her eyes are frantic, almost panicked.

The room itself is slightly more unkempt than you remember it being; some clothes are piled on the floor near Jenny's bed, and a number of the drawers are open.

Miles makes sure to step inside and close the door behind him before returning the greeting. "Who made the mess?" he asks.

"Me," she replies, sitting on the bed. "I was looking for some of my stuff, but it's, well, gone. Even my clothes!"

Perhaps a less blunt approach would've been better, but it's just not Miles's style. "That doesn't really look good, together with the stolen gun. Do you have a list of what is definitely missing?"

"Uh, let's see," she responds, her eyes wandering around the room and starting at the bedside table. "My gun's missing, for one thing. But some of my old stuff-" she gestures at the clothes, which seem to mostly be pulled out the raver collection- short miniskirts, midriff and cleavage-revealing tops, and, of course, racy underwear are all in supply.

"Some of those pieces are gone, too, as well as some jewelry."

"Enough for a complete outfit? A matching one, at that?"

"Yeah," she replies, her voice seeming to hover between cautious reason and trembling fear. "Like someone came in, got dressed in my stuff, stole my gun, and committed murder. And.. no, before you ask, the lock is intact."

"How many keys do you own? Who could possibly have more?"

"I've got two house keys, and I have both of them," she replies, dismally. "I mean... I never gave any to my family or anyone, so the only other person could be the landlord."

"We'll need to check in with him. Still... nobody? No one could've had a chance to do it?"

"Yeah- well, they could've picked the lock," she replies, sounding almost hopeful. "That's the only way I see."

"What about the windows? You keep them locked?" Miles asks, continuing to frown.

"You can't open them from the outside," she confirms, gesturing towards them.

Miles checks for himself, if only to keep himself occupied as he thinks further. "Alright. The police. Tell me what you talked about, and with whom, specifically."

"It was a.. sergeant. I'm sorry, I didn't remember his name," she replies, sighing. "I was pretty out of it when they told me he'd died, you see." She lowers her eyes, clenching her fists on her knees.

"Honestly... I'd thought about doing something like this, but it's just an idle fantasy. Anyway. They told me that they had a witness saying someone matching my description did it, the bouncer at Alberto's. The witness was pretty friendly with Escrivar, so they might not take him at face value. I hope they don't."

Miles files the name away. "I would've helped you even if you did, but that's nice to hear. You're not really the vigilante type." He leans against the dresser. "Anything else I need to know before we begin our counter-attack?"

She looks rather troubled at your first suggestion. "Well, I didn't," she says, firmly. "I don't think there's much. The police want to talk to me soon, and I don't see much point staving off the inevitable. I can pull the 'no comment' routine... it's just that I don't think I have anything to hide."

"Therein lies the problem," Miles responds. "Even in a normal situation, I would say this depended on the police and how much they believed in your guilt. The best action is always keeping silent; people are naturally nervous while talking to the police, and contradictions in their stories inevitably would appear. Even if they're innocent, it would be easy to use that." He snorts. "Now, that usually won't fly, since prosecution isn't in the habit of going after innocent people, and most competent defense attorneys would do something about that even if an unscrupulous ADA happened to be on the case. But we're dealing with a situation where you were framed, and it was done professionally enough. You had no aliby, your lock was picked or your key replicated without your notice. To begin with, breaking in would be pointless if the perpetrators didn't know you kept a gun here. We'll need to deal with planted evidence, at a minimum, and so we'll need to keep our cards close to our chest until we know more."

"I agree in part, but the other half of the equation is that suspects who make confessions, full or partial, aren't entirely without credit in the system. Take my gun- they'll figure out it was mine that was stolen soon enough. In this case, it's better to bring up the possibility someone other than myself has got their hands on it. It'll force them to doublecheck the witness reports, if nothing else. There's got to be an explanation for this, and the detectives are the ones who are going to find it, so...."

She shrugs. "The thing I'm not- can't- talk about is what I think of Escrivar, and they're going to ask me. Definately silent there."

"We should report the break in. Let's start with that, and cooperate there."

"Right. Let's go," she decides, abruptly. "You drove, I take it?"

"Don't worry about transportation," Miles tells her matter-of-factly. "Presentation, though, is another thing entirely. We can wait until you take care of that part."

"I'm not in that bad shape," she pouts, trying to straighten out her clothes a little (it almost works.) "Just upset."

"You look okay," Miles concedes. "Even though you could look great if you'd just let your hair down, again, and stopped artificially producing a stuffy image. A discussion for another time, perhaps? But we're not trying to seduce the cops; just show them that we're reasonably confident. That's the way innocent people tend to act, with just a healthy dose of nervousness, and unless you feel like explaining to them just why you're so upset over your most recent ex-client we'll have to fake that."

"That's the rub, isn't it? Even if I was crazy and stupid and wanted to tell them, I'd get in trouble for just that," she replies, picking up her handbag and heading for the door. "I'm on the ball now, anyway. You really aren't bad at this. After this, maybe we really should switch jobs. I'll loan you my office."

"I can't make promises," Miles responds, following her. "I like my job just fine. It's just that friends come first, as they should."

She heads down the stairs and out the door, though she can't identify your car outside, sitting in all it's shining glory alongside the beat-up volvos. "If you weren't a lawyer, what would you do?" she replies, stopping on the cracked pavement.

Miles takes a few moments to recall how the procedure for reporting a break in goes, and which cops in the precint he might be familiar with, not to mention on good terms. If both lists correspond at some point, that would be where he need to go first. "Go into politics, maybe?" he asks, being reasonably serious. "I should be able to make some change, there."

Like most of the crimes reported by the victims, a break-in report, usually starts with a phone call, followed by a couple of patrolmen (or a detective, if one is free) heading to the scene to inspect it and take notes. The caller typically takes a trip to the station to give a statement, which is dutifully recorded and transcribed. Detectives then investigate as much as possible.

Usually, they have bigger fish to fry than suburban theft, but when firearms or connections to other crimes come onto the scene, it's another story. Because Jenny is a suspect, her break-in statement will probably be part of her overall statement about the events of last night.

As for friendly cops in the vicinity, you don't have too much to do with the men on the beat. You do speak to detectives fairly regularly, though- you know one in Jenny's precinct; Detective Roderick Ashen, one of the older and, if you might say so frankly, less active detectives in the city. His mind is sharp enough, though, even if smoking is killing his lungs and fitness.

He might be able to help, but that would only become apparent once they've made their way to the station. Helping Jenny to his car, Miles gives her a reassuring smile. "We'll get to the bottom of this." Another cliche saying, and yet, it feels right.

Jenny seems to agree, putting on a more determined front and sliding smoothly into the passenger seat. The drive to the precinct isn't that far- it's located in the middle of a busy shopping strip, a somewhat monolithic, three-story building that towers over the more common eateries and colourful retail outlets. Flat grey seems to be the architectural paradigm of choice, here.

The sliding doors are out of order, so you have to go in through the manual entrance. Both you and Jenny have been here before (many times!), and she steadfastly approaches the cop at front booth and exchanges a few words.

Miles keeps close enough to stop her if she happens to forget her promise of keeping things simple. While Jenny's competent, she also seems quite shaken by events, and only a certain kind of people works for the defense to begin with.

She doesn't let the cop know anything, instead simply saying that, as requested, she has arrived. The cop picks up a phone and speaks to someone on the other end. Sure enough, a few minutes later, two cops you don't recognize- a sergeant and a constable- show up.

"Morning, Ms. Langstrom. If you'd come into the interview room?" the sergeant asks, before briefly glancing at you with a questioning look. "And this is..."

"Miles Reid," he says, stepping forward and offering a hand for the sergeant to shake. "Here to serve as Ms. Langstrom's legal counsel. Shall we?"

He raises an eyebrow, reaching to take your hand. His grasp, however, is somewhat limp.

The cop has the kind of expression you associate with someone who likes to catch people out (hardly uncommon amongst your colleagues), and he certainly proves this in short order by addressing Jenny- "I figured you were one for self-representation, Ms. Langstrom. Come along, then."

He starts to walk back into the local offices, waving you along. The other cop throws you an apologetic look before scurrying after him.

Miles gives him a brief shrug to show that he isn't taking it personally, and squeezes Jenny's shoulder lightly, before following.

The picture of confidence, Jenny strides forward into the spartan interview room. The cops gesture to the other side of a desk, and you all sit down. A camera in the corner of the box peers at the proceedings.

"We'll be recording this inquiry," announces the sergeant, placing a tape recorder (how archaic!) on the table and turning it on. "Sergeant William Collins, accompanied by Senior Constable Jeremy Whitewall. Interviewee is Ms. Jennifer Langstrom, as relates to the case of Paolo Escrivar's murder. Interviewee is accompanied by their legal counsel, Mr. Miles Reid. Recording begins at... nine fifty-five, April 4th, 2006."

He shuffles a few papers in front of him, taking a moment to read through the details. He formally asks Jennifer her name and date of birth- she confirms it blandly- before continuing. "I must inform you that you are not presently under arrest, and that you are free to remain silent or end this interview at any time. However, as a potential suspect in this case, you are not permitted to leave the city boundaries until permission is given to do so.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," replies Jenny, seeming to have regained her composure. He walks through a few more minor details, details you've heard repeated on dozens of police tapes in the past, and eventually reaches the meat of the exercise.

"Where were you at two AM this morning?"

Though his preference would be for Jenny to remain silent throughout the interview, Miles weighs their goals along with Jenny's desire to contribute. Things would be better in the longer run if she had the chance she wanted to talk to the police as much as she can without it hurting her too much afterwards, and this question is one that can be answered. He indicates as much to her.

"In my apartment, sleeping," she responds.

"When did you go to sleep?" he asks, and a similar response of midnight is given. The question of whether or not she got out of bed at all is then asked, followed by...

"What were you doing before you went to sleep?"

"What is the relevance of this question?" Miles interjects. It is moments like this that he regrets not having glasses to push meaningfully up the bridge of his nose.

"Putting together a picture of Ms. Langstrom's activities last night," replies the sergeant, flatly.

"No comment," interjects Jenny, just as flatly, and the sergeant sighs. "Very well. I take it from this you will reply 'no comment' to any other questions about your day?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Early this morning, Paolo Escrivar was murdered. He was your client, I understand, and was released from court yesterday afternoon. What was your relationship with Mr. Escrivar like?"

"Ms. Langstrom understandably cannot talk of anything said under confidence," Miles comments at that point. "Even though Mr. Escrivar is now dead, it doesn't eliminate the attorney-client privelege."

"Indeed," adds Jenny, shaking her head. "I cannot speak of my relationship with Mr. Escrivar. No comment," she adds, nodding firmly.

The sergeant doesn't seem to much care, continuing on without a pause. "There are certain restrictions lifted when discussing a murder case regarding to the associates of Mr. Escrivar. Do you know of any who could have some reason to wish him harm?"

"No comment."

The cop shuffles his paper a little more, taking out a piece from the centre and studying it.

"Do you own, possess, or otherwise have access to any firearms, Ms. Langstrom?"

"She does," Miles answers for her. "Ms. Langstrom's apartment was broken into recently, and several of her belongings stolen. Her gun was among them. Unfortunately, she only noticed the theft this morning."

Collins raises an eyebrow.

"Your gun is a revolver, correct? Smith & Wesson, model 60?" he asks, while the cop at his side suddenly seems to become more interested at the mention of guns.

"That's right."

"Can you tell me more about this break-in? Why did you wait until now to report it?"

Miles is very tempted to repeat his last words, and almost does so. It wouldn't serve their goals to needlessly antagonize the cops, however. "As we've stated, the theft in question was only noticed this morning. Since Ms. Langstrom had already received a request to come down to the station, it seemed best to wait until this interview."

"I see. What belongings of yours were missing?" he asks, with great scrutiny.

"A black, low-cut singlet-top," she replies, trying to think. "A red miniskirt, a thong... red heels. There might have been more, I'm not sure. And my gun."

"When was the last time you checked your firearm?" he presses, and Jenny seems to need to think for a moment.

Miles nods at Jenny, indicating that it's one question they might as well cooperate on.

"Could we pause the interview briefly?" Miles requests. He doesn't allow himself to frown, but this is something that he really should've anticipated and talked to Jenny about in advance.

The sergeant frowns, at that, and Jenny stops herself momentarily from speaking, frowning herself.

"..yesssss," grates out the cop. "Interview paused at ten past ten AM." The constable clicks off the tape recorder.

"Will ten minutes suffice? You can use this room," instructs Collins, standing up.

"That would do quite well," Miles tells him, waiting until they are alone.

The cops leave in short order without a backward glance. Only the camera in the room- ubiquitous throughout the station, really- remains. Jenny leans back in her chair.

"Not for a few days," she says. "It might've gone missing at some time other than last night. Same thing with the clothes..."

"It's really something I should've gone into earlier. An oversight of mine, and I apologize," Miles tells her. "How often do you check up on it? Have you ever used it?"

"I do some practice at the range every now and then, but nothing regular. Like, maybe once a month, but sometimes not," she replies. "And, well, no, but I was attacked once, and that's why I got it in the first place. I stopped carrying it around a couple years ago."

"I think it's alright to tell them. They'll have to talk to my landlord, since he has the only other key."

"It is," Miles agrees. "I just didn't want to have a question asked I don't know the answer to. I also think you should get in touch with your office, and have them check whether anything seems missing or out of place. There's always a chance we'll find something from that angle to corroborate your story."

"I'll call Sandy- it's my firm. I said she could have today off, though, so I don't think she'll be able to get there for a while."

"Give her a little bonus afterwards and she'll worship you for making her work on her day off."

Jenny makes a quick call- the half of the conversation isn't that interesting, Sandy apparently has some concern about tampering with a potential crime scene. It's done with in short order.

"Do you have any idea who might've wanted Escrivar dead? Enough to go to the trouble of involving you?"

"I couldn't say. I knew some of his associates, and I know that in the mafia, you're shot in the back by your friends most often. But if you asked for a specific person, or even a reason...."

"Alright. It's still too early, anyway." Miles nods, and walks to the door to peer outside the room. If the cops are loitering nearby, he could just call them back and save them the rest of the wait.

They're not far....

"Interview resumed at quarter past ten. Let's start again- when was the last time you checked your gun?" asks Collins, comfortably sitting back down in his plastic chair.

"It would've been a week or so ago," responds Jenny, calmly.

"And where did you keep it?"

"In a drawer, on my bedside table."

"You only noticed it was missing this morning, after the police call?"

"Yes."

Miles does not interfere this time around, content to sit back and listen to the questions.

The sergeant taps the desk slowly, leaning forward slightly. "The clothes are also interesting. Witnesses report that a woman matching your description and wearing these clothes was responsible for gunning down Escrivar. Do you have anything to say about this?"

"No comment."

There's a knock on the door. The sergeant pauses the tape again, and stands up to answer it. He briefly confers with an officer there, taking another sheet of paper and glancing over it. He sighs, almost regretfully, before starting up the tape again.

"Interview resumes at ten-eighteen. Ms. Langstrom, you are hereby under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will...."

As the Miranda rights get repeated back to her, Jenny remains stock still, clasping her hands firmly on the table.

"At the conclusion of this interview, you will be transferred to holding cells within the precinct pending official process. Do you understand?"

Appealing the cops seems futile, but they couldn't have made the decision on their own. "Who is handling this case from the DA office?" Miles asks instead, deciding to try an avenue that actually might prove fruitful, at least in the short run.

"Arnold Resincourt," replies the sergeant, checking the papers. "I have some more questions that are relevant, if you don't mind...."

"Is he here?" Miles asks, remaining polite even if he is functionally obstructing the man's work until his own questions have been answered to his satisfaction.

"No."

"Alright. How can my client help you, Sergeant?"

"Did you catch a taxi last night?" he asks, promptly.

They wouldn't be asking this without knowing some of the details. Perhaps the bartender spoke to the cops. It wouldn't do to hide this part.

"No," replies Jenny, shaking her head.

"What time did you return to your apartment last night?" he presses, to which Jenny replies 'shortly before midnight'.

"A taxi driver, Jozan Brozovich, claims that he picked someone matching your description up from near 'Albertos' last night, shortly after 2am, and dropped you off at your apartment, wearing clothes similar to the ones you claim were stolen. Do you have anything to say to that?"

It is evident that Jenny doesn't from one look at her.

"Was the woman matching my client's description wearing gloves while being driven in the cab? Did she handle any change?" Miles asks calmly.

"No. She paid by card," he replies, checking his notes. "Prints will not be reliable, but will be taken nonetheless. More to the point- the description given correlates to that given by witnesses at 'Albertos'. Is there anything at all you would like to add at this point?"

"Given the company that Mr. Escivar kept, and that an unscrupulous defense attorney would have had plenty of ways to do him harm than getting him off and gunning him down the same day, is the police actually pursuing other leads?"

"The police is doing everything it can to determine the facts of the case," replies the sergeant, somewhat insincerely.

No doubt. But at least the cop was sincere enough to show him that he'd get no help from them as a whole, Miles muses. "Since this appears to have been all the question you had at this time, Segeant, I won't keep you past this. Of course, I would like to remind you as a formality that my client is not to be questioned without my presence."

"Understood."

The sergeant glances briefly and Langstrom, and shrugs. "Interview concludes at ten-twenty one," he says, clicking off the tape.

Jenny slowly raises her hands to a face and begins to clear out her eyes, messing up her hair slightly in the process. It seems like she's crying a little, but at least some fury is evident in her clenched jaw.

<--->

[Corwin]

<--->

With Jenny's impromptu arrest, she won't be leaving the station anytime soon. The policemen have left the two of you alone in the interview room for the time being to discuss your next steps (it's not like you can run anywhere.)

Jenny has her elbows on the meagre table, and her hands holding her head. "I didn't do it," she repeats, staring at the surface.

Miles places his arm across her shoulders in what he hopes gives her some degree of comfort. "I know," he says, "and I'll make sure everyone else does, too. You just need to be strong and wait."

She's shivering, you realise, and it might be that you and the table are the only things stopping her from slipping to the floor.

"I'm not capable of doing that," she reaffirms, swallowing. "I know you'll find out what really happened. It... just... I've been doing this for a while. I know when it doesn't look good."

"I'll try to get you out of here until the trial," Miles promises. "That's not just empty words, either. There are certain exceptions under the law for holding suspects, even in murder trials, and I'm going to try every single one of them until I hit on the one that works."

Though he's agitated, Miles keeps his voice at his usual calm level. "Yes, it doesn't look good. In fact, it looks so bad it might end up working in our favor. The case the police has on you is ridiculous. Once the media catches wind of it...."

"As long as the witnesses keep adding up like this..." she replies, helplessly. "I guess if the press gets involved, but who knows if they'll actually take our side? You've got to admit, 'Defense Offends Client!' or something is the kind of headline the tabloids love."

"I rather think they'd be more occupied with me defending you," Miles suggests. "The tabloids, that is. It should be an even better juxtaposition."

"I wonder what your colleagues will think," she remarks.

"I would like to use this chance to look cool and say something brave, but in all honesty, things will go bady for me if I win by anything short of pulling a Perry Mason and getting the real culprit convicted," Miles says, shrugging. "But I'm still on the side of justice and 'friends' trump 'society', anyway."

"Who's not saying cool things?" she remarks, sardonically.

"Well. If I've learned anything, the Perry Mason method never works. Counterpunching is the trick to a successful defense. It doesn't matter how small it is, if there's a mistake, tear it apart, make it look bigger than it is- anything to get the jurors on-side."

"I'm really worried more about getting them too much on your side, to be honest," Miles admits. "If they hear about how scummy your client ended up being and how frustrated you were with being unable to do anything legally, they just might believe that it would've been okay to kill him." He frowns. "And that you might've thought so, too, etcetera. I'll have to do something about that if this is the line the prosecution takes. Who should I turn to for character witnesses and what not?"

"Sandy, my assistant. Robert, too. Oh, my neighbour, Madeleine." Jenny smiles. "She really thinks too much of me, all the same."

"As far as my ex-client... well. I don't think they can find out that I thought what I did, although they'll certainly ask around. If one of Escriva's friends confesses now...."

"...though I can't see them putting their own necks on the line."

"You might not remember it, but you were pretty vocal about the entire thing last night. Robert certainly heard, and the bartender might've caught something, too. The latter's the problem, as far as I'm concerned, since he would lack any and all proper context to your words."

Jenny freezes up. "I didn't even think about that. Christ, if that gets out, even if I'm found not guilty, my career is up the creek. Damn!"

She bites her lip, cursing under her breath. "They're pretty discreet, bartenders, but the place wasn't exactly empty, either."

"I'm pretty confident about our chances, and I did think about it, clearly," Miles tells her. "Leave the worrying to me. Your job is to not add to my worries while I work, right?"

"In my experience, it's better to find out now than halfway through the trial. The point is they've got something to prove, and we don't until they bring it up."

She continues chewing her lip, wringing her hands slightly.

"Just to make sure you know how it works on this side of things- on the downside, the cops won't tell you much. On the bright side, there are only so many arguments they can bring up. Knock 'em all down and you're set. Sometimes they're like dominos, you beat the first one and the rest fall into place. It gets easier if you do a bit of detective work on your own beforehand, though."

"And presentation," Miles agrees with a smile. "It's important. If you make a dramatic objection, it will be seared into the minds of the jurors!"

"What do they fill your head with in that office?" she asks, shaking hers. "Well, what're you waiting for? My life, career and freedom are at stake!"

Miles stands up, giving Jenny a mock salute. "Yes, Your Highness!"

Jenny gives you a regal nod to send you on your way.

The world outside the police station awaits!

Miles goes to work in more ways than one, by driving to the DA office to meet the prosecutor handling Jenny's case. A conversation there should reveal how much antagonism he is about to get over the course of the trial from his coworkers.

The DA's office is not located more thoroughly within the downtown area, and the sound of car horns never fully goes away during your time here. The secretary out the front gives you a brief nod as you step in, no stranger to your comings and goings.

Office cubicles lie beyond, where your absence has no-doubt left a struggling protege- what *was* his name- unable to keep up with the day's work. The DA himself has his own large office, seperate from the rest, and the small kitchen is the place to go for gossip, containing as it does a water cooler, coffee machine and a carbonated beverage dispenser.

The struggling protege will sadly have to learn a valuable lesson about the unfairness of the world today. Miles is only interested in finding Arnold, right now.

Arnold is enthusiastically relating the latest game of soccer his kids played over last weekend to a beleagured female partner. The man is wearing a suit, but he's also wearing a coloured beanie- the Crosstown Tigers?

"...ey, Miles! You're late!" he says, pointing an accusing finger at you. "Plenty of work to go 'round. We were all wanting to share it with you."

"I have a pretty damn good reason. Can we talk somewhere?" Miles hopes there is an empty conference room they could commandeer; it would probably be easiest.

"Language, Mr. Reid. We're professionals, not hooligans," he responds, delciately taking off his beanie and shoving it in his pocket, revealing a complete lack of hair.

You can find an empty room easily enough, but Arnold looks rather peevish. "What're your troubles, Miles? The boss was wondering where the hell you were, and it's caused young Sanders no end of grief."

"My friend was arrested for a murder she didn't commit," Miles tells him with a frown. "If that isn't a good reason to clear my immediate schedule of anything non-critical, what is?"

"I suppose that's a rather troublesome predicament," he admits, before starting. "Wouldn't be a colleague of sorts, would it?"

"You are a very bright prosecutor and a great lawyer, and I'm not saying this in some misguided attempt to butter you up," Miles states matter-of-factly. "I think you have already deduced who she is. I just wanted to cut through the red tape and discuss the case with you."

"I understand your position, Miles, but I'm not sure that would be wise of me," he replies, slowly and carefully. "Oh, you'll find out anything you want to know anyway, I'm sure, the details are halfway around the office by now- it's quite the interesting little crime- but I hope you're not here to convince me to drop the charges."

"No. And relax, I'm not here to try anything illegal." Miles sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I don't get why it all happened the way it did. Within just a few hours from the crime, the police find the suspect as well as eye witnesses, corroborating evidence and even a smoking gun? When most of those hours were during the night shift? I can't be the only one thinking it's not right. And how she was charged also bothers me. We both know she came to the interview when asked to by the police. There was no danger of flight risk or anything of the sort. Just what is it about the evidence that makes the very concept of a different suspect such an implausible idea?"

"I'm not going to comment on the general efficiency of police, but to my mind, the scene was very easy to track. The defendant, as it appears, made no attempts to cover herself. The murder taking place in public, the provocative dress, the brutality of the killing- it may well be that it was meant to be noticed. Frankly, I'm surprised she wasn't arrested earlier than this morning.

"But if you're going to suggest it was someone else, I'm inclined to disagree. The unsound thing here, if I might say so politely, would be her mind. I'm not saying this just because it's my job."

"If she wanted to get caught, she's pretty bad at showing it," Miles notes casually. "And she missed a golden opportunity to confess or represent herself. But we do agree on one thing after all. It was meant to be noticed, and the trail was supposed to lead all the way to her."

"It might be so. I'm afraid I'm going to have to stop you here, though," he replies, shaking his head. "You know, quite as much as I do, that criminal acts are rarely rational, either in reason or execution.

"And I must confess that it, were it truly an attempt at framing the woman, was a remarkable attempt, with far too many people in on it to logically remain watertight."

"The so-called crimes of passion?" Miles asks, nodding. "I'll grant you that. And I'm not really here to change your mind about trying Jenny, either. Rather, can anything be done about her living arrangements? Electronic ankle bracelets, turning in her passport, ridiculous bail... if we can agree on something, we could save everyone involved a lot of needless work and headaches and present it to the judge to sign off on. She will be staying to fight this, but I don't want her to have to do it from a prison cell."

He winces, at that. "I've got to say that I feel apologetic, seeing as I instructed the police to put her into custody in the first place. Part of it is- well, I've already said I don't think her mind is entirely there. It's true that she presented herself, and that will speak in her favour during the proceedings. But I'd like to keep her there for a day or two and have the police let me know how she acts- I've considered sending for a counselor, honestly.

"I won't oppose the measures you take, but- let's just say I'm not expecting a conviction so much as admittance, in some form or another."

"There are times when my hunches are wrong," Miles agrees, "so I won't oppose a counselor of your choice having a session with my client. Why don't you arrange it?" He pauses briefly. "When I'm proven right about Jenny being in control of her faculties -- as much as can be expected, under the circumstances she found herself in -- would you in turn go towards me on my request?"

"I don't mind. There's no need for elaborate measures, I think, though the bail will likely be costly."

Arnold shrugs. "You're a determined man, Reid, and if you are thinking the same things I would be thinking if my relatives were in this situation, I won't be talking you out of it. But, strictly speaking, I would not talk you into it, either."

"Alright. Thanks." Miles lets out a sigh. "What about the case file? When can I reasonably expect access to it?"

"I'll make you a copy of the details," he replies. "There isn't very much as of yet, and it's quite straightforward."

"Every little bit helps."

<--->

[Corwin]

<--->

The report indicates that Jovan Brozovich works for the Mercury Cab Company, one of the cities smaller taxi groups. The interview indicates that he picked up a young woman matching Jenny's description not far away from the murder scene at Alberto's, and took her back to Jenny's address.

He doesn't appear to have a contact phone, and it is at the company itself that Miles manages to track him down. It's at about six in the evening that he's about to begin his shift, and that's when he catches the man in the company garage, spending a bit of time wiping down his windscreen with a rag. He's a thin guy, with a moustache and a curly head of black hair.

Not a particularly large or imposing man, Miles nevertheless towers over Jovan. Cleanly shaven despite the harried day he is going through, everything about his appearance states confidence; confidence in himself, in his abilities and in his righteousness. His own hair is straight, rising slightly at the front and parted to the sides, cultivated to contribute to that look just like the suit he wears comfortably.

"Mister Brozovich?" he asks, consulting his notepad. A hand is offered, businesslike. "My name is Miles Reid. I would like to hear your testimony, please, if you could go over it once more."

Jovan radiates suspicion; he doesn't quite meet Miles' eyes, and he shakes his head. "I tell police everything," he replies, not accepting the hand and wringing his own in the filthy cloth. "Why do you want to hear?"

"This is merely a procedural matter," Miles responds. "I hold nothing but respect for our officers of the law, but there are sometimes questions we lawyers like to ask that they don't think of. I prefer to always be armed with all the facts in advance."

The word 'lawyer' seems to prompt a reaction from Jovan, and he suddenly nods. "Ok. Ok. It like I say to police. I am driving over on Mulholland, about three blocks from Alberto's. At about... 2, 2:15 when I see very pretty woman hail for taxi." His hands continue to turn over the rag in his hands. "She is wearing little black dress and walking quickly. I stop, and she get in cab."
"She very nervous about something and tell me to go to 1135 Thurston. Then she ask for cigarette. I give her one." He clenches his jaw. "I drop her off. That is what happened and what I say to police when they ask."

Miles doesn't quite need his professional instincts to figure Jovan's not being a hundred percent with him; not only is he plainly jittery about something, but he also knows that Jenny hasn't smoked for years.

He writes it all down on the notepad, intending to digitalize the whole thing afterwards. "I see." Peering at the cabbie inquisitively, Miles asks, "Could you please describe this woman in more detail? Her hair style and color, the clothes she was wearing, even how they looked on her. Every little bit you can remember, please."

"She's blonde. Wore her hair down, big lips, makeup," he replies. "I see many girls like this from clubs. Wearing little black dress, comes down only to here. See underwear easy," he adds, indicating something too far up past the knees. "Singlet red top, with no back. Belly is bare," he adds. "She looked very nice."

Miles can't help but be struck how this all seems reminiscient of how Jenny used to dress, back during her college and immediate post-college years, until at some point she started taking her work seriously and began to dress like a frumpy secretary instead.

It takes a certain amount of dedication to put on someone's underwear just for the sake of a frameup, he inanely thinks, before realizing that his mind is drifting too much and putting a stop to that.

"Was this woman walking alone when you picked her up?" Miles inquires.

"She not with anyone, I think," replies Jovan, who seems to be getting a bit more comfortable. "Not many people on that part of street."

Miles nods at his words. "And after you drove her over to her destination, did you stay and see where she went? Pretty woman like that?"

If this were a cartoon, Miles is sure he would see steam blowing out of Jovan's ears at this turn of conversation.

"She go up stairs, into apartment," he replies, a remarkable feat of deduction for him, given that the stairs in Jenny's apartment block are on the inside and not really visible from a parked car.

"Right." Another nod, another look up at Jovan. "During the ride-- excuse me, how long was it?"

"About twenty minutes," he replies, which would be roughly accurate.

"Right, thank you. During the ride, what did you and this woman talk about?"

"She didn't talk much," he replies. "Just tell me where to go, ask for cigarette. I give her one."

"Anything about her voice?" Miles asks, making a note. "Accent, a lisp?"

"Like she been running," he replies. "American voice, you know."

Wouldn't someone as drunk as Jenny be slurring her words, at the very least? Miles would need to consult an expert, but it sounds strange to him. "Yes, I understand. What about the cigarette?"

"She.. she leave it behind," he replies. "I throw it out. Disgusting to leave on seat."

"Oh?" Miles asks in surprise. "You didn't drop it in the ashtray? You smoke as well, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Any particular reason why?"

"No reason," he replies, glancing at his wrist, which has no watch.

"Did you lead the police to where you disposed of it?" Miles continues professionally. "It might be an important piece of evidence, after all."

"On ground somewhere," he replies, edgily.

"Of course," Miles agrees, consulting his notes on the interview. He mostly checks to see where the questions differ.

The interview was not as precise as Miles; indeed, it mostly covered only the initial statement Jovan gave him, which dealt with the time and place of the pick up and the dropoff, as well as her appearance- though he can't help but note that he wasn't nearly as detailed with the police as he was with Miles.

"You have been quite helpful, Mister Brozovich," Miles says after his brief review. "I would be appreciative if you told me what you didn't tell the police, however."

"I tell you everything I tell police," he replies, insistantly, before sputtering out something in some eurospeak tounge. "I have work now."

"So no one came to see you aside from myself and the police?"

"No, nobody," he replies, starting to walk towards his car door.

This is why he is an attorney and not an investigator. It was his bet on why the cabbie would be so detailed, or feel nervous.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Miles says. There are two more witnesses to interview, and he had better hunt them down before it's too late in the day.

"Ok. Goodbye," he replies, getting into the drivers seat.

<--->

Mina Quest does have a cell, which she answers after the third ring. "HELLO?" she yells- Miles can hear some trance in the background, so it seems that having a close encounter with a murder hasn't put her off the scene in the least.

"Mina Quest?" he asks, raising his voice appropriately. "My name is Miles Reid. I have follow up questions about your statement to the police. When are you available to conduct the interview?"

"WHAT?" she yells again, and Miles hears some laughter from nearby.

"This concerns an ongoing murder investigation," he tries again, raising his voice further over the last two words.

There's some static on the phone, a clacking noise, and then the connection is cut.

Peachy. He will need to visit her residence or place of work come morning. Before trying the other patron who witnessed the events, Miles decides to drive up to Alberto's and talk to the doorman, Gordie.

It's not that late, and Alberto's hasn't actually opened yet. It seems the police have closed their investigation here, however, and when Miles arrives, he can see Gordie- a huge, imposing fellow with a boxer's mug- spraying the sidewalk in front of the joint with a hose.

"Gordie Evans?" Miles asks, approaching the man. "Miles Reid, attorney at law. I would like to ask you some questions about what you have seen last night."

"Wouldja, now?" he asks, not looking up from his hose. "Already talked to the cops. Attorney ain't quite cops, to my understandin'."

"Certainly, Mister Evans," Miles agrees. "I find it helpful to receive a fresh perspective of events, however. It would only take a few minutes of your time, and won't keep you from your work."

"Uh-huh." Gordie grunts. "How 'bout youse be helpful to me? I ain't no storyteller."

Miles sighs. "As an officer of the court, my helpfulness is strictly regulated, I'm afraid. However, in a sense I am already being quite helpful," he tells the doorman. "This is going to be a murder trial, and the initial interview with the police is hardly the last time you will be required to speak to people regarding the case. I believe that the time I picked now, where you are not prevented from doing your job, is superior to returning at a time when Alberto's is busy along with the cops, to pick just one example."

"And I believe you're full of shit. I know I ain't got to say more and got nothing more to say, so how 'bout you shove off?"

"If that's how you want it, Mister Evans," Miles agrees. "Have a good evening, then. We'll be seeing each other again."

He turns to walk back to his car. Yes, definitely not private investigator material. That leaves just Wesley Finch as someone he could try calling about an interview.

Wesley, at least, answers his phone when contacted in what might be described as a polite, normal way. "Hello?"

"Good evening, Mister Finch," Miles greets him. "This is Miles Reid speaking. I am an attorney involved with the case you were a witness to, and I would like to ask you a few followup questions to the statement you gave the police. When would be a good time for you?"

"Oh... that," he replies. "I'm not busy at the moment. Ask away?" His voice is a bit nasally; a few coughs come out after the last sentence.

Not the optimum way for him to go about it, but Miles decides to settle for a phone interview at this point.

"Could you please describe the events as you saw them that night?"

"Sure." He's silent for a moment, and then begins. "She showed up at around one? She was kind of flirting a bit, and asked me if I knew a Paolo- well, I didn't, so I think she asked around a bit more. Then left at about half past- I remember, because she was smoking nonstop the whole time, and when she headed out you noticed. I headed out myself about an hour later, and this guy's catcalling her-
"-from the front seats. She just pulls out a gun and blows him away. I heard right afterwards that she was his lawyer?"

"So that I understand it perfectly, this woman left Alberto's at about one thirty, and you went out in the whereabouts of two thirty, finding her right outside the establishment?" Miles pauses. "And that is when she shot a man who catcalled her? Is that accurate?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"How are you able to estimate the times, Mister Finch, if I might inquire?"

"I'm kinda guessing, I guess?" He sounds slightly uncertain. "Is it important? I'd had a few drinks, so, you know."

"I understand. Who was outside Alberto's when you left it yourself?"

"I think there was the bouncer, and there were a bunch of people on the tables out front. I think there were a few people on the street..." He shrugs.

"Were you alone or with company, aside for the time this woman flirted with you?" Miles asks next.

"I'd come out with friends earlier, but they kinda ditched me," he mutters. "So I was there by myself when things started happening."

Miles nods to himself. "Could you please describe the woman to me? Her looks, her style of dress, her manner of speech... everything you can remember?"

"She was... provocative," he replies, clearing his throat. "You know how there are those movies, and there's some really dangerous girl who's cracking onto the hapless protagonist? It was like that. She was not quite tall but not short, long hair, really skimpy outfit... she could've said 'pass the napkins' and it would've sounded like a come on, I bet."

"Did you talk about anything aside from this Paolo person?"

"I offered to buy her a drink, but, well..."

"And what happened after the--" Miles briefly fumbles with his files, trying to determine how Paolo was gunned down. Accuracy, number of shots, range.

Six shots, by the looks of things, and they all hit the chest area- range was short, less then ten feet from the sidewalk to the man.

"--shots?" he concludes, waiting on the witness's description.

"There was some screaming, and then she just took off down the street," he replies.

"With the gun?"

"Yeah, pretty sure she had it."

"What did you and the other witnesses do at that time?" Miles asks. "And the doorman?"

"Well, I backed towards the door, and it was stuck since there were a couple other people there? After she ran off, I hung around to wait for the cops, but most just took off right after. I think the doorman stayed."

"This might be a strange question, Mister Finch, but did she fire the weapon at that man just as you left? Do you think she had a good chance of seeing you come out of the door?"

"Huh. Well, it wasn't that long, since I was gonna just leave. I guess that sounds about right? Maybe about ten seconds after I got out the door?"

"I see. Thank you." Miles pauses briefly. "About this woman's clothing... when you say she took off, do you mean she ran? Can you recall any details about her footwear, or whether she was wearing gloves?"

"It was kinda dark when she was running, but she was off at a sprint. I.. no, I don't think she had gloves? She didn't when she talked to me, because she had pink stuff on her nails and I know THAT because she was smoking like right in front of me."

"You don't say? What brand, if you noticed?"

He laughs. "Like I'd know that."

Miles gives a short laugh himself. "I just figured, her taking out a packet and all to dig out a cigarette. They always have drawings on them, along with all the dire warnings. Camels and what not."

"It's not the kinda thing I pay attention to when I'm chatting with a lady."

"Of course," he agrees. "How would you describe her behavior, in a few words? Perky, lethargic, happy, exhausted? In your own terms, if you can, please."

"Perky.. no, not perky. Charming? Um... femme fatale?"

"Thank you," Miles says again. "Oh, about the gun... where did she keep it, before shooting that man?"

"Not sure... oh! She had a handbag, so maybe in there? It was big enough for a gun, and she wasn't gonna hide it anywhere else. I think. On the other hand, maybe she left and picked it up somewhere..."

A handbag was not among the items Jenny reported as missing, so it either never crossed her mind, or this one didn't belong to her. "Could you please describe the handbag to me?" Miles requests. "Whatever you can remember about it is fine."

"It was this black thing, with a couple shoulder straps.. I think, leather? It was a handbag."

"So I see. Thank you very much for your time, Mister Finch," Miles says.

<--->

Miles spends the next minute sitting in his car and arguing with himself. There could be a variety of reasons for this to go badly. But he decides to call Arnold Resincourt anyway. Some matters have to be cleared up right away.

It's evening, so he'll be catching Resincourt at home. "Arnold speaking," comes his gravelly voice.

"It's Miles," he responds. "Sorry for the time, but I've been wondering whether the test results for any gunpower residue on Jenny's hands got back."

"It hasn't yet. I'm expecting the results to come tomorrow," he responds.

"Had to try," Miles says, sighing. "How about that psych evaluation you wanted to give her? She's not causing you trouble and cooperated, hasn't she?"

"She cooperated with the police," he replies. "That being said, the evaluation doesn't seem to favour her case."

"She's sane and innocent," Miles responds, shrugging. "I certainly hope it corroborated the former, while it would be my job to prove the latter. Part of it is why I called you, aside from the update. One of the witnesses isn't cooperating one bit. The doorman for Alberto's, Gordie... off the record, he said he'd only talk to cops or dead presidents. We both know I need to interview everyone you put on as a witness, so could you arrange for something tomorrow? I have no interest to break the law, defending a friend or not. We both know the cops aren't working too hard on this case, and this way, if I find out anything it wouldn't come as a surprise to you later on."

"I can arrange for him to show up, but he won't be under an obligation to speak to you," he replies. "And it... could raise some awkward questions. I know you're a man of integrity, but there's still something decidedly odd about someone from the prosecutor's office serving on the defence. It'd be the worst thing if it became a media threat..."

Miles grits his teeth quietly, takes a deep breath and then nods to himself. "I understand," he says. "And I know. Frustrating-- ah, well, maybe I'll learn enough about what happened there without him. Listen, as a favor, if you do intend to bring him in for questioning some time, would you let me know? I might have a question for him and it doesn't matter who'll get to ask it. We're all after the truth, here."

"I didn't intend to do so again. I will give you a ring, though."

"Thanks. For what it's worth, I'm sorry for the situation this puts you into."

"As always, I hope for a speedy resolution."

"You and me both. Good evening, Arnold."

Arnold hangs up with the customary words, leaving Miles free to pursue other angles for the evening.

He'll need to take some time off, starting tomorrow. It really can't look as if he's sabotaging the case in some way. Making a note to arrange that, Miles decides to call Sandy next.

It isn't Sandy that answers- it's apparently one of her kids. It doesn't take long, however, for the phone to be placed in her hands, and she sounds a bit worn when she greets Miles.

"I wish I could be calling under better circumstances," he apologizes, before cutting straight to the chase. "Did you find any signs of tampering or theft at the office? Anything out of place or misfiled?"

"Ah, no, nothing like that at all," she replies. "I don't think anyone's been there that shouldn't have been."

"Do you remember the last case she was working on? Paolo Escribar?"

"Yeah, that's right. Latest in a long line of creeps she's had lately," she remarks. "Ain't had a good feeling from any of them."

"I'm sure he had enemies aplenty, but did you come across any mentions of those who would seriously wish him dead?"

"Mmm... I can't think of anyone... I mean, there might have been something like that in the case files, but I don't read them in detail."

"I'm just looking for anyone who jumps out at you, and probably someone recent. If not Paolo's employees or enemies...." Miles pauses, grimacing. It is where this has been going all along, but that doesn't make him feel better. "Sandy, who would want Jenny to suffer? It would need to be someone who doesn't like her quite a bit to go to all this trouble."

"There's really nobody like that which she talked to me about," she replies, insistantly. "Jenny's a sweet little thing! I can't imagine why anyone would want to set her up." Her voice turns bleak. "If there was someone like that, I'd have brought it up myself. Whatever happened, I'm sure she doesn't deserve prison."

"I'm not just representing her," Miles says. "I know that she is innocent, and that's what you need to keep in mind as well. Can I count on you for help with the case? My current workplace isn't exactly somewhere I could pursue Jenny's defense adequately."

"You're going to defend her? I'll open the office up for you, Miles. I know Jenny wouldn't mind."

"I already was, at the time she called you this morning," he responds. "I know without a doubt Jenny could not have committed the crime. Proving it beyond any shadow of doubt, though... she can't have it hanging over her entire life. I have to do it properly." He's starting to ramble, Miles notices, and forces himself to stop. "Did she employ a private investigator?" he asks then. "I'm having trouble getting through to some of the prosecution's witnesses, and this calls for a professional, I feel."

"I'm sorry, Jenny never relied on that sort of thing," she replies. "But if it would help, I could look one up myself. They're a dying breed, you know?"

"I'll give you the details tomorrow when I see you at her office, but the gist of it are an uncooperative bouncer and a fidgety cabbie, possibly an illegal here. Something about them doesn't add up, but I can't put my finger on it."

"I'll be there at eight- this is one trial we can't afford to lose. I need this job, for one."

<--->

[Corwin]

<--->

About an hour after he called Sandy and requisitioned her help, Miles receives another call on his mobile; it wold appear to be Robert making it.

"Let it be good news," Miles answers with.

"Uh, this isn't so much *good* news as *weird* news," confesses Robert, who sounds slightly freaked out. "Miles, Jenny's in prison, right? I checked the net on this, but maybe they're wrong?"

"It's not good news," Miles agrees. He should have expected as much. "Yes, Jenny has been detained. I'm working on getting her out, but it might take another day."

"Ok. So there is absolute no way the woman who looks exactly like Jenny and is no less than five metres away could possibly actually be her, and I did the right thing in calling the cops."

Miles drops his phone. Even as it falls, he already scrambles after his cell, a small, detached part of him relieved he wasn't driving at the time.

"It has to be who set Jenny up!" he exclaims, raising his voice uncharacteristically. "Where are you? Where is she? Are you in danger?"

"Calm down!" he replies, hushing up himself. "I'm at Flannery's, on an inside table, and she's out front, chatting up some guy- oh, whoops, they're gone." He sounds slightly hysterical. "God, I almost couldn't believe it, she's dressed like she's in college. I mean, the impersonator is."

"It's... hard to be calm," Miles responds, placing the phone in its cradle while it's on speaker and starting his car. "She shot a man in cold blood and in public, from all appearances, after stalking him. I don't know if it's just a coincidence you were there. I'm on my way, fifteen minutes or so away."

"Yeah, well, the way she was talking, he had it coming," replies Robert, managing a strangled chuckle. "I think I'm okay? Maybe? Should I get out of here?"

"Wait for me to get there, unless you see her again," Miles says after giving it some thought. "And whether that man had it coming or not, Jenny certainly didn't deserve to be set up this way."

"Yeah, definitely. It's uncanny, man," he replies. "Thought I'd had too much."

"What about the man she was with?"

"Don't know him. He was a big guy, built like a linebacker? Maybe he actually was one, he looked like a jock," replies Robert. "Not her type, I thought, but, well, this ain't actually Jenny, so I figure..."

An accomplice? Another would-be victim? Someone unrelated-- could this Jenny lookalike actually be so like her naturally, without making an effort at it?

It is a lot to think about, and he absent-mindedly promises Robert to be at Flannery's soon, focusing on what he actually can do at the time, that being driving safely over.

By the time Miles arrives at the familiar dive, there are several cop cars lined up against the side of the road. They're forming a crime scene around an alleyway a block down the street. He easily spots Robert by one of the cars, chatting to one of the cops. A sizable crowd of onlookers is trying to push towards the taped-off zone, phones held high and snapping off dozens of pictures.

There is always a chance to come across the officer in charge, and Miles spends a few moments scanning the cops. If one of the officers who questioned Jenny is present, he might actually believe them about an impostor this time around.

At a glance, there doesn't appear to be a detective present, though Miles is sure one will pull up to the scene soon enough. A sergeant seems to be organizing the scene; at a glance, it appears to be Sergeant Collins, who interviewed Jenny back at the station.

Miles decides to approach the sergeant. If nothing else, he might recognize him rather than turn him away as another curious onlooker.

He appears to be quite busy, though he takes a moment to glance at Miles and frown. "Evening, counsel," he remarks. "What brings you to tonight's murder?"

"It's a murder, then?" Miles asks, before recalling his manners and nodding. "Evening."

"Could've been accidental discharge of firearms. You never know." He shakes his head. "What can I do for you? We're busy, here." He glances at the crowd to one side, and sighs. "Always the same with these downtown crimes."

"I won't take much of your time," Miles says. "I merely heard it was likely that the perpetrator from the Alberto's shooting was spotted in the vicinity just minutes previously, and had to wonder if that and your investigation were related. She was seen in the company of a burly man, it appears."

He gestures towards Robert. "So he said when he called us," he replies, shaking his head. "And here I am, pretty sure she's still in the lockup. We're looking into it."

"Would I be in the way if I asked the staff of Flannery's a few questions, or should I wait for now?" Miles inquires, perfectly willing to do that. Whatever plans he had for the week before Jenny's arrest have summarily flown out of the window.

"It's a free country, last I checked. Bar's still open," he remarks, eyeing the shop.

Miles inclines his head in thanks, and proceeds for the bar. The apparent murder might be very important, but he should do what he can for now and let the police sort through what evidence they have. Robert, too, should be safe as long as he's near so many cops.

Some shaken men wearing fraternity jackets are huddled in a corner of the bar, but apart from them and the staff the joint is virtually empty.

Miles takes the other corner. In an empty bar, he wouldn't be in anyone's way, and considering how Robert called the man with the imposter a jock, the shaken men might well have been his friends. Is he dead, now? He'll have to find out, and the worst way to do it would be to just ask them without an ounce of sentitivity or tact.

He signals the bartender, placing down a bill to cover his order of
a beer.

Jack sidles up to Miles and shakes his head. "On the house for you today, buddy," he notes, eyeing the door. "Rough couple nights, right?"

"Thanks," Miles says, pocketing the cash at the offer. It seems rude to do otherwise. "You don't know the half of it. I was worried it had something to do with Robert for a while there."

He takes a drink. A single beer shouldn't disqualify him from driving home.

"You're saying it didn't?" remarks Jack, propping his elbows on the bar.

Miles shrugs. "Maybe it did, but not in a bad way, at least. I just saw him outside." He shakes his head. "I heard Jenny was here tonight, just twenty minutes ago, but... that's impossible. Was he seeing things?"

"I saw someone that might've been her," he confides. "But she was all glammed up." He shrugs. "In retrospect, it seems obvious, you know?"

"Little black dress, high heels, smoked all the time?"

"No smokes," he confides. "The rest sounds about right. But it wasn't actually her, right? She's in custody and all that, so it's some other slut with a gun."

Miles resists the urge to frown at the 'other' remark.

"Last I checked, Jenny was detained. The problem's that she's being detained for something her lookalike might've done in the first place." He sips his beer again. "How ironic is that?"

"Doesn't make sense," he replies. "If her double had it out for her, you'd think she'd go hide or something."

"Exactly. And it is too much for a coincidence." He sighs and glances towards the other end of the bar, keeping his voice low to avoid upsetting them. "She shot one of their friends?"

"Yeah. They're frat kids from Wilson College," he replies. "Cops were talking to 'em just before."

Miles nods. "So what happened? She just showed up while they were partying, chatted one up and left?"

"From what I gather. Looks like she came on pretty strong," he replies. "And guys like that, they go for anything that gives even a hint."

"Think she saw Robert?" Miles wonders. "Hell, did she try to be seen, make an impression? Last time, there were several witnesses, both before and during the shooting."

"Well, you tell me. From what I hear, looks like this time, she took him out to an alley before blowing him away," replies Jack, serving himself up a glass of water. "Cops pick her up yet?"

"Doesn't seem like it." Miles shrugs, finishing off his drink and placing the mug back on the counter. "Not many rush to help when they hear a gunshot, though. She could have just walked away and no one would try to stop her."

"With the traffic outside? No telling anyone even heard it," replies Jack. "Gunshots don't sound like all that when you've got horns going all hours."

"I guess. So one of his friends found him, then?"

"Nah, they found out after the cops did," he replies. "They showed up real quick and all, too."

Miles can approve of the efficiency, although it is likely attributed to Robert's call to them.

He nods at Jack's words. "I better go and see if they know more by now. Thanks for the drink."

"No problem, man. Come by again when all this blows over, okay?"

"Certainly. Couldn't think of a more appropriate place to celebrate, once the truth comes out and the murderer is behind bars."

<--->

[Corwin]

<--->

The group of frat kids seem to be finishing up their drinks and checking mobiles. There's about four of them in all, and they seem fairly fit; perhaps they're on the same sports team.

It doesn't seem likely that he would get anything of use out of them. Miles makes his way outside, to see the progress the cops have made so far.

When he exits the building, he sees that an ambulance has pulled up nearby, and a stretcher is making its way inside. The cops still seem to be casing the crime scene, bringing evidence bags to bear.

Miles glances around to try and spot Robert, as the police is still hard at work from appearances.

Robert seems to have finished up with the police, and is sitting in the passenger seat of his car with the door left open. He rummages around in his glovebox for a moment, shortly producing a cigarette.

"Just when you thought this case couldn't get any weirder," Miles comments, stopping by the open car door.

"Yeaah. Like something out the twilight zone," replies Robert, shaking his head. "How d'ya think it's going to pan out?"

"Depends on how embarrassed the officer handling the case would be to admit that a ridiculous-sounding story about a frameup is actually true." Miles shrugs. "We'll see tomorrow, one way or the other." He glances at the ambulance. "Did anything happen after I hung up?" He coughs. "That you were witness to, that is."

"Not in the bar," he replies, shaking his head. "She'd gone by the time you hung up."

"It wouldn't help if I were to repeat just how strange this is," Miles says, smiling self-deprecatively. "Going to stick around for a while? Do you need any help with the police?"

"They want me to head down and give a statement at the station later," he replies. "But I'm not in trouble, so I'll be fine. What about you?"

"I considered staying behind, but I don't want to be in the way. I'll stop by the station first thing in the morning and see where we go from there."

"I'll head around the same time, I guess. That is, if I can even sleep enough tonight to get up tomorrow." He rubs his head. "Shit, I've got work, too...

"Can't help you there," Miles admits. "Take care, though? In case it wasn't some coincidence tonight?"

Robert shrugs. "Hey, I always said I wanted Jenny to surprise me one night. Figure this might be as good as I get!"

"I'll take that as a very twisted 'yes, I'll be careful'," Miles decides. "See you tomorrow?"

Morning rolls around alltogether too fast for Miles' liking, and he drives himself to the station with a sense of faint unease. "Here to see your client?" asks the cop at reception, looking unnaturally jovial.

"I was hoping to see the officer in charge of the case first, if that were possible," Miles responds.

"Then you'll be looking for Sergeant Collins," he replies. "One minute."

He vanishes into the station. About ten minutes later, the Sergeant emerges from the back, looking as though he hasn't slept at all. "Mr. Reid?"

"Sergeant," Miles responds, offering his hand to the man. "I hope you don't mind sparing me a few minutes of your time this morning."

"If a few minutes is all you want," he replies, giving it a brief shake. "Come into my office."

It's only a short walk to the officer's desk, where the aroma of fresh coffee fills the room.

"I'll cut straight to the chase, then," Miles says as they make the way over. "I am under the impression that the shooter in both cases was the same. Has your investigation turned up anything to the contrary thus far?"

"That the shooter was of the same appearance doesn't seem in doubt, judging by the eyewitness reports," he replies, pursing his lips.

"The method also seems to be similar," Miles mentions. "What about the weapon used?"

"Forensics is working on it, but I can tell you right now it's a revolver, same as what Escrivar got shot with," replies Collins. "If it's the same person, then it's all but certain it's the same gun, which would be Ms. Langstroms."

He frowns. "She won't talk to us about it, of course."

"What would you like to know about it?"

"When she saw it last. Who knows she has it. Has she fired it recently, does she go to the range. Where it was kept, who had access to it... that said, I was referring to the case in general."

"I could arrange an interview with the DA's office and my client, if that would help with the investigation."

"We're collaborating with the DA," he replies, arching an eyebrow. "I don't think you should worry too much about that. As for your client, though, we'd certainly want another chance to interview her over this case."

"It shouldn't be a problem," Miles responds, feeling he was somehow misunderstood but not wishing to dwell on it. "When would be a good time?"

"This morning, though I won't be taking it myself," replies Collins. "Speak to Wilkins, he'll handle the interview and all the paperwork. Feel free to go and see your client, for that matter."

"I think I will, thanks," Miles agrees.

It is time to see how Jenny is doing. He can only hope she managed as well as one could, under the circumstances.

He gets a chance to speak to Jenny in a spartan interview room, rather than the fairly depressing cell that's usually reserved for drunks. She isn't looking too good, which is fairly endemic amongst the imprisoned.

"Jesus, Miles, I knew the guy who got shot," she's saying, after the forlorn pleasantries are exchanged. "Eddie Borolov. Got him off the hook for rape." She makes a gagging face. "I want to say it was hard, but..."

He places a hand on her shoulder. "It was your job. We all get cases we don't like. I understand."

"Yeah, well, no need to get all misty-eyed about it now, huh?" She reaches for some cold coffee, choking it back herself before tossing the disposable cup into the corner of the room, missing the wastebasket by inches.

"I figure the cops will work that one out soon enough, which I think'll lead to me being here for another few days, at least."

"For your protection, this time around?" Miles voices, standing up and crossing the room to pick the cup and deposite it into the bin. "Who knew you had the gun, Jenny?"

"God, I don't know. You, Rob, my parents, Sandy..."
"Protection? More like, accomplice."

"What about friends from college? Acquaintences?" he asks, correcting himself with, "Outside that group, that is."

"I got the gun after college," she clarifies. "It was just after I started actually working with criminals. Honestly, it's not something you talk about much. My neighbour'd know, actually. And my landlord."

"Did you meet with anyone from those days recently? A heavy smoker?"

"Nah, we kinda split apart. I did my share of smoking before, you know" she replies. "Times like this, a relapse isn't out of the question."

"I know, and it makes a lot of sense. But a non-smoker couldn't impersonate you well for this, don't you think? It might help narrow things down." Miles retakes his seat. "I'll be blunt, and I'm sorry in advance. Whoever did this would either hate you for doing your job, or is someone you confided in to deal with the stress. Was there anyone, for the latter, aside from Robert and myself that one
time?"

"The only other person I ever talked to about all this is Sandy," she replies, frowning. "Look, she couldn't impersonate me. That's impossible, you've seen her. She wouldn't fit!"

"She could confide in someone else, however," Miles points out. "Jenny, do you believe she could do this?"

"No way! Sandy? That's..." She purses her lips. "Look, we've both had moments when dealing with certain clients, but this is way too much..."

"When did you have the Borolov case?" Miles asks her. "Is it recent as well?"

"Yeah, it was... the not before Escrivar, the one before him," she replies. "About six months ago."

"Were there others, within the last year? People whose cases you won, but who might become targets now?"

"Ugh.." She grips her forehead. "I wish I had my records, because there were a few cases over the past couple years. Can you actually do me a favour here?"

"Of course."

"Can you go check out my case files for the past couple years? I kept copious notes on them," she explains. "I just can't think straight right now, but if this person's going after my old clients, then..."

"I was going to meet Sandy this morning, once I met you," he tells Jenny. "I'll take a look through them then. If we can manage to predict where this person strikes next... if there is a next time, at least... well, we'll clear your name that way."

"Thanks, Miles," she replies. "What should we tell the cops?"

"Alone, nothing," he repeats the obvious. It bears repeating, however, due to its importance. "I believe we should explain the connection to you in this case, but it can wait until the interview the cops want to schedule for you. It would give me the time to go over your cases."

"Alright. You'd better go, you know? You've got peak traffic to contend with."

"I know." He takes Jenny's hand. "I'll get you out as soon as I can, and then we can fight this together."

<--->

[Corwin]

<--->

Miles pulls up near Jenny's office later that morning; a drizzly day, with rain pattering down all around him. She's not a partner at any prestigious firm, but works out of a private company, and the shop blends in with nearby furniture stores and antique houses. There is a genteel atmosphere about, despite the rain.

The glove compartment houses an umbrella that is about to get some use. His briefcase firmly in hand, Miles leaves his parked car for Jenny's office.

The door's open, despite the 'Closed' sign in the window, and Miles heads up a flight of steps towards the reception. Sandy's not out the front, though she could easily be in the study or the filing room.

Old magazines lie stacked on a nearby coffee table for any waiting customers, and a nearby water cooler bubbles away enticingly. An small shield is mounted on a plaque, hanging on the back wall; 'Justicia Increbresco' is written across the front.

The study is first on his list, right after Miles discards his umbrella to dry by the coat hanger.

Heading inside, Miles finds the office is in a bit of a haphazard state. The desk is, of course, cluttered with organized stacks of documents. Newspapers are amongst them, covering the last few days; he can see clippings of the Escrivar murder amongst them. A computer is set up here as well, but it's turned off at the moment.

Jenny's bookshelf is covered with intimidating legal tomes, as well as some psychology texts, one of which has been left lying on it's cover, on top of a few of the other books; it's titled 'The Mind of the Serial Criminal'.

He shakes his head, unable to stop himself. It's just too ironic. Coming closer to the book, he picks it up and flips through it to try and see any bookmarks or other signs of what its previous reader was last reading.

One of the pages in the first half of the book is earmarked. It appears to be the start of a new chapter, where the author begins with a question that has been posed to him in the past; how is it that serial criminals get their start? What prompts ordinary men and women who often have families and stable careers to commit random crimes? Murder is the highest profile, but theft, vandalism, and rape are also possibilities.

The author warns that there is no single answer. Often, these actions coincide with some increase in pressure or stress within the subject's life. The crime can become an act of release, sometimes compensating for what they cannot do in their normal lives. The subjects are known to rationalize these crimes in many ways; the most extreme develop cases of dissociative identity disorder, pushing everything onto some created persona.

Miles can't see how that would be distinguished from someone snapping under the pressure and committing just the one crime, but he's hardly a psychologist. Judging by the published book, the author might well be onto something.

Placing the book back, he decides to take a look at the filing room and determine whether Sandy could be there.

Sandy doesn't seem to be in the office at the moment. The filing room, in contrast to the study, is little more than a series of cabinets all shoved together. There's plenty of dust around a couple of the cabinets, but not much else is in the room.

He searches for the files on the two murder victims, intending on taking them back to the study. It had a computer which he could boot up and look at; unfortunately, without Sandy Miles would have no way of knowing which other case files to look at just yet.

The filing system is appears to be rather easy to navigate, in fact; Miles notes that while most of the cabinets are arranged in alphabetical order, there is also a segment of receipts and case primers organized by date.

In that case... after getting the two files he knows of, Miles tries to check if there is any listing of the cases Jenny had won within the last year.

Jenny seems to have taken five cases in the last year, and walked away with victories in four of them. Two, he already knows about; Pablo Escrivar and Eddie Borolov, which are also the last two cases she took.

The case prior to them, however, she lost; it appeared to be a woman, Lisa Crane, who was charged with arson and manslaughter; it appears she burned down her boyfriend's house and killed him in the process. A plea bargain was involved, reducing the charge from murder to manslaughter in return for a guilty plea; nonetheless, it appears Ms. Crane will be in jail for quite some time.

The two cases prior involved two young men; one accused of drug trafficing, and the other of house robbery and aggravated assault. Their names were Julian Yates and Chris Benedict.

Aggravated assault fits the pattern more, and Miles decides to familiarize himself with Chris Benedict's file.

Chris Benedict appears to have been a young man living in impoverished circumstances. His family consists only of his father, who works for little pay as a janitor; Chris himself had just finished high school with unremarkable grades, and had no way to fund any further education.

He was charged with robbing the house of Alex and Miriam Rudd; the allegations stated that he broke in through a window and intended to make off with various expensive appliances, including computers and a television. The assault came when Alex Rudd challenged the intruder, and was rewarded with a vicious beating for his trouble.

Chris was put under suspicion of the crime when he got picked up near the scene with cuts and abrasions that could have come from glass. However, no conclusive forensic evidence linked him to the crime scene, and there were no fingerprints. Furthermore, Chris did not have his own car; Jenny was able to question how he was supposed to escape with the goods.

It was sufficient to have Chris declared not guilty, despite several pointed questions regarding possible accomplices-
-and why Chris was even in a neighbourhood far distant from his own in the first place.

Alex Rudd suffered serious injuries to his ribs and arms during the scuffle, and it's possible he may never fully recover.

Jenny's personal notes indicate that Chris himself was a troubled young man who lacked optimism, or even many desires of his own. She privately records that he's the sort of person who's easily goaded into committing crimes, but is unlikely to have done so without prompting from another party.

The two murder victims are next. Miles intends to read carefully through Jenny's notes on them, as well as look for anything more that might tie them all together. It would be terribly easy to see Sandy as the one common element behind it all, but Jenny believes in her, and it would be sloppy at best to just proceed without even a basic examination.

Pablo Escrivar was also involved in drug dealing, and Jenny's notes barely conceal a very personal dislike for the man, noting that he has a swaggering personality that is a hallmark of certain career criminals. People were dying because of the dangerous pills he was selling; the allegations claimed he deliberately sold cheaper, lower-quality merchandise at regular street prices. Several of his known associates were suspects in other crimes, themselves.

Eddie Borolov, too, did not make a favourable impression on Jenny, despite her solid defence of him in court. She noted that he seemed very much like the frat boys she used to know back in college, and possessed of roughly equivalent moral stature. The vaugeness of the rape charge was their ally, as such charges are notoriously difficult to prove even under the best of circumstances. She seems slightly less bitter than she is about Escrivar, however, optimstically noting that in the end, boys will be boys, and it's not as though girls never change their mind about who they want to sleep with after the fact, either.

He had almost forgotten up to that point that Escrivar was involved with drugs, that having been overshadowed by his more serious crimes. With that now firmly in mind, Miles decides to be thorough and leaf through Julian Yates's file as well. If some tenuous connection between them existed, or Jenny was upset over her victory in that case, he might well be a target after all.

Julian was another young kid. While Jenny has noted the case as a victory, this is only half true; Julian was cleared of trafficking charges, but possession could not be denied, not when the drugs were found in his own bag whilst at school. Nonetheless, he got off rather easy for this, needing to do only some community service and pay a substantial fine; the judge was lenient on account of his age.

The drugs, Miles sees, were XTC tablets, the same that Escrivar dealt with.

Jenny's personal notes seem to indicate she thinks Julian was a dumb kid who got in way over his head, and she hopes this is a lesson for him in the future- but she fears the light punishment will not be sufficient to stop him getting involved in more trouble later down the line. Once in, she reasons, people tend not to come out with just a slap on the wrist.

Two kids who might be killed by a serial killer playing the avenger. Or who might even be involved, if they are weak-willed enough to be pushed around by someone else with an interest in Jenny and her cases.

He might actually be going about this the wrong way, Miles muses, checking the notes on the prosecution and police for all of the four case files.

Jenny has little to say about her rivals in the courtroom. Generally, she comments on the lack of clear evidence and how most of the cases are just a formality; a waste of time where the outcome is not truly in doubt.

The policemen tend to vary between cases, as do the prosecutors involved; a different barrister for each case.

That won't help with Jenny's defense, Miles thinks in regret. When people think of vigilantes, they'd often conjure up an image of a disgruntled officer.

He decides to check the previously-ignored computer next, dialing up Sandy as he boots it up.

Miles hears a chirpy tune coming from just down the stairs! A moment later, Sandy picks up; "Sandy speaking.."

The computer obstinantly demands that Miles input a username and password.

"It's Miles," he greets her. "Good morning. I let myself in. Would you mind helping me in the study?"

"Ah! Uh, no problem. Did Jenny give you her key?"

"I thought you opened the office and stepped out for a bit. That's not what happened?"

"Oh, I did. I just didn't think I forgot to lock it up. I'll see you in a minute!"

Sandy soon reaches the office herself, where she ambles towards the study and nods at Miles. She's older than he is- older than Jenny too, he thinks, and somewhat larger, too. Any doubt he might've had about her not being able to impersonate Jenny flies from his mind; no amount of makeup or the like could have the two women looking identical.

If she were involved, she would be working with accomplices, most likely, but Miles decides to trust her as Jenny clearly does.

"Morning," he repeats as soon as she is in sight. "Would you know the password? I forgot to ask Jenny at the time."

"Oh, yeah," she replies, leaning over to quickly type it in. "How's it been going? I guess Jenny must still be stuck..."

"Not well," he responds with a mild grimace. "You heard about the other shooting, I imagine?"

"Unfortunately," she replies, hitting the return key. "I don't know what to think about it all... I think someone must really have it in for Jenny, though."

Miles nods, returning his gaze to the the monitor.

"It stands to reason one of her recent clients might be in danger, and I'll get in touch with the DA's office to arrange something in a bit. In the meantime, we should try to gather all the information we possibly could. How did it go with locating a suitable investigator?"

"I had a few I dug up who might be suitable," replies Sandy. "I'll just go check my desk."

A boring background greets Miles; rolling green fields and a pleasant sunrise. It's promptly covered in documents that suffer from an acute case of poor organization.

He opts to ignore them altogether for now and start with the list of recently-opened documents, opening those instead.

Few of the recent documents seem too interesting; most relate to financial matters, with familiar-looking case files on Escrivar being the next things to be accessed.

It would have been nice to spot a file titled 'Escrivar and associates, people who should die.doc' but Miles relents as nothing of immediate use catches his eye. While Sandy checks her index of PIs, he decides to call Arnold and see about arranging that protection he was thinking of.

Composed as always, Arnold answers the phone; after plesantries are exchanged, he gets straight to business. "Who exactly do you think is in danger at the moment?"

"Since they are going after Jenny, it would make sense that other clients whose cases she had won would get targetted. She could think of no one in particular, not in her state, at least, and so it follows that the more recent acquittals would be more prominent. She would remember them more easily, it would be easier for the police to make the connection, and thus hurt her."

He has no idea whether Arnold shares his outlook, or has the slightest doubt of Jenny's guilt, but such things are not required if they are to pursue a murderer together.

"That leaves us with Julian Yates and Chris Benedict. Benedict fits the pattern more, since it was a violent crime, but Yates has a tenuous connection to Escrivar due to the offense being trafficking and possession. Would it be possible to
keep an eye on both? If we are on the right track with this and could catch the murderer, we could prevent these crimes and help clear my client's name. Justice would be served."

"I'll see if I can't put them under surveillance," he replies. "If they're possible targets, though, we'll likely have to inform them of the danger, if they aren't already aware from reading the papers."

"What does this mean for Jenny?" Miles asks Arnold.

"I'd like to keep her in custody for the time being," replies Arnold. "The possibility of collaboration exists, but if one takes the view that she is innocent, then she is in as safe a place as she can be for now. If the murderer is someone with a grudge against her former clients, it could easily extend to a grudge against her, as well."

"It would be the other way around, too," Miles admits. "There doesn't seem to be any link between Escrivar and Borolov, and Jenny is hardly the only defense attorney in town. Can you be certain that she is safe in custody, and kept away from the rest of the population?"

"Certainly can. Women are kept seperately from the men in the station lockups, and there aren't too many women awaiting trial at the moment. I suppose this will be up to her, though- a prelimanary hearing will be held soon, no doubt, and bail is sure to be an option."

Miles isn't certain what would be the best option, but that would be for Jenny to decide. "Sergeant Collins mentioned wanting to conduct another interview," he mentions, recalling that bit from earlier. "When would be a good time?"

"You're asking me? I won't be participating," he replies, sounding amused.

Miles furrows his brows. "So that was the source of my misunderstanding," he mutters, before raising his voice. "Never mind. Give me a call if there is anything I can do?"

"I'll keep you informed. Managing the police with these former clients of Jenny might be a hassle, depending on the station's on view of the people she's defended."

"I realize that," Miles agrees. "As long as they realize that a serial killer rarely if ever stops on her own, however...." He trails off with a grimace. If the murderer isn't caugh at this opportunity, there might be little to do but hope the police gathers enough clues to track them down eventually.

"Perhaps you might talk to the people who need defending yourself? Jenny did get them off the hook once, so they may want to return the favour, if they have any decency."

"It can't hurt," Miles responds after thinking the offer over. "And if they do know anything, they would be more likely to talk to me than the police. Good call."

"I'll have a word with the captain. I'll talk to you again this evening- we'll need to move quickly."

Miles agrees, thanking Arnold and terminating the call shortly afterwards.

Sandy can try to discover the details he either could not or was not willing to from the first murder through her investigator. For his part, Miles would need to go meet with Chris, first, once he ascertains his residence through Jenny's files.

<--->

[Corwin]

<--->

Calling ahead to Chris proves fruitless; the only number Jenny had listed for him was a mobile phone, and attempts to contact him resulted in a familiar recorded message telling Miles that the service wasn't connected.

He lives in a cheap apartment block just out of downtown; classic architecture crammed in with the burger bars and empty nightclubs, as befitting a tuesday morning. Miles will have to use the intercom out the front to get inside.

Miles buzzes Chris's apartment. He could always hit everyone at once if that fails; buildings like these, there's always someone willing to open the door without bothering to check who's calling, but there's no reason to start with that.

A few moments pass before an indistinct 'Yeah?' belches out of the speaker.

"I'm working with Jenny Hallstrom," Miles introduces himself. "Could I have five minutes of your time?"

"Who's Jenny?"

There's a brief conversation in the background, and another voice speaks into the intercomm; it sounds somewhat clearer. "I don't think I need another lawyer," it remarks, but it does sound a little curious.

"No, but we have reason to believe you might be in danger," Miles responds, deciding to try a bit of honesty. "It would be a lot easier to explain face to face."

"Is Jenny with you now?"

"No, I am on my own."

"Alright. Come on up." His voice has a lazy drawl to it, with a hint of a southern accent colouring his words.

With this obstacle clear, Miles says, "I'm on my way," and proceeds inside.

Room 202 isn't far. Miles is fairly certain he's thoroughly scrutinized through the peephole before the man behind the doors lets him in; a young man wearing a suit, with curly brown hair and bright green eyes. His professional attire is at odds with the apartment behind him, which features a balding man in a grey wifebeater slouched on the couch, and a pile of dirty dishes stacked up in the rearward kitchen.

"Sorry 'bout the mess," he notes, latching the door shut again when Miles enters, stepping towards one of the bedrooms. "You mind telling me what all this is about?"

"Certainly," Miles responds, taking a brief look about before he refocuses on his host. "Have you heard about the shooting late last night in the alley behind Flannery's?"

"I did," he replies. The bedroom is somewhat neater; an open laptop sits on a desk, opened to a seller's account page on eBay. "At first I thought you might be here to kill me, too."

"A healthy dose of caution cannot hurt here," Miles agrees. "With that murder, that makes two of Jenny's previous clients who were gunned down for no apparent reason. She has been detained by the police after the first one, which gives her a solid alibi, in case you were having doubts. At the same time, it seems likely that someone clearly doesn't like Jenny and her clients. She was worried and that is part of the reason I am here, to ensure that you know the situation and take proper precautions. Another reason is that I'm hopeful you might hold a clue to this matter. Would you know anyone who hates Jenny enough to do this? Or someone who might wish you harm enough to kill you, and would try to kill her other clients as camouflage?"

"I've received death threats before, but they probably weren't serious," he replies, eyes drifting to the screen. "Are her clients on public record?"

Miles's eyes follow Chris's. "Not as public as eBay, but none of the cases were sealed. No matters of national security or underage defendants. I would say you need certain dedication to track the records down, but if you are a serial killer, you are determined enough."

"Hmm." Chris reaches over to the laptop and pulls up another window, containing a news report on Borolov's murder. "You think this might be someone who hates Jenny? I guess you're actually her friend or something?"

"Yes, to both. Right now, I'm acting as her defense counsel." Miles purses his lips. "As I've mentioned, it is always possible that this is camouflage. The murderer's true target could have been Mister Borolov all along. Or it could even be yourself. That way, by killing others seemingly unrelated, the investigation might be thrown off. However unlikely, it is something I am looking into." He pauses. "Still. Our best idea at this moment is to investigate this as someone who hates Jenny. Would you have any idea as to who that might be? An altercation she had during the time she served as your counsel? Someone confronting or accusing her, perhaps over taking your case?"

"I was in jail when she was my counsel," he replies, shrugging. "Didn't meet her associates. But you know... I mean, she's a defense attorney, right? She must have known a whole lot of dark secrets and things about her clients, especially the hardcore criminals. Maybe someone hates her, but what if someone wants to make sure she can't talk, or something like that? She had this way of talking to you, it was like..."

Chris shakes his head. "'I think you're guilty, but it's my goddamn job to make the judge think otherwise, so I'll do it!' Really... what's the word..."

"She believes in our justice system," Miles voices, not knowing a good word to adequately describe Jenny's passion for her job himself. Chris has a decent theory, but it has a large hole in it, and it is that which he brings up as he speaks. "If someone wanted to silence Jenny, though, why bother stealing her gun? If they got that far, what was to stop them from killing her?"

"You got me. That's kinda weird, though. Going to the trouble to steal her gun, then gunning people down when she's in prison... yeah, it really doesn't make much sense. Murder doesn't really make much sense, though."

Miles is forced to nod alongside that conclusion. Calculated murder like this is not something he can truly relate to, even if there were a way to understand it intellectually.

"Did you meet anyone Jenny was working with?" he asks next, looking for impressions on her coworkers.

"Like I said, I didn't. Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"You think Jenny could be in on it herself? Like, does she have a twin sister or something?" he asks, sounding a little nervous. "I mean... when I heard about the Escrivar murder, it made sense to me, you know? I could totally see her doing it."

"She couldn't have committed that murder either," Miles responds, shaking his head. "I was with her that evening. She was in no condition-- well, she could not possibly be there. And that is without even going into how this is not something she would ever do." If Jenny had truly and honestly wanted to get those judgements overturned and her erstwhile clients jailed without regard for anything else, she could have always broken confidentiality and said goodbye to her career. She would surely do that before she actually went and gunned someone down.

In a somewhat lighter tone, he adds, "No twin sisters that I know of, either."

Even if she did go back on her oaths, double jeopardy legislation means that achieving an actual conviction would probably be a monumentally difficult task.

"Figures..." The laptop suddenly begins to beep at Chris, and he glances at it, looking abashed. "Ah, shit. I've got a client to see in a few," he notes, closing the lid. "I'm sorry I can't be more help."

If Chris is right and Jenny knew things about her clients they wished to keep hidden, crimes that weren't yet persecuted....

"I understand," Miles says. "For now, here is my card. If you see someone paying you undue attention, or someone matching the description of the shooter in the two recent cases, alert myself and the police." A glance down at his own card, and he adds, "You might wish to use my cellphone for the time being."

He is not beyond curiosity himself, however, and asks, "Why did you say that you could see Jenny do this?"

"Well... you gotta understand that I don't actually like her," replies Chris, taking the card and slipping it into his wallet. "Didn't, I mean. She had this real judgmental air about her..." He shudders a little. "Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful! She just seemed like the kinda person who might snap, and... ugh, can we just forget I even said anything like that?"

"Alright. Have a good day," Miles agrees, deciding it is time to move on.

"I'll walk you out? My dad's pretty bad company," he replies, putting his laptop in a case and shouldering it.

Miles nods, following Chris to the door.

Chris doesn't bother saying goodbye to his father, and heads out first, letting Miles shut the door after. "So what do you do, anyway? I didn't actually get your name- oh." Picking out the card, he gives a sheepish grin when he reads the front. "Another attorney, of course. You guys are tight."

"It's a job and a calling, all at once."

"Was it hard to get started?"

"As hard as any college education," Miles muses. "The difficult part comes later, once you're well on your way and need to gain experience and find a proper job, then climb your way up. If you don't like what you do, it's a good recipe to become bitter."

"You're talking from experience?" asks Chris, leading the way downstairs.

Miles snorts. "Hardly. I love my job."

"Right. That makes one of us, at least," he replies, though it sounds good-natured. "I'm a daytrader. Usually spend most of my day going to pawnshops and stuff, trying to pick up cheap things to sell high. I mean, you asked about death threats, but the one time I got one, it was when I bought this antique off a guy and sold it back on eBay for way more, right? But he found out."

He shudders. "Got a few nasty emails over that."

They exit the apartment complex and head into the street, which is moderately crowded at this time of day.

"Who was it?" Miles inquires. It may well be nothing, but it can't hurt to look beyond the obvious direction to avoid tunnel vision.

"I can't even remember his name, but I do remember his shop," replies Chris, pointing down the street. "It's actually just a couple of blocks down. One of those pawn shops, I think... the third one from here?"

As Miles cranes his neck to glance down the street, another figure rounds the corner, marching towards both him and Chris at a slow, sensual pace. Heedless of the people surrounding her, what can only be the Jenny of eight years ago is reaching into her purse.

As the world seems to slow down around Miles, he can't help but admire the concrete pavement he and Chris presently stand on. It's rather narrow, and the apartment building is to one side, with the door already closed; to the other is the road, where traffic has banked up somewhat on his side. Miles' own car is parked a little down the street by necessity, and there are a few other pedestrians around them, heading in either direction.

The area is laid out like a typical city block, which they are roughly in the center of; turnoffs are only a short dash away.

"She's here," Miles hisses. "Run, I'll bring the car around!"

Chris responds with a puzzled glance, as though he doesn't quite understand what Miles is saying. Jenny draws closer, pushing aside someone walking directly in front of her.

He'll get it soon enough. Unable to spare more time to talk to Chris, Miles breaks into a run down the street.

Miles makes it a few short steps before he sees Jenny pulling out a small revolver from her purse. She aims it down the street, and a sudden panic seizes Miles; a lethal weapon is pointed roughly in his direction, with nothing between him and it!

Miles dives sideways behind the nearest parked car. With his back to the metal frame, he knows he is hardly safe, but it's definitely better than being out into the open. "Give yourself up!" he calls from his temporary refuge. "The cops are on their way!"

Jenny's feeling as to Miles' proposal are made evident by the report of her pistol. From his position, though, Miles can see Chris making a bolt down the street. The bullet hits a window, shattering it instantly and prompting a scream from someone else on the street.

Another two shots echo through the air. Neither hit Chris, but another pedestrian is struck in the shoulder; unprepared, he hits the ground and yells in pain.

Miles chances a glance through the window of the car serving as his makeshift barricade. First order of business is to determine if the shooter is advancing after Chris or holding in place. Meanwhile, he gets his cell with a practiced motion he doesn't even need to think consciously over, dialing 911.

His question is swiftly answers, as Jenny bolts past the side of his car without paying him a second thought!

Abandoning his cover, Miles crosses the rest of the distance to his vehicle in record time. He wastes no time in getting inside, hitting speaker and tossing the phone on the front seat as he slams the driver's door closed and slides the key into the ignition. The street won't let him catch up, not like this, but the sidewalk is just barely wide enough and should be clear for his purposes, unless some truly senseless onlooker decides to stay on it while a maniac runs past, shooting a gun.

The car soon thrums to life!

Not only will Miles likely need to write off his car after this escapade, but he has to do it in reverse to go after the murderous impersonator. People are rapidly clearing the streets in the wake of the gunshot, but there is still the prone man on the sidewalk to consider.

"Get out of the way!" Miles calls to the prone man, honking the car's horn for good measure as he squeezes the gas pedal. He has plenty of sympathy for the wounded bystander, but a murder will take place if he does nothing to stop it.

Miles smashes into the wall, ruffling him significantly; the car begins to hurtle forward, shedding needless exterior peripherals at a fast rate. The wounded man rolls out of the way as Miles rushes after his quarry; as he appears towards Miles' front, he sees the fellow give him a thumbs-up.

Jenny turns about in surprise at the sound of the horn, and glances at Miles in a sudden panic; a typical reaction to a car hurtling towards you, especially on the wrong side of the road.

He pushes his foot on the gas as much as it would go in response. The first reaction is to freeze in the face of the unexpected. The second would be to shoot him, since she's armed. If she does all that, perhaps the murderer would not think to dive out of the way before it is too late, and he would clip her.

The screeching of metal on metal is deafeningly loud to Miles' ears. The gunshots that crack his windscreen do much to distract him further, but the greatest sensory shock of all occurs when his car slams into Jenny and rolls straight past her. The impact throws him off-course, and before he knows it, his head is covered in an an airbag.

You should always wear a seatbelt. That insistent thought refuses to go away or allow him to focus on anything else. If the car had been going any faster, he might not be around to feel the pain.

The car is not going anywhere right now, Miles thinks.

The airbags eventually melt away, allowing him to free himself from the wreckage. Miraculously, Miles thinks he got out of that with only minor bruises.

His car is dead, it hits him. There must be good reasons people don't drive on the sidewalk. He leans back in his seat, glancing to the right in search of his phone.

It might've rolled to the backseat, because he can't see the phone within immediate reach.

Cars cost more, anyway. Miles briefly wonders whether the police picked up his call in time. That, however, doesn't stop him from trying to push the driver's door open.

It bumps up against another car, but there's just enough room for Miles to clamber out.

A mere scrape, at this point. He gets out and rounds the car, looking for the shooter and her gun, first of all.

There doesn't appear to be any sign of the shooter or her weapon, apart from the bullet marks left behind on the wall, and the man who was shot; even checking under his car doesn't produce any results.

Chris seems to be long gone. Various onlookers glance warily at Miles, and people are all keeping a respectful distance. In the distance, he can hear sirens approaching.

<--->

[Corwin]

<--->

A cup of hot coffee is placed before Miles, who has returned to a familiar police station. Once again, he finds himself in an interview room, but this time, he's representing himself.

"We'd like you to describe what happened, Mr. Reid. For the moment, you're being treated as a witness to attempted murder," states Sergeant Collins, who seats himself on the opposite side.

"I was a witness to a lot more than that," Miles says, taking a sip. It is as much to give him time to rearrange his thoughts as for the caffeine that is there to keep him alert, with adrenaline ceding way. "I'll start at the beginning and try to make this as clear and concise as possible. Please stop me if I seem to gloss over anything."

Briefly waiting for a confirmation, he continues. "As you know, Sergeant, I met with my client earlier today right after our conversaton. During it, I learned that the two shootings were indeed related. Both victims were recent clients represented by Jenny. There were no ties amongst them that Jenny could think of, and thus it seemed likely to be part of a trend. To try and stop this serial killer from committing more crimes, I went through Jenny's other cases for the past year, and came up with two more names of people who might be in danger." There is another brief pause, and another sip of coffee. "After informing the ADA handling the case of all the pertinent information, I decided to investigate this further myself and alert the pair to any possible danger they might be in, again fully in coordination with the DA's office. It was after my first interview, however, that I noticed a woman matching the description of the shooter walking towards myself and one of Jenny's past clients as he was showing me to my car. Within moments, a gun appeared in her hands, and I told him to run while I made my own dash for my car. Attempts to persuade this woman to stop were unsuccessful, and I'm afraid all I could do was hide behind cover at first. My plan was to try and get to my car by moving from cover to cover and spirit her target away before she could harm him, but her modus operandi changed for some reason, and she began shooting into the crowd. Faced with this scenario, I got into my car, put it on the reverse, and once I made sure the sidewalk was clear I did my very best to stop her from committing any more murders."

"By that you mean what, exactly?"

"I hoped to hit her with the rear bumper of my car and knock her to the ground or, at the very least, disarm her so that someone could then try to detain her. I wasn't going very fast, you understand. I wish I had other options available to me, but what I was facing was this maniac who had killed twice before running down the street with a gun which she was discharging without regard for anyone in her way. I could not stand by and just watch."

"So you reversed back with the intent to hit her," replies the Sergeant. "Were you successful?"

"I have no hidden martial arts training," Miles responds. "Had I attempted to tackle her in order to stop her, we might be having this interview in a hospital, or not at all." Another drink, and his thoughts are collected once more, free of diversion such as this. "I was certain that I had. In fact, I was under the impression she went under the car altogether. However, when I exited the vehicle... perhaps a minute after? Surely not more. But there was no sign of either this woman or her weapon."

"You were going at a low speed, you said? How fast would you say you were travelling when you struck this woman?"

"I cannot be absolutely certain," Miles admits. "There might be a way to determine how long it took for me to leave my vehicle, at least. I placed a call to 911 as soon as I spotted that woman, even before she drew her gun. I could not pay attention to the call once a man was shot and I was ducking for cover, but such calls are usually recorded. The phone should have been on speaker at the time."

"Apart from your colleagues at the DA office, was there anyone who knew about your whereabouts and activities today?"

"The information was supposed to have been passed off to the police from the DA's office," Miles recounts, "though I have no way of knowing whether that took place already, or through which channels and to whom. On my own side, I recruited the aid of Jenny's secretary, Miss Sandy Downs. I do not believe she knew which of Jenny's past clients I intended to see first, however, or at which time."

"Is there a way you think she could have known?"

"There were two names, and I left right from the office... it is impossible to know, but a guess would be fifty-fifty, don't you think? Be that as it may, I must stress that I have no reason whatsoever to suspect Miss Downs." Miles peers at the cop. "Do you, Sergeant?"

"So you would say that Miss Downs wouldn't have been able to commit the crime herself, and would have no reason or ability to collaborate with the killer?" asks the Sergeant, apparently sticking to that old police rule of never answering questions during interviews.

Miles was hoping to catch any changes in posture or any of the other minute signs he would normally look for in someone he interviews, although compared to cops he would only be a rank amateur at such things.

"I cannot speculate on Miss Downs's reasons," he admits. "However, Jenny finds these crimes abhorrent, and I imagine she would have a like-minded assistant in her employ. As for the killer herself...." Miles frowns. "I am not just Jenny's attorney, but her friend as well. This friendship goes a long way back. The reason I'm saying this, Sergeant, is that I could have sworn that the killer looked like her, even if her actions were different. Jenny would not have ignored me, much less tried to shoot at me. But I digress. My point is really that it is not some random woman in a wig. Whoever this person is, she went to a great length to impersonate Jenny on the outside."

"So you'd say they're identical in appearance? As in, in ordinary circumstances, you would have assumed the shooter was Jenny?"

"At least until she opens her mouth, I would presume," Miles confirms. "Indeed, the first thought in my head was that I was seeing Jenny walk down that street. Only after did I realize consciously that this is impossible." He frowns again. "I have no idea why she would try to look as Jenny did during college, however. Perhaps this serial killer believes Jenny had strayed from her path by becoming a public defender?"

"The injured man, Jason Klein; to your knowledge, have you, Jennifer Hallstrom, or any of your associates met him in the past?"

"Not that I can recall."

"The alleged target, Mr. Chris Benedict; to clarify, you suspected he may be the next target based on his prior association with Jennifer Hallstrom?"

"Jenny won four cases this year and lost one. The most recent two had just been gunned down. I believed the woman representing the latter was either in jail or not a viable target for a serial killer. The two remaining, however, could either qualify. In the end, I picked Chris as the first of the two to visit over semantics. There was no overwhelming reason to go talk to him rather than Julian first."

"We've put Mr. Yates under surveillance at the recommendation of the DA's office, particularly in light of recent events," the sergeant replies, reaching to turn off his tape recorder. "Witness reports would corroborate your story; quite a few reported the lookalike holding a gun and firing into the street, as you might imagine. Unfortunately, nobody seemed to see the shooter escape in the midst of the confusion."

He shakes his head. "We intend to keep Miss Hallstrom in custody for the time being as things stand, however."

"As her lawyer, I will work to get her out on bail, if those are her wishes," Miles responds. "As her friend, I can't help but wonder if she is safest remaining here for a day or two."

"As long as she's in jail, there is no way she can be charged with any crimes committed by her identicle twin," replies the Sergeant, standing up.

True enough, although helping Jenny deal with any charges brought against her is what he excels at.

"What about Mister Benedict?" Miles asks, standing up as well. "Were you able to take him into protective custody as well?"

"He refused, actually," replies the Sergeant, shaking his head. "Apparently it would compromise his work."

"Then--" Miles stops abruptly, humming to himself. Telling the cops how to do their job of protecting someone with a recent attempt on his life is hardly smart.

"I see. Am I free to go, in that case, or do you have any further questions either to myself or to my client?"

"You're free to go. We'll be conducting our own investigation into Miss Hallstrom's older clients," he replies. "Are you going to speak to her yourself?"

"I will stop by this evening."

How can he face Jenny just yet and add to her troubles without a single answer? The police are running their investigation and he would run his. Perhaps he would discover something.

Perhaps he would lease a new car.

<--->

[Corwin]

<--->

Before dusk, Miles' private attempts to put the case together on his own are interrupted by an alert from his fax machine; a report prints itself out moments later; the header to the document indicates it's been sent courtesy of an Edgar Wolfe, PI, who conducted an investigation on Sandy's behalf.

Flipping through the pages, Miles finds short reports on the witnesses involved. The bouncer and the two clubgoers have little to add that he did not already know, save lurid and conflicting descriptions of the actual moment of shooting (described alternatively as 'precise, wild, execution style'). Jovan, the cabdriver, however, had an unusual report to make when pressured; he stated that when he arrived at Jenny's apartment, his apparently murderous passenger had apparently vanished into thin air.

The PI notes that he's going to continue investigating this line, and that while it seems clear Jovan is either lying or not fit to hold his license from his words alone, neither of these interpretations seem to match with his overall demeanour.

He really needs to talk to someone who would take him seriously and have reason to keep it private. And no one seems to fit other than Jenny, when it comes down to it.

First thing the next morning, he will pay his client a visit.

Miles finds it difficult to sleep. A doctor had checked him earlier today, just after the crash, and announced that he was fine, but bruises and sores are difficult to push away entirely. When it finally does come, it fails to renew him entirely. He awakens early with a start, sweat pouring down his face, the dream-sound of his car scraping the wall still ringing in his ears.

A shower and some light breakfast would deal with the outwards signs of exhaustion, at least.

With his own car towed away for repairs, the only options for Miles to get to the station today is via cab, or catching one of the few buses that passes by the precinct.

He opts to call a cab, making a mental note to lease a car for the near future once he is done at the precinct.

The cab arrives shortly, and Miles is freed from needing to pay attention for a few minutes. Despite his inability to sleep, he remains drowsy, hovering just between wakefulness and daydreaming. All too quickly, however, he winds up at the station.

Passing through the reception, he soon arrives at Jenny's cell; she looks as tired as he does, possibly moreso. She lights up upon seeing him, however, straighting up and adjusting her hair. "I heard you got into a scrape with the killer. Funny that I'm still here then, huh?"

"Hilarious," he agrees dryly. "I've also uncovered something that would damage their case where it comes to the first shooting, if they still suspect you of that."

"I doubt it. They haven't even really wanted to talk to me about things," she confesses. "I guess I can see why they'd want me to stick around here, though, and there's sufficient supsicion that keeping me under arrest wouldn't be proven illegal."

She glances at the walls. "Now I really know how my clients feel. It's only been a few days, and it feels like forever."

"Did you think what you would do once you're released?"

"The normal thing to think is 'I will not do something so stupid again'," she replies. "That aside? I'm thinking a vacation. A long one, someplace on the Carribean..."

"A vacation sounds about right," Miles agrees. "You'll think I need one too once you hear me out."

"Maybe I'll write a psyche paper on how role-reversal is a stress magnifier," replies Jenny. "Let's hear it."

"The cabbie that gave a statement about driving you home also swears, if pressed enough, that you disappeared into thin air. Aside from casting his entire testimony into serious doubt if the DA's office pursues him as a witness, I found it interesting because the woman I hit with my car disappeared as well."

Miles grimaces. "I know I told the police I was driving slowly, but I certainly hit her. She even went under the car. And then, she wasn't there when I got out, and none of the bystanders saw where she went, either. Is there a logical explanation I'm overlooking, or am I finally cracking?"

"There's a lot of dust and smoke and stuff that goes up during a crash," replies Jenny. "Maybe she got away in all that. And the cab driver is probably covering for something, or an accomplice who couldn't think up a good lie."

"And the killer really does look like you." Miles snorts. "I can't see you ever killing people, but on looks alone? And even the way she carries herself... it's uncanny. It feels like one of those utterly insane stalkers you'd sometimes hear about, if you get me."

"It's funny you say that when I can see myself doing it so often..." replies Jenny, leaning back. "I mean, haven't you ever had that feeling? That sudden desire to really hurt someone, that anger? Not that I'd act on it, but you know, it's.."

She shakes her head. "Since I'm stuck in here, I keep wondering what this killer must be like. It's probably unhealthy."

"In self-defense, at least, I believe I've demonstrated that I can act violently," Miles muses. "Outside such situations? I like to think I wouldn't be tempted to become a crazed vigilante." He shakes his head. "Even if you believed that any of your past clients were bad enough they had to die, I still can't see you gun down any bystander inbetween just to get to them. If for no other reason, it probably is why wondering about the killer too much would be unhealthy."

"Someone has to, so why not us?" wonders Jenny. "It's hard not to be conflicted. Who wants to go to all that effort defending people who just wind up dead? Even if.. ah, nuts."

"I don't have an easy answer myself," Miles admits. "I do have a question, however. What do you want to do now? We should be able to get you arraigned and arrange for bail at the very least, if not outright dismissal of the charges. You are probably safer here, even if it feels like you've been here forever, so I wanted to confirm it with you first."

Jenny laughs. "I don't think there's anyone in the world, movies aside, who answered 'do you want to stay in jail' with 'yes'. Of course I want to get out," she responds, shaking her head.

"No desire in being the first, then? Alright. I hope that I have good news for you next time we see each other."

"Hey, Miles," adds Jenny. "What do you actually think happened when you hit her?"

"Magic doesn't exist, right? Then she had to have run away somehow." He shrugs. "Maybe she's a ninja. Those are real?"

"Yeah, right. With skills like that, it's kind of an honour she picked me."

"It's an honor I'll pass up on, myself."

<--->

[Corwin]

 <--->

[14:37] It's not far from the station to the office of prosecutions, and Miles is able to enjoy a leisurely stroll on his way towards getting Jenny pushed out of jail. As he's cutting through an inner-city park about halfway to his destination, his phone chooses to ring and shatter his brief moment of pseudo-solitude.
[14:40] <Miles> "Yes?" Miles answers it after the second ring, fishing the phone out of his pocket.
[14:42] "Hey, this is Miles, right? This is Chris Benedict speaking, just wanted to call and see how you were doing?"
[14:43] <Miles> "I'm fine, even if my car has seen better days," Miles responds.
[14:46] "Don't mind me saying, better it than me? But seriously, thanks, man." Chris sounds a little excited, though still calmer than most would be after surviving an attempt on their life.
[14:49] <Miles> One can be fixed, while the other, not so much. Miles certainly agrees with the sentiment, nodding slightly as he walks through the park. "No problem. I wish we had been able to apprehend her."
[14:55] "I'm kinda out of town now, had some things to do upstate anyway," he continues. "But when you do grab her, let me at least buy you a drink." Through the speaker, Miles can hear the sound of traffic.
[14:58] <Miles> "Alright," Miles finds himself agreeing. "And remote though the chance may be that she comes after you again, I hope that you are relying on police protection for the time being."
[14:59] "Heh, sorry, but I'm passing on that. It'd interfere with my work," he responds. "It'll be fine."
[15:02] <Miles> No one ever wants to spend time in jail, for whatever reason, Jenny had said. To some people, being guarded might feel the same. "As long as you've taken your own precautions, just in case," Miles voices.
[15:05] "I'm up in Grantsville and I'll be with friends, so I think I got it covered." Emerging from the park, Miles sees the street holding his office come into view. 
[15:07] * Miles gives another nod that Chris wouldn't see, waiting for him to continue. There is always a chance Chris had more to tell him and didn't get around to just yet.
[15:10] "Anyway, there was something I wanted to tell you," he adds, sounding uncertain. "Just, uh, can we keep this between us?"
[15:12] <Miles> "I believe so," Miles agrees, feeling a tinge of vindication. "What is it?"
[15:15] "Yeah, uh, so I heard a rumor that some people are getting pretty pissed about what's going on," he confides. "That it might, you know, only be a matter of time before someone takes matters into their own hands." Miles finds himself reaching a point in the road he needs to cross, but the onslaught of traffic remains a daunting obstacle.
[15:17] <Miles> "To do what?" Miles wonders out loud, waiting for a lull in the traffic before him. "If the police knew enough to stop the killer, they would have done it already."
[15:19] "These guys are the type who might just go after anyone they think might be the killer, or is working with her. They're not the brightest, just... well, you know."
[15:21] <Miles> "I see." And he does, with it being spelled out like that. "Thank you, it does help to know this."
[15:26] "Yeah, I thought I'd just leave with you. I guess I'll see you later?" The light turns green, and pedestrians on either side of the street begin to cross. As he gets about halfway across the road, Miles catches sight of someone waving at him; a woman, by the looks of it, with long crimson hair.
[15:30] <Miles> "Later it is," Miles agrees, ending the call. He keeps on walking to the other side, glancing curiously at the redhead. She doesn't look terribly familiar, and he's hardly famous.
[15:34] At a glance, it's not obvious. But when Miles reaches the other side of the road and she starts to step up to him, her features turn clearer, and the purse seems all-too-familiar. That someone can look like Jenny even when in disguise is almost laughable, yet here she is.
[15:39] <Miles> There is a visible hesitation, but Miles makes up his mind and walks over to meet her halfway. No one knew he would be here, as it was a decision made only after talking to Jenny. No one should know that, as far as he can think, considering his leave of absence. Together, that only means to him that running away at this point would only delay the inevitable.
[15:41] "I wanted to meet you," she says, drawing closer and looking him up and down. "Miles. Miles Reid. That's your name, isn't it?"
[15:41] <Miles> "It is," Miles confirms. "What would yours be?"
[15:44] She looks briefly stricken. "You can't tell? Really? Oh!" She reaches up and pulls off her hair- a wig- revealing Jenny's ordinary brunette colouring.
[15:46] <Miles> "Jenny Hallstrom," Miles says quietly. "Or what I would say, if I weren't coming here after meeting with her. How does that work?"
[15:49] Her face blackens, and her eyes seem to roll up for a moment, become orbs of bloodshot white. It's gone as quickly as it came. "That fake. I read about her in the paper," she replies, shaking her head. "I'm the real one."
[15:53] <Miles> "Alright," Miles says slowly, pausing to consider his words carefully. "That you are here to talk to me is encouraging. Could you explain what you are trying to accomplish with your actions?"
[15:56] "Why did we all get into this business?" wonders Jenny. "It was never going to be about the money. It was always about justice. Right and wrong. Good and bad. Morals..."
[16:01] * Miles nods. "It's why I hold the job that I do, and don't have a private practice. Or work for one of the law firms, I suppose. Seeing guilty people escape punishment is always hard." He clears his throat slightly. "But I don't think there is any good way of seeing an innocent bystander being gunned down in front of you. I don't believe it is a moral act. Do you?"
[16:02] "T-that was an accident! And I paid the penalty. Justice was served."
[16:06] * Miles looks slightly dubious. "If only the original intent matters, and not the final result, then Chris Benedict would only be guilty of attempted robbery. He only attacked the owner, after all, when the owner surprised him, and it was not his original intention."
[16:11] "But he never paid for it. He never did his time. He got away with it..." replies Jenny, shaking her head. "They're all the same. Escrivar never even bothered to hide it. I'm only surprised Eddie didn't try to rape me, too. Chris is a vicious robber. Julian laughs it off when people die thanks to him. The law failed." She narrows her eyes. "Because that fake was too weak. Even when what happened
[16:11] was obvious, she always, always puts her ethics before her morals. Criminals thrive on that."
[16:14] <Miles> "You defended them all, then," Miles voices, trying to not give away how unnerved this conversation is making him, "until, finally, defending Escrivar was too much? You couldn't take it any longer?"
[16:17] "No. It wasn't ever me who defended them," replies Jenny, shaking her head. "Her. Always her."
[16:18] <Miles> "How do you know so much about these men, then?" Miles asks in surprise. "Their whereabouts, their habits, their guilt?"
[16:21] Jenny looks briefly uncertain. "I remember... files. Going through them. Watching someone else go through them, from their own eyes. I know, certainly, that they cannot hide or run from me. I should be doing it now, but then I remembered you." Her eyes turn fond. "Spending every day on the job tires you out. Sometimes you just have to be with your friends..."
[16:26] <Miles> "As a friend, I would want nothing more than to ask you to stop," Miles admits. He doesn't understand what is going on with this Jenny, or how she could even exist, but the resemblance is just too strong to ignore. "If you continue, you will keep on having accidents. Can you live with yourself, then?"
[16:32] "Better than that fake can. I have to do this. That accident only happened because someone tried to stop me- but there's only two to go," she vows. "The courts have their share of accidents. You and that fake know. The guilty go free, and the innocent are punished, even when the truth is plain..."
[16:34] <Miles> That's not how Miles remembers it, but quabbling over details wouldn't get his point across. As he searches for something that would accomplish it, Miles asks, "Two to go? Chris and Julian?"
[16:35] "That's right. What do you think? Their cases are closed, you know. This is the only way," she notes. "They're both scum. Their freedom is an affront to everything we stand for!"
[16:38] <Miles> "If you are asking me if I think they can reform?" Miles shrugs lightly. "It's possible, but I don't consider it terribly likely. However, I firmly believe the law would have another chance. Not for the original cases against them, true, but eventually justice will be served. You know I wouldn't be keeping my job if I didn't believe this fully."
[16:45] "You think.. things will just work themselves out?" asks Jenny, frowning. "No, this is because of your job as a prosecutor, isn't it?"
[16:48] * Miles nods. "We'll get them. Maybe they'll learn their lesson despite all the odds, and make amends for their past crimes. And if they don't, we'll be there to catch them and put them away."
[16:51] "This is wrong. Letting them offend again because you don't have enough guts to put them away the first time?" Jenny shakes her head. "They'll hurt people. And the people who were already hurt deserve restitution."
[16:56] <Miles> "Is it?" Miles asks her in turn. "Nothing exists in a vacuum. Just think about it for a moment. What happens when criminals that escaped on some manner of technicality or insufficient evidence see that someone is trying to reduce their numbers? It is inevitable that some of them will take an active stance and try to deal with the problem before it deals with them. They will be gunning for you, and anyone who looks like you, and anyone standing in between. At the core, I believe that you are after these people because they have hurt others, not because they managed to cheat the system out of jailing them. What will you do when your attempt at delivering restitution only creates more innocent victims?"
[17:00] "You're just like her! Finding ways to get around what must be done!" replies Jenny, clutching her head. "I won't live in fear of such criminals! It's better that they're running scared than running free. If the law can't fight this battle, then I will!" She glances up at Miles. "If you want this to not be a problem, do your goddamn job. Yours is a worthier cause than hers." She turns away,
[17:00] back towards the street. "Just don't get in my way."
[17:06] <Miles> He couldn't get through, even though he tried. Miles realizes that, and takes a step forward towards her. "Are you in pain? Is that from yesterday?"
[17:10] "Migranes," she replies. "When I think about her, they always come. Such a worthless woman..."
[17:15] <Miles> He almost defends Jenny from herself, but abstains at the last moment. "Did you try visiting a doctor? It can't be healthy for you."
[17:17] "Thanks. It actually does mean something," she confesses. "To have someone worry about me. But I'll be fine." She sighs. "This will probably be the only time we get to talk, though."
[17:19] <Miles> "I thought as much. You know I can't wish you luck."
[17:21] "I don't need it," she vows, and she begins to march back into the crowd.

<--->

[Corwin]

<--->

"Given the circumstance, I think it's better for her to remain in prison for the moment," confesses Arnold. "But at this point it's likely out of my hands; she may not even need to post it with what happened yesterday."
Accessing his office and bringing up the topic of bail with Arnold once again took Miles only a short time after his unusual meeting; how surreal it all was continuse to weigh down on his mind, threatening to continue distracting him.

"It's a toss up," Miles says, grimacing. "She is in danger, even if she were in protective custody. At least this way, we would be following her wishes." And he would be there, in case he could help. He really needs to lease that new car.

"What would she say to being placed under protection after her release?" he wonders, eyeing Miles curiously.

"Refuse, probably. I can't quite bring myself to blame her. If anyone should be under protective custody, it's those two people I told you about. This killer is very determined, and nothing has stopped her so far. I fear that she was only delayed so far."

"After being hit by a car?" asks Arnold, raising an eyebrow. "I was rather hoping the whole thing would be done with. I don't suspect she'll have the chance to strike again as it is, presuming your analysis of her targets was correct."

"It should be. I followed it on a hunch, and it turned out right." Miles contemplates not saying anything further, but then sighs. "And they don't make cars the way they used to. She approached me, practically outside the office. If she was still injured, it didn't show one bit."

"She what?"

Arnold leans back in his chair. "Did you call the police?"

"She was armed and there were plenty of bystanders. Considering what happened last time, I did not provoke her."

"I meant afterwards," replies Arnold, shaking his head. "What did she want from you?"

"I came straight here. She... I'm not certain what she was after. She insisted she was the real Jenny, while a 'fake' was in prison. She told me to do my job and put criminals away, and considered herself to be the personification of justice. Apparently, rather than take offense at being hit by a car, she believes it was divine justice for shooting an innocent bystander." The more he talks about that strange experience, the easier Miles finds it to accept it within himself.

"She seemed to be sufffering from strong headaches, but refused offers of medical assistance. I was unable to convince her to stop, either."

"Perhaps we should be looking forward to seeing an insanity plea," mutters Arnold, reaching to wipe his forehead with a cloth. "You talked about what she was doing, so is it too much to hope that you were able to figure out her next moves?"

"She claimed that she had four targets, starting out, and the remaining two match my own earlier guesses. I have no way of knowing whether she was being genuine or trying to disseminate misinformation, but considering they are the same people we should already be protecting...."

Miles shrugs. "My hunch still says that they are in danger, but I am also hopeful that she could be apprehended safely by professionals when she makes the attempt."

"If it was Julian Yates, I would certainly agree. Given her delusional nature and the way she carried out her previous murders, however, the police presence may not serve to deter her..."
He shrugs. "It would be our best chance. Do you think she'd attack despite them?"

"Without a doubt."

"She shouldn't have a chance. Still, I'll have to ask you to repeat your statement for the police. It'll likely be forwarded to a psychologist for profiling, though with any luck, by that time she'll be safely behind bars."

"Of course. One more thing. I would say that not only would she make the attempt, but that she would make it soon. Perhaps even today, but no later than tomorrow. For some reason, time is of the essence to her."

"Of course. Every day is another chance for her to be caught," notes Arnold. "It's quite bizzare. She would have to be someone very close to Jenny, I think, for her to be so deluded that she believes herself to be the 'real' woman. A twin sister would be the first suspect, of course, but there is no such thing."

"And she looks so much like her...."

Miles trails off, shaking his head. "I should really focus on arranging bail for Jenny, and go give my statement to the police after."

Legal proceedings, Miles notes, go much faster when you are acquainted with people on every side of the case. It would take the better part of the afternoon to be resolved, and there's little active part Miles can play in it once the wheels have started turning; it leaves him with the choice of deciding where to wait for the inevitable.

Given the chance, he would pass the time by keeping Jenny company.

Jenny seems oddly morose, even when she receives the news that she'll be leaving that very day.

"I wish I was as brave as you," she comments from the bench.

Miles stirs at her words. "Is there something you want to do, that you don't think you're brave enough to accomplish on your own?"

"Uphold justice, I guess?" she replies, grimacing. "You know, say this case gets taken to court. Wouldn't it have an impact on your career to defend me?"

"Whatever impact it might have, I'll recover from," Miles says, his tone lighter than how he feels on the matter. "Abandoning you, though? That is not something I could bounce back from."

"What're you trying to do, make me blush?" asks Jenny, with a flickering smile. "But I mean... well, maybe it's different for us. It's not like I can just go decide to prosecute a case because I thought some guy really deserved it. The way the system works, you kinda need to pick one side or the other, right?"

Miles smiles back, leaning slightly on the bench. "I think that works best, yes. I know this hasn't been easy on you, any of this, so why not take the time and see what you want to do? I don't think it can be just a job. If you give it time and decide that you are not happy where you are, you could do something about it then."

"Yeah. This whole thing is like a giant, self-inflicted guilt trip," she confesses. "It's not just a job for me- though I know how it's just money to so many. It'd probably actually be easier to do the job if it was just for cash, but what can I say?"

"You don't need to say anything. I understand that much, at least."

"There's also, you know, standing up to someone packing a gun," she adds. "You know, normal bravery, as opposed to the kind that gets you through these weird premature mid-life-crisis type situations."

"It is doubly terrifying," Miles agrees. "Aside from the obvious, you come to realize that someone waving a gun in public may well not be bluffing. You are not only aware of how deadly the weapon is, but of in how much danger you are from the person wielding it."

"Yeah. Your life can be gone just like that," replies Jenny, shuddering. "There's not a lot you can do about it. There are so many cases where people holding a gun didn't really get it, either..."

"Did you ever use yours, outside of practice?"

"Nah. I don't even do much of that," she replies. "I was all worried when I moved in, you know? Gang violence, rough neighbourhood, all of that. But it just never came up."
"Not that I wanted it to or anything. And once I got to know the neighbours, any fear I had just drained away."

"Stay with me," Miles offers. "The building has a doorman, and the killer must have a key to your apartment." He cracks a smile. "You should not worry about the neighbors, either."

"I'm too old to be sharehousing," replies Jenny, brushing away some hair.

"Nonsense!"

"I'm too rich to be sharehousing?"

"I can't argue with that. But won't you stay for a few days, at least? It will make me feel better, if nothing else."

She smiles coyly. "I guess I can trust you to be a gentleman," she confides.

"I am very trustworthy."

The clock in the corner of the room continues to tick away right into the evening, Miles notes.

Smalltalk is interrupted by a cop approaching the cell; he seems to be in good spirits. "Looks like you get to leave a bit early," he notes, glancing at Jenny.

Miles climbs to his feet, waiting for the cop to lead them out.

"Bail actually went through already?" asks Jenny, rising to her feet. The cop cocks an eyebrow. "Not exactly," he replies, shaking his head. "You'll see if you head out now, actually."

"Let's go," Miles suggests, starting to head out as per the cop's suggestion.

There's paperwork to fill out. Or, at least, there normally would be in the case of bail.

A news crew appears to be outside the station, eagerly filming a pair of police cars that are pulling up outside. When they spot Jenny and Miles, a couple of reporters rush over, armed with cameras and notebooks. "Ms. Langstrom! How are you feeling right now?" one of them blurts out.

"I'm just glad to be out," replies Jenny, managing to make it sound professional. "Do you have any idea as to the identify of your doppleganger?" replies the reporter, to which the lawyer just shrugs. "I don't know and I don't really want to. It'll all come out when she's..."

Glancing past the reporters, Miles can't help but see policemen push out of the car, leading a figure wearing a coat over her head towards the police station.

The figure, lead inside by the police, holds Miles's attention.

It is unmistakably Jenny; even a short glance at her face makes it clear. The reporters are already closing in to take their pictures and have their request for statements rebuffed by the woman's escort.

She freezes, however, when she glances up from underneath the coat and sights the Jenny whom Miles is escorting out. The two seem rapt with attention.

"I still can't believe it," Miles quietly murmurs to the Jenny near him.

"I can't believe it. You actually sided with her," states the other Jenny. The cops tug at her, gruffly ordering her to move along.

Miles feels a piercing headache, a sudden migrane of the likes he has never suffered before! His vision wavers, and he's seeing double; plants, cars, signs, all of them seem to shimmer right before his eyes. Everything seems blurry and translucent- save the two Jennys, who remain perversly solid.

Any answer he might have given is lost to grunt. A hand comes up to rub his forehead in what is sure to be a useless gesture, but he has to do something in the face of pain.

Jenny seems to be holding his shoulder; a calming gesture, to some extent. Dimly, he notes that a number of others around him seem to be clutching their heads.

Suddenly, he's taken off his feet by a sudden tackle!

Reflexively, his arms come around whoever tackled him, even as Miles seeks out Jenny with his eyes. Solid as she is, just focusing on her is calming, and he instinctively drifts towards that comfort.

Jenny's hand seems to have dropped away, but there's a scuffle just next to him. The incessant pounding in his head doesn't seem to be stopping, either.

It's difficult to stand, let alone see, but after about ten seconds, there's a sudden bang that seems to snap him back to his senses! Craning his neck, he can see Jenny- it appears to be his Jenny- holding a smoking gun.

Just who tackled him, Miles can't help but wonder when he can think again.

Policemen around him seem to be straightening. The two holding the other Jenny don't appear to be holding anyone, however, and are looking about in a panic.

Miles scrambles to his feet, looking about. There would have to be a body, wouldn't it? He stays by Jenny's side. She holds a gun, and she couldn't possibly have one. But that's for later.

Jenny seems to be in a state of shock. The gun is hers, Miles notes, and the first policeman able to do so approaches her, trying to stay very calm, and asks for it.

"Did you get that footage, Jill?" asks one of the reports, glancing back at his camerawoman. "I dunno. We'll have to go check it-"

"Alright! Nobody move!" bawls one of the policemen. "Everyone stay right where you are!"

Miles follows the instructions, finding it easier since he is right by Jenny's side and that is where he wants to be.

The policemen soon spread out, apparently searching for the missing Jenny; their orders are not heeded by many around them, however, least of all the news crews who find it appropriate to continue asking questions and filming the proceedings.

Eventually, one of them approaches Miles and Jenny, shaking his head. "Ma'am, you fired that weapon, correct? Where did you get it from?"

She blinks. "Uh... am I under arrest?" she asks, and the officer blinks. "Does this look like-" He breathes in.

"Let me consult my, uh, lawyer," she adds, shaking her head.

"Let's step inside," Miles says, finding himself slipping back into that role. There would be no consults under the watchful lenses of tv cameras.

<--->

[Corwin]

<--->

The sterile interview room's decor has not changed since Miles and Jenny last spoke there; it remains as white and empty as ever before. Jenny rests her shaking hands on the table; there's still noise and clamor outside, as the police try to beat off the press and organize a search.

"I shot her, and she just vanished!" blurts out Jenny. "Like.. like a video game, you know how the bad guys just fade away?"

"Just how did you shoot her?" Miles forces himself to ask rather than exclaim in utter frustration. "Where did you even get the gun?"

"I..."

Jenny rubs her hands in her head. "I don't know..."

"This is... occult stuff," Miles says, feebly fishing for the right words. He sits down tiredly.

"We were wrestling," she replies, shaking her head. "It just... slipped into my hands during it. Like, she still had it on her! I thought the cops would've taken it away, you know?"

She drops her head onto the table. "What the hell were they doing, anyway?!"

"If they were anything like me, seeing double." The urge to follow Jenny's lead is immense, but Miles resists through some effort. He chooses to focus on her instead, like during those impossible moments. "My head exploded in pain, and I could barely stand. You probably saw that, when someone knocked me off my feet. I know I saw flashes of others in pain, just like I was. This was... either a biological agent, some sort of terrorism, I don't know... it's so wrong to wish for a horrible explanation like that because I can actually understand it."

"Maybe she was carrying something? Like a bomb on time release? But she still just vanished! Right in front of me!" Jenny sucks in her breath. "Maybe it's a collective delusion..."

"There is a trouble with that assertion," Miles admits, sighing. "I don't think you can have two versions of shared delusions like this, and what you saw was different from me. From the rest of us, really, considering the reactions of the cops."

He thinks it over. "Let's talk about what we can change, instead of things that don't make sense. You remained where you were, next to me, while the shooter disappeared from police custody. You said that she charged you and then you wrestled?" Miles glances at Jenny for confirmation. "Is this correct, thus far?"

"She went through you," replies Jenny. "Hip and shoulder, right? So she sent you sprawling, and then tried to shove me over. She was cuffed, though, so..."

Miles nods. "I'll testify to that effect, if there is a need. The officers who were leading her in might claim she wasn't armed while in custody, but you will certainly make a similar claim, and yours would actually hold much more weight considering where you spent the last few days. Especially if it was the murder weapon, like I would expect it to be. What I think we should do, however, is just stick to general terms for what came next. You think the gun was hers, and slipped from her grasp as she wrestled you. You squeezed the trigger... whether to shoot her in self-defense or by accident, I don't believe it matters much here. Afterwards, she let you go, and when you looked again you could not see her in the area. Does that fit the facts?"

"This is all basically correct," replies Jenny, steepling her fingers. "'course, if I'm actually under arrest we don't need to say anything." She chuckles. "It never helps, so we say."

She pauses. "It's like when you hit her, isn't it?"

"Yes. I'm sure that she disappeared into thin air, somehow, impossible as it sounds. And I'm equally certain that she will continue her attacks, perhaps even with that very same gun. However, I can hardly back this with facts, and if I stated this as my opinion I might be sent for an observation. The same would happen to you, I would wager."

"Yeah, no kidding. Jesus, there's no stopping her! She really did look just like me, I couldn't even believe it until today, despite everything."

"She thinks she is you, too. I was afraid to say anything before, since I doubted you would believe me, but she came to find me earlier today, just outside the office. It is not just the looks, like I thought before. In a sense, she feels a lot like you."

"Are you kidding? It was like looking in a goddamn mirror. I mean, she's all glammed up, but it was like getting hit by a truck." She grimaces. "What if- hear me out- what if she is me, or something? You know, they say everyone has someone just like them out there somewhere? Ok, I only heard that in a game once, but still."

"A clone or something of the sort? Literally, another you, and not just a lookalike?"

"A looklike who broke into my house, stole my keys, stole my gun, wears my trashy skirt, and acts out my fantasies?"

Under different circumstances, Miles might have expressed an appreciation for the skirt in question.

"But they are just fantasies, aren't they? You don't really approve of what she is doing?"

"I- no!" Jenny frowns. "Not really. Maybe on some really feral level... but come on, it's not like- let's say I could push a magic button and make them all die, I wouldn't push it."

Miles smiles. "That's all that matters, then. Even if she is you, somehow, and even if those are fantasies you have entertained at some point... none of that matters. We are allowed to think whatever we like. Our actions are what define us."

"Yes, exactly. But- well, the other thing is, if one of them got hit by a truck, I'd probably think 'he deserved that'," replies Jenny, halfway between a smile and a frown. "But that doesn't matter. We gotta find a way to stop her, I dunno, maybe we can catch her and lock her up someplace..."

"If we are right about her, then she will come for us. Either to accuse us, or to attack. That may be our chance of persuading her to stop," Miles says. "For that, we should be free and together. Let's talk to the police?"

"Right. They should let us go," she replies, nodding.

<--->

[Corwin]

<--->

The police don't seem especially happy to be letting Jenny and Miles go, but ultimately relent in pressuring them for further statements; nobody is arguing that Jenny's response wasn't warranted, though questions still abound as to where the gun came from; in the end, it was confiscated, leaving them weaponless.

A young journalist named Jill seems more than happy to let Miles and Jenny view the footage. "The network probably won't show it anyway," she remarks, sitting down on a bench and producing a laptop. "And we'll get crucified if it shows up on youtube. Goddamn."

"You never know," Miles muses, glancing at the screen at the invitation from where he claims a seat by her side.

"The footage isn't, whad'ya call it, professional," she replies, pulling up a video player. "That's what happens when you almost drop the camera."

The video starts playing, and Miles sees the footage of both he and Jenny leaving the police station, just as the other Jenny exits the car. The camera gets a little shakey when she gets closer, though, at around the point the murderess begins to talk.

It catches her lunging at Miles quite easily, shoving him out of the way! The camera briefly pans to watching him stumble, before starting to swing around jerkily; Miles can glimpse shots of the rest of the crowd stumbling around in a daze.

It catches a good shot of the two Jenny's wrestling, however, but then the fake Jenny is shoved out of the picture, leaving only the real one behind. She raises her hand, revealing a handgun; it's report is ear-piercing.

The camera swivels uncertainly before aligning itself with where the fake Jenny must have been shot, but there's no sign of her. Given that the whole thing took place only over a few seconds, it seems impossible that she could've pushed her way through the surrounding crowd of people.

"It was the best that could have been filmed under the circumstances, I suspect," Miles notes. Ignoring his stumble with stoicism, he gestures at where the crowd could be seen in a daze. "You had a splitting headache all of a sudden there as well?"

"Yeah, I couldn't even really see through the camera," she confirms. "So'd Ted- the report- actually. And a whole bunch of people. I've heard there are devices that can do that, they use.. resonance or something? Or gas..."

She shakes her head. "But then it just went away and we're none the worse for it."

"And so did that woman," Miles notes. "Say, would you know if there is other footage that never got shown but might be similar? I'm not in your business, but even I can sense there is more to this story than a serial killer on the loose."

"Sure is. You wouldn't believe how much stuff is unbroadcastable," she replies. "I mean, I've never seen the amazing vanishing woman before, but when footage gets too weird and nobody can even put a coherent story together, it'll just get canned nine times out of ten."

"I may not believe it, but how much are you talking about?" asks Jenny, prompting the woman to blink. "I'm not exactly sure. A lot of it's really old, from before all the networks made the digital transition," she responds. "Back then, they didn't throw anything away. We've got storage rooms filled with old tapes."

"Are you thinking of volunteering our help of going over that old footage?"

Jill laughs. "Nobody even knows what's left in there, and there's hundreds of hours worth of footage-" She frowns. "There's a few guys who're always looking at that stuff, though. These are the same guys who go hunting for Area 51, sooooo."

Miles grimaces, but forces himself to say, "It sounds like a start. And a more productive way to spend the time than sitting at home and hoping for the best."

"Could you put us in contact with these folks?" asks Jenny, though she sounds faintly incredulous herself.

"I.. guess? Better than having you rooting around in the stacks. Boss would crack the shits, even if you are famous."

"Thanks."

Miles grows quiet, as the reality of the trouble they are in fully settles. The police quite likely cannot stop Jenny's doppleganger, and if she now wants to avenge herself on either of them, they can hardly afford to wait for her to come to them, regardless of whatever naive thoughts he had about persuading her before. And the only people who might believe them are UFO fanatics. He will need to watch his common sense very closely for any unintentional slips.

"So when d'ya think Rod Serling's gonna show up?" asks Jenny, while Jill goes to ask one of her colleagues for a few phone numbers.

"Right about the time Elvis abducts us to Never Never Land," Miles mutters. "Do you think we have a choice? I'm not sure we can sit this one out, even if you didn't care what happened to the rest of your clients."

"I don't think I'll be sleeping at night as long as she's running around," replies Jenny, faltering slightly.

Jill returns a minute later, shaking her head. "So I got in touch with Geoffery, and he said he'd be happy to talk to you. On one condition."

"Yes?"

"You go to his place. He said that's where he keeps the best stuff," she replies, shaking his head. "Then there was all this crap about wanting first meetings to be done in person... god, that guy is such a creeper."

Safety in numbers. "We should be fine," Miles responds, glancing at Jenny. "Thanks for the help."

Jenny shrugs. "Hey, lady, you know what creepy is? Creepy is being stuck in prison while some imposter runs around outside. Some weirdo Mulder is practically normal!"

Jill doesn't look like she agrees, even as she parts with the man's- Geoffery Wheeler- address. His house is small and seems to consist entirely of a single concrete block; not a shred of greenery adorns his tall fence, which appears to have barbed wire at the top. Jarringly, statues of asian guardian lions stand at either side of his gate, and Miles dimly recalls they are supposed to keep evil spirits at bay.

Miles proceeds past the gate and its guardians, giving Jenny a reassuring smile.

When he knocks at the door, it takes a few moments for there to be any discernible response, but then there is the squeaking of rubber rolling on the floor; a moment later, the door open inwards. Just inside, Miles spies a slightly obese man sitting on an electric wheelchair, with one hand firmly grasping a red control stick. He's wearing baggy denim shorts and a white T-shirt, with some sort of cartoon woman stenciled on the front.

"Hello!"

"Hello," Miles greets him. "Geoffery Wheeler?"

"That's right! I heard you're interested in my work?" he replies, eyes lighting up in excitement. "Not many people are, so it's quite novel for me!"

"We saw a woman vanish, as if into thin air," Miles says by way of introduction, and also to test the waters. "Not many people would believe a story like this, but how about yourself?"

"You mean, on television?" replies Wheeler, with a sudden cynicism.

"Directly in front of us." Miles nods in Jenny's direction. "She attacked Jenny, and then made off after being shot in broad daylight, in front of all the witnesses. No blood, no traces. Nothing. Before that, she pulled the same disappearing trick after I ended up running her over with a car. We are talking about the serial killer that has been in the news recently, if you have been following up on that."

"Not until today," he replies, looking slightly embarassed.

"Have you heard of anything like this before?" asks Jenny, sounding slightly put off nonetheless. "An identicle twin out of nowhere?"

"Not sure," he responds, spinning around in his chair and starting to move it to the other end of the hallway. "Let's see. She's a murderer? She looks like you? Do you hate yourself?"

Jenny blinks. "What? No!"

"The opposite, however, is true," Miles says, taking it as an invitation to follow inside. "She approached me earlier, and kept referring to Jenny as a fake whom she looked down upon quite a bit. She also suggested, I see in retrospect, that she shares some of Jenny's memories at the very least."

"I see, I see."

Geoferry reaches a room at the end of his hall, whereupon he gets out his wheelchair and steps inside. "I keep a lot of tapes nobody else wants," he explains; the room contains a computer setup, as well as a number of labelled filing cabinets. The walls are covered in sci-fi posters; older movies, Miles notes. "Most of the rejected movies of real interest fall into a few catagories, you see. We've got, let's see... 'aliens', 'giant beasts', 'UFO's', 'energy discharge'- that one covers any video where it's too bright to see." He purses his lips. "You'd be surprised how often that happens."

"I probably will be," Miles accedes. "Does any of what we have said so far ring any bells? I would hate to rush you, but she is very much intent on killing two more people, and nothing has been able to stop her thus far. And from what I know of serial killers, they find it harder and harder to stop the more they are active, so very little would prevent her from coming after us at some later point."

"I'm trying to think," he protests, pulling out one of the filing cabinets. "It's not like we can instantly figure out what's really happening behind every crazy story! If I could, then maybe they'd give me my office back..."

There is a large cluster of media storage in the cabinet; tapes and CDs in equal measure. "Let's try 'disappearing' first," he suggests. "Mmm... should we look at local stuff, or things from anywhere in the US?"

"Starting with the local information would be easier," Miles decides. "Even if we were to find something similar elsewhere, we can hardly fly out to confirm it under the circumstances. A local source would be more easily checked, I feel."

"Ok..." He pulls out a tape. "I'll watch this one. Can you use a computer?"

"Yes."

"Ok..." He fishes out a CD. "This one contains all the footage I've got of local vanishments. Uh, it should include some actual scenes as well as interviews," he adds. "But I can't vouch for the source. I mean, some of it's from the field crews, but some of it's stuff I just, um, found."

"Alright. Do you have a computer I can use?"

"The Battlestation is fully operational," he replies, indicating the system next to him. "Lemme just log in."

He quickly opens up the screen and inputs a password for a Guest account. "Lemme go set this one up in the VHS. That won't take a minute!"

He turns and heads back to his chair, and Miles can hear the whirr of it moving backwards through the hall.

"So creepy," mutters Jenny. "I heard it's a common reaction to go completely overboard when you're mocked for some trait. You think this is that? I think this is that."

"Recently, I am musing over a saying that never seemed as appropriate before," Miles voices, opening the CD tray. He places the disk within and then waits for it to load before browsing through the files on it. "Just because you are paranoid doesn't mean there isn't anyone after you. I believe that is how it goes. Or, in our case, however overboard he might have gone doesn't necessarily mean he can't help us."

An inconsistant naming scheme makes hunting through the files a maddening process; however, they are also sorted by date. Some are simply labelled with titles such as 'Kelly Interview'; some refer to the video in more vauge terms, such as 'Silhawks 'Ghost'. There are about thirty clips in all, half of them interviews. The dates stretch back to the 70s, with the older titles tending to feature names one would not be embarrased to use in public, unlike the more recent films.

"Maybe we're just gonna have to watch them all. Names like 'The Pond Incident' don't help so much. 'Boy Vanishes around corner?' Hey, one name comes up twice," remarks Jenny, eyeing the videos. "'Laura Hartwell disappears.. and Laura Hartwell Interview... "

"Any patterns we can spot is a good place to start," Miles agrees, running the clip that is dated as the older of the two, even as he resigns himself to the quite likely need to go through them all.

The disappearence was the first to be recorded; the film itself comes from the early 90s, and at a glance Miles can tell it's an amateur video.

It opens in a park, with a picnic laid out. "You sure you want to do this, Laura? It's pretty damned mean," says a male voice, slightly muted- the cameraman? The view swivels towards a pretty blonde girl, just entering adulthood; she smiles sweetly, patting down her plaid shirt. "I do, Michael. I want him to hurt," she remarks. "Because that's all he deserves."

"Alright, alright. So, hey, Paul, this is Will Sheffield, and we're sending you this tape so you know, with total, complete certainty, that Laura's breaking up with you."

"It's not a trick," adds Laura, her smile growing wider. "Michael treats me so much better. He don't get off on ordering me around like you do. He never acted like he could buy my love with gifts. Actually, we've been seeing each other for a couple of months now."

She tosses back her hair. "He makes me feel goooood. Better than you ever did, even when I didn't think you were total trash. But that ain't even it-"
"-he's got *time* for me. He's got friends worth seeing, and parents worth knowing. His sister ain't a total bitch and a half, he ain't gonna pull my hair or make me put out on demand, and he-"

Suddenly, the girl vanishes from the tape. "Wha- Laura? Laura!" The cameraman walks forward, and a hand stretches out into the empty air before him. A few moments later, the tape rolls to an end.

"Hmm."

Miles opens the next video without preamble.

It is significantly longer, tallying in at about fifteen minutes. It's an amateur video, again, but it seems like it's in a psychiatrists lounge; Laura is lying on his couch, though she seems significantly worse for the wear.

The psychiatrists seems to be questioning her about an assault for which she has been convicted, one which she repeatedly insists she has no recollection of. "It's the same," she repeats. "I didn't sleep with no Michael, I was never seeing nobody! I saw that tape, and that wasn't me who made it. I wouldn't! I thought I could trust Will, but he made all that up just to get at me..."

It seems that the murdered party was her late husband; the conversation turns to her feelings for him, which can best be described as ambivalent. There is the sense that she had been considering leaving him, but not only was she not certain of her feelings, she also felt that he trapped and stifled her, particularly when it came to restricting when she could go out and what she could do; he was a very controlling man, but apparently also had his caring moments.

The psychiatrist suggests she lashed out in a fit of rage, and points out that these circumstances are very typical for adulterers and divorcees. His words turned out to be appropriate, as they prompted the woman to fly into a frenzy; the tape ends there.

"It's similar enough, if genuine," Miles muses. "What do you think?"

"My first guess is that it was some sort of scam," muses Jenny. "To frame her somehow. Really, every party in this seems kinda crazy. Then again, most murders are done impassioned, and you gotta be pretty crazy to kill someone..."

She purses her lips. "But it's a bit different. I mean, suppose it's not doctored, then why did she just vanish? Nothing went and killed her, soooo."

"It also seems off," Miles adds. "Why invent a relationship with this Michael, which is easily confirmed? It doesn't really make sense to me." He nods at the CD, retrieving his phone. "Want to keep on looking through the rest of this stuff, while I check with the office on what we have on this case?"

"Sure," she replies, sliding over to the computer desk.

<--->

[Corwin]

<--->

While Geoffery and Jenny continue to trawl through a substantial number of disappearance-related videos, Miles receives a muted report over the phone on the Laura Hartwell case. The prosectuor who worked on it, of course, has long since departed the prosecutions office, but his records and notes remain, tucked away in one of the many closed case cabinets.

That Ms. Hartwell comitted the murders seemed beyond a doubt, with multiple witnesses noting her entering her late boyfriend's room during the time of the murder, and she was picked up while at a friend's place nearby, one Eliza Townsfield. Ms. Hartwell was reported to have strongly denied the accusations against her throughout the case, eventually breaking into tears when her verdict was passed down.

The prosecutor notes that the case was unique in that background research into the circumstances revealed conflicting reports of Ms. Hartwell's whereabouts at certain points; none could be substantially proven, however, and the witnesses were considered unreliable due to their friendships with the woman.

What became Ms. Hartwell's fate is of interest to Miles, as well as any information the office might have on her attorney and on Michael, the man who made the tape Miles had just seen.

Laura was set to be imprisoned for thirty years, albeit with a possibility of parole, but ended up comitting suicide in prison long before her term was carried out. Her attorney was one Mark Walker, and Miles is provided with some contact details which have the possibility of being out of date.

Exactly who Michael is is not something that was ever discovered, and the prosecutions notes make no mention of the tape.

Just like the television station, Miles muses. Anything too outlandish to be publicly accepted would just be ignored, and he must admit to himself that if it weren't for his personal involvement in Jenny's case, he might have dismissed such as evidence himself.

The best way to check whether the contact details for Mark Walker are out of date is to use them, which Miles does by ringing up the number.

Miles' initial call takes him to an accounting firm rather than a public attorney, but some improptu detective work soon yields another number on which to contact the man; by this time, it's getting quite dark.

"Walker speaking," comes a gruff, aged voice.

"Mark Walker?" he asks. "This is Miles Reid speaking. Could I have a moment of your time?"

"Go ahead," he replies in a neutral tone.

"I am currently defending a client whose circumstances appear similar to those of Laura Hartwell, whom you represented. Quite frankly, Sir, I have exhausted all my options. My only hope at present is that by following up on Ms. Hartwell's case I could find a way to help my client and for that I would very much like to have your help."

"That was more than twenty years ago," he replies. "If you're just looking for advice, I'm afraid I've retired."

"A woman looking for all intents and purposes just like my client is walking around and committing murders in her name," Miles says. "Was there a line of questioning you could not afford to pursue in court? A lead of some sort that seemed too outlandish at the time? In my circumstances, you might be surprised what I would be willing to believe. Unlike with Ms. Hartwell, my client's double has no apparent intention of stopping, and she might have targetted her as well. The police cannot help me; she already escaped from their custody, quite literally disappearing." He pauses, grimacing at himself. "Mister Walker, I realize how all this must sound. Please, is there anything...?"

Another grimace, and Miles trails off awkwardly.

There is an exhaltion over the line. "Mr. Reid, what exactly are you looking for? If I could not find the answers to my case, I could hardly do the same for yours. Are you suggesting there is some sort of connection between them, beyond a surface similarity?"

"Yes," Miles responds. "I believe there might be a connection of some sort. People don't just disappear on their own while observed and filmed, or spontaneously spawn doubles of themselves. Even if we accept that something so ridiculous has taken place, I would still look at outside influence than believe it was random. Ms. Hartwell was apparently acquainted with a Michael; I have seen two videos of her, one talking happily to him, and the other denying ever knowing him. Do you know who I am referring to? If he was not somehow involved, then perhaps, being close to her, he knew something himself."

"Michael..." he replies, slowly. "I believe that was the alleged name of the man whom she was making a relationship with, yes? She spoke of him to her friends, I believe, and then denied ever meeting him." He sounds frustrated. "I don't believe he was ever involved in the case, but she was insistant they'd never met, like you said."

"That should be possible," Miles agrees, "strange as that sounds. The double of my client sought me out, and she possessed much of her knowledge. Perhaps all of it up to the point where they... split, somehow. Naturally, my client had no knowledge whatsoever of anything this double has done. I want to pursue this possible lead. If the same thing happened to both of them, then perhaps, by tracking down what Ms. Hartwell's double had done and the acquaintences she had kept at the time would allow me to discover just what is going on in my own case. As for this Michael, specifically, a video came into my possession where Ms. Hartwell is shown speaking to him. It was filmed by a Will Sheffield, if the name rings a bell?"

"I believe he was witness to one of her disproved alibis- look, Mr. Reid, you're not suggesting that this was the result of some clever disguise trick, but some sort of clone? That circumstances are magically allowing for my client to be innocent, and that it is the same for yours?"

"Once again, I know how this sounds," Miles admits heavily. "I thought the same as you did. That ended, however, after I had a chat with the double. Forget about looks, she knew things--" He stops abruptly. "But even that pales to the video footage of them together, showing clearly how the double tries to kill my client before disappearing before all the witnesses. I won't lie to you and pretend to be able to clear your client's name, but I believe that she was innocent after seeing what I have. There still might be a chance to see justice done, even after all those years."

"I'm not going presume you're quite right in the head, given the angle you seem to want to take," he replies. "But I can at least know how it feels to want to believe in your client. It was the same for me. And beyond just being an attorney, I felt very sure that Laura was innocent."

He hisses into the phone. "She reacted as one would expect someone falsely accused to act, and given the conflicting reports, I had considered that there might be someone taking her appearance out there. But the prosecutors had all the evidence on their side; a motive, a means, a time. When you must resort to the most unlikely scenarios to disprove guilt, the case is as good as closed. At the time, I hired a detective to investigate the scene, to try and find out what he could about the real murderer."

"I tried the same," Miles volunteers. "After pressing one of the eye witnesses, the man confessed that he saw the woman disappear right out of his cab. I dismissed that at the time-- ah, but you were saying? Did your detective discover something too unlikely to be useful?"

"There was an oddity in the apartment complex in which the man was murdered," he replies. "During the trial, it never came up. The detective claimed that while people saw Laura enter her boyfriends room, she was never witnessed leaving; more to the point, the only way out of the apartment one could take without being seen, at least by the doorman, would be via the window. From the time she entered to the time when the murder was discovered... it felt too short."

"Added to the film I have, that can be seen as a pattern," Miles muses. "Do you know how I can get in touch with Mister Sheffield? I am convinced that the situation is quite similar, and I have no choice but to pursue it, wherever this might lead."

"I'm afraid I don't keep records of every witness involved in every case," replies Mark. "At this point, your best bet is a phone book and a few hours. Or maybe the internet."

"I understand. I believe I will try, yes. Thank you for your time, Mister Walker."

<--->