The end of a long, insane, incredibly stressful week. Three people had died. My only good leads had come and gone. I needed to talk to somebody, so I went up to eight, where the D. A.’s staff was located. Two doors down from the big man himself was Jill’s corner office. The executive corner was dark, offices empty, staff scattered for the weekend. In a way, though I needed to vent, I was sort of hoping Jill – the new Jill – would be at home, maybe picking through swatch books for her baby’s room. But as I approached, I heard the sound of classical music coming from within. Jill’s door was cracked half open. I knocked gently and pushed it in. There was Jill, in her favorite easy chair, knees tucked to her chest and a yellow legal pad resting on them. Her desk was piled high with briefs. “Why are you here?” I asked. “Snagged.”
