Chapter 1

His computer took forever to download the video, and he waited with one hand looped impatiently through his coffee mug. With the announcement of Aaron Echolls' murder trial date only moments away, Sheriff Don Lamb knew that things in Neptune were about to get crazy. The media were all over these kind of events like white on rice; it wouldn't take long for the place to become a zoo. The video started playing when it felt like it, the weathered but still attractive face of Channel 9's most experienced reporter, Hallie Dawson, looking straight down the tube. There was an inset picture of the accused, washed-up former blockbuster action star Aaron Echolls.

"I'm here at the Balboa County courthouse, where Judge Peters has just handed down a trial date in the case of the murder of Lilly Kane, the daughter of Californian software magnate Jake Kane." A picture of Lilly Kane splashed onto the screen, Dawson's voice droning with mechanical professionalism over the top of it. Lamb had seen enough, even though he needed to hear the story. He spun in his office chair as the background elements of the tragic tale unfolded, keeping the audience in suspense of what they actually wanted to know: the damn trial date.

So much had happened since the death of that one rich kid. Keith Mars had been ousted as Sheriff, over his inability to make an arrest and the manner in which he had all but harassed the victim's family. Lamb had enjoyed an immediate promotion, and had promptly scraped together enough evidence to arrest - and convict - his favourite suspect of the crime. The bad man had been taken to prison and society had one less psychopath, or so he had thought, until the unmentionable had happened. A short, blonde unmentionable, who was a little too apt to poke her nose where it didn't belong.

Aaron Echolls had been placed in custody for his attack on Miss Veronica Mars and her father, the former Sheriff. New evidence came to light. There were tapes of Echolls and Lilly Kane together - sex tapes. Veronica's statement, together with her and her father's medical reports, had been the corroboration required to keep Echolls in custody. Shouldering the frame of the window in his second-story office, Lamb looked out at the main strip of Neptune below. Strangely, there was a crowd of reporters gathered in front of the building. Dawson was just winding to a close, over by his keyboard.

"Mr Echolls has been unavailable to comment on the case. With the obviously troubled star's future in the balance while he remains in police custody, fans can only hope that the trial - set down for September 17th - delivers some kind of relief for Echolls and his career. Back to you in the studio, Robyn." September? Jesus. Lamb snorted into his coffee, and took another swig. He couldn't feel sorry for Echolls, or any of the other 09er hierarchy. That he was forced to pay lip service to them and see to the trivial problems they always came running to him with was just another nail in his already heavily decorated coffin. He didn't know whether Echolls was guilty of murdering Lilly Kane or not. As long as the damn file was closed for good, he could get some sleep at night.

A sleek silver sedan pulling up in front of the crowd outside diverted his attention. He leaned closer to the window, eyes cast down to better survey the situation and see whether or not he would need to send Sacks out there to break it up. The press all moved to look into the windows of the car, just as a professional-looking woman got out. Squinting into the afternoon sun that bathed the avenue, he tried to see the licence plate of the car. He swallowed hastily when he recognised it was from the District Attorney's vehicle pool.

"Je-sus." He shoved his cup onto the window ledge and made a beeline for the door.

"Sheriff, I think that something's going on-" Inga, their office aide, called out to him in her thick Swedish brogue as he streaked past her for the stairs.

"Got it," was his terse reply.

###

Whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been this. Reporters spread themselves around the car as she pulled in to the kerb, swarming like angry bees shaken from their hive. Amanda scrabbled for her purse and her briefcase as camera lenses were pressed almost to the glass of the car windows, flashes popping. If she'd thought they'd back off when they realised she was just the Assistant District Attorney then she had been wrong for the second time; it seemed that the paps were happy to converge on anyone as long as they managed to get their pound of flesh. Even though she was grateful that her boss was working the really disturbing, sensitive case in the northern parts of the county, she suddenly wished that she hadn't been assigned to lay the ground work on this one.

She bit the bullet, flinging open the door despite the reporters hovering around it. The buzz of their questions surrounded her and she blocked them out, holding out her briefcase to gain a little room as she dragged herself from the car and slammed the door shut behind her. The walkway from the kerb to the doors of the Sheriff's Office wasn't exactly drawn out, but running through a gauntlet of hard-nosed reporters wasn't on the top of her to do list. Knowing that the sooner she got inside the better off she would be, Amanda drew her lips into a determined line and started that unmistakable march people used when attempting to avoid questions they had no intention of answering.

"Miss O'Malley! Is there a reason why your boss isn't here? Isn't the murder trial of the decade enough to draw him away from a case in Uranus?" She ignored the man and moved resolutely past him. Unfortunately the reporters were like weeds - get rid of one, and a half dozen more sprang up in their place hardier than ever. With a couple of microphones thrust in her face, Amanda tried to sidestep on the path and found with dismay that she was surrounded.

"No comment," she commented to the throng at large, using her briefcase as a way to shove them out of her path. She felt it connect with someone's knee, and she might have felt a tiny bit sorry about that, if it had meant they were human enough to feel it and get out of her way.

"Miss O'Malley are you concerned with what some might term as your 'questionable experience'? Surely it's a big break for your career to be working on a case like this, but there are some members of the community who would feel more comfortable if a more seasoned prosecutor were to take the helm."

That struck a nerve. She had worked her ass off to get where she was, and she wouldn't take some bitchy rag-writer's crap. Amanda rounded on the reporter, a brassy redhead who wore far too much makeup, and opened her mouth to let fly with the pert retort that was already on her lips. She was saved from making a damaging career mistake when her briefcase was lifted quickly out of her hands, effectively sidetracking her. She looked at the Sheriff - a man she knew by reputation only - who held her briefcase out with much more authority than she would have been able to manage and slipped an arm around her shoulders politely in order to guide her through the mob. She was momentarily grateful for the interference and allowed herself to be herded towards the door.

And then he said, with a smirk, "No further questions." And mostly she thought he was a dick.