Richard Beckett stays by the window. Through the double glazing he barely feels any heat against his shoulder as he stares down at the street. The cars buzz along Century Park East the size of matchbox cars; people heading back to work after lunch, those heading to grab a late lunch in Beverley Hills and then hit up Rodeo Drive. Katherine Rodgers will probably be heading that way for a little retail therapy – Meredith was a great supporter of its healing abilities. Apparently Gucci, Hermés and D&G were all the supportive girlfriends you could want after a hard day.

He waits for a limo to peel off from the straggling lines, but it doesn't. Even if it did, he wouldn't be able to see the entrance from this angle. It was probably too flashy for her anyway since she wanted discretion. How she expects anyone to find her step-father and end this mess without drawing any attention from the outside world, he doesn't know. Over the years he's worked in law, the media attention has only gotten worse. People watch trials like they do baseball games or their favourite soaps.

If she wanted discrete and wanted the man found, he was justified in sending her to the NYPD.

A yellow car pulls of the highway and he finally turns away – like Katherine Rodgers would call a taxi – and finds Lanie in his doorway watching him.

"My next appointment here already?" he asks. He walks back to his chair, tossing the ball of paper he's had scrunched in one hands this whole time.

"Don't even," Lanie warns him, letting herself in.

"I'm sorry?"

"You will be if you don't spill right now. That was Katherine Rodgers!"

"You sure?" he makes a show of settling into his chair and looking for the piece of paper he had scribbled her name on when Lanie unceremoniously dumped the case on him half an hour ago. Picking it up off his desk he holds it at arm's length and reads. "I got her name as…Nikki Heat."

She narrows her eyes. "I will hurt you."

He works his eyebrows. "You promise?"

"Rick," Lanie comes forward, her face serious. "What did she want? Are you taking the case?"

"Not now, Lanie, ok?" he watches her gather herself up. "Please."

She looks at him, really looks and he does a quick check that his face is even enough to postpone her interrogation. With a sigh she drops it and comes to stand behind his chair. "Are you okay?" she asks. Her hands are a comfortable weight on his shoulders.

"Yeah," he brings a hand up to cover hers. "I have a few minutes before the next one gets here and I need to prep, okay? We can talk about the case later."

"You're sure?"

"You sure you can wait that long to get info on her, super fan?" he teases. "Congratulations on not flailing by the way."

She thwacks the side of his head. "Jerk."

"Ah, you love me."

"God knows why."

"Because he has a sense of humour."

"Or she's sadistic," Lanie muttered. "Next time I see Alanis Morissette I'm going to give her a piece of my mind."

"Mr Beckett? The defence's new witness?"

He jumps his eyes up from the short list he's been adding to through the last hour and a half to the small team of people on the couches opposite him. They look expectant but even if he had been paying full attention for the last half hour he wouldn't understand it. He's pretty sure he made his feelings on the matter clear within the first ten minutes.

He sighs. "If he really wants to bust her ass putting another character reference on the stand to waste my time that's fine – I'll make sure he buys me lunch for screwing around. He knows he can't make his client look better. We have the LAPD dept. shrink on hand and an independent willing to testify that Gantz is just the kind of no one with small person disorder to go killing."

"You're not concerned?"

Richard looked over at the speaker. An expensive suit did nothing to tamper Rick's contempt – the guy tanned. In L.A. – for the younger man he had overheard referring to himself as 'the next Richard Beckett'. William Harrison was useless as tits on a bull.

"That they brought out Gantz's mother as their big guns? You have to be joking. Tell your clients they'll get their justice. The evidence is loud and clear on this one. So unless there is anything else you gentlemen would like to discuss, I'll see you in court."

En masse hands push up from knees and the collection of lawyers and cops make their way from the room. One lingers and comes to stand beside him, mutually watching the progress of departure. Richard gets caught a little by surprise whenever he stands next to this detective. Each time he glances to the side to make eye contact he finds himself staring at creased forehead and bristly dark blonde fuzz over a flat head. It's hard to remember the extra half foot of height is only in attitude.

"Hey, kid," the man husks, his throat consensually abused by chain smoking for the last twenty years. Could have stakes in Marlborough by now.

"Royce," Richard replies, stretching out across the now empty couch.

Royce follows. "What've you been up to? Not like you to drop the ball."

"You caught that, huh?" he looks over at the man sprawled in the armchair. "It was a stupid meeting anyway."

"You that cocky? Possible new evidence and you don't care?"

"Confident," Rick replies. "I'm confident."

"And you say it's all ready to go."

Rick scoffs. "Please. My daughter could try this case. Don't worry so much; you arrested the guy and you were thorough."

"He's guilty. I know that; I just hate the political bullshit. I caught him, he did it, he goes away. It should be that simple."

"You've been dating Lady Justice for how long now? You should know she's a very complicated woman."

"Well you would know all about women," Royce shoots back.

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful," Rick pouts. "Can I help it the woman in my life is just as beautiful?"

"She around somewhere?"

"Lanie said she'd pick her up from school today. We had a feeling this meeting might run long."

"That ass Harrison is jumpier than the perp. Ass-kissing suck up that he is, he spends more time covering his ass than he does talking to the families."

"There's always one."

"You going to tell me where your head was the last hour? You got a more exciting case?"

Rick smirks. "You sound jealous."

"That's a yes."

"That's a maybe. Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically, what is it about? Did someone kill someone and not call for me? Rob a bank?"

"Whoa," Rick sits up. "Not so exciting as all that."

Royce looks disappointed. "What? Another divorce?"

"Probably," Rick mutters. "Hey, you heading back to the office?"

Royce nods so Rick fishes out his list from the sheaf of files and paperwork he dumped beside the couch. He passes it to the detective. "You think you could run that name for me?"