"I started a relationship with Jane Rizzoli."

"You want to tell me about it?" Greg Chambers was all therapist now. He had pulled his office chair out from behind the desk to listen better. The late afternoon sun shone in streaks through the shutters, bathing the consulting room in warm, caramel light.

"It just happened. Although I've tried to fight it, especially since Bantling's arrest." He watched her chew the inside of her cheek. She exhaled slowly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"How do you feel about it? Do you want it?" His voice was soft, completely non-judgmental. If there was even the slightest hint of an opinion, she probably would have pulled back, shut up like a clam, kept it all to herself, where her doubts and feelings then ate away at her stomach wall.

"How am I doing? I'm scared, nervous, happy, excited, feeling guilty. All at once. I know I shouldn't have let it get this far, but... My God, Jane is distracting me. Distracts me from all of this. And that's good. Like good therapy, doctor. When I'm with her, I feel that I'm safe with her. Safe. I can't describe it any other way. My security fence, this radar that I always have on... I can shut it all down. Turn it off. That maniac's face finally disappears from my mind, if only for a few hours. I'm far away, and that leaden weight on my heart ... it's gone. I've never had a feeling like that with a person, and I don't want to lose it." She rose from the blue wing chair and paced the room nervously. "But I'm scared, too. Terrified. I don't want to let Jane get too close. There are things she must never know."

"Do you mean yourself, perhaps? You don't want Jane to see your true self? Are you afraid she might not like it?"

"No," Maura replied, frowning. "Yes. Emotionally, I may be able to open up sometime in the future. Share me with Jane, you name it. But there are things, facts, that I just can't tell her right now. Things that Jane could never accept. And I just don't think a relationship built on half-truths can work."

"Are you talking about the rape?" he echoed. "Maybe you could grow together on that."

"Not only that. There are a few more things I don't want to talk about here. Not yet." Maura thought about what medical confidentiality didn't cover, planned crimes. Withholding evidence, influencing witnesses, subornation of perjury. These were all felonies. She had to be very careful now with what she said.

"Did you get intimate with Jane?"

The question made Maura uncomfortable. Dr. Chambers was in professional contact with everyone involved. Unconsciously, she stood behind her chair. "Yes," she replied.

"And?"

"And it was -" Maura hesitated for a moment, as if something occurred to her, "it was nice. It didn't happen right away. We went out to dinner together that night, after the ... After the incident at the jail."

"After Bantling and his lawyer talked to you?"

"Yes. That night." She had told Chambers about Bantling's claim. But she hadn't told him about Rubio's accusation that she was knowingly withholding evidence. "I couldn't go home. I needed company. I was panicking ... everything was suddenly back like it was yesterday, and I just couldn't come home to an empty house. I know that's not a good basis for a relationship ... Anxiety ... But we didn't make love that night either. We just had dinner together. Spent time together. Actually, it had started much earlier. I needed Jane near me that night. I can't explain it." She went to the window and looked out through the slits in the shutters onto the busy street, where the rush hour traffic was just beginning. Busy people rushed back and forth, going about their lives. "Well. Somehow it just happened then. Slowly. Last night. I hadn't been with anyone since the stockbroker a few years ago, and honestly, I didn't know it could be that nice. It was warm and tender, and it was nice. But even in the pitch dark, I was afraid of what Jane would think of my scars, what she would think -" She thought of the bedroom and Jane's warm hands tenderly stroking her back as the detective gently kissed her, how their tongues touched, Jane's fingers opening her blouse after Maura pulled Jane's shirt over her head, how Jane pressed her chest against hers.

And she remembered the nervous embarrassment that suddenly rose in her, knowing that Jane would feel the scars. Maybe even see them when Jane's eyes adjusted to the darkness, the ugly bulging lines zigzagging across her breasts and stomach.

They had drunk two or three bottles of wine, too much wine, and watched the stars in the sky. Wine and nice conversation. Maura was relaxed and at ease, happy for the first time in ages. And when Jane leaned over to her on the terrace and kissed her against the moonlit trees in the background, she didn't resist. Maura pressed herself against the detective, and finally, they ended up in the darkness of her bedroom. Jane's exploratory hands excited Maura's body and frightened her head. But then the Italian had taken off her blouse, her bra, and caressed her without saying anything. Not even had she hesitated. Jane kissed her in the darkness, and their bodies swayed in a slow dance to soundless music, as if nothing in the world mattered. And in the morning, when Maura woke up, Jane was still there, playing with her hair on the back of her neck.

" - But she didn't mind," Maura continued. "She didn't say anything. I knew Jane could feel the scars, so I told her they were from a car accident. It just slipped out."

"And what was her reaction?"

"She asked me if it still hurt. She asked me if it hurt when she touched it. I said no, but it had been a long time since I had been with anyone. And then we made love. Very slowly, very tenderly -" Maura grew quiet. "I shouldn't tell you about that. It's very intimate, and you know the people involved. But you're the only one who knows the whole story, Greg ... Dr. Chambers. I know I'm falling in love with Jane. Maybe I'm already in love. I need you to tell me if it's foolish to give it a chance."

"Only you can know that, Maura."

"I can't even bring myself to tell her about the rape. And she can never know it was Boogeyman. I have so many secrets, have to lie so much -"

"What about the motion to dismiss? Don't you say your rape is detailed there? Won't Jane know about everything when the motion is filed?"

"Yes, in the original motion Sarah gave me, there was an exact description of the rape. But I think after the conversation on the street outside the jail, she got second thoughts. At least for now. Because in the application that she actually filed then, there's not a word about it. Chaskel is hearing her next Tuesday. Halloween, of all days. Of course, she can still surprise me then and put Bantling on the stand. If that happens, Jane would find out about the rape at the same time as the public."

"And how does that idea make you feel? Your inability to control events?"

"I'm not in control of anything, it seems. But I can't let go of this case, and I won't. But if it happens and I break down in front of the whole world, I hope ... well, it would be nice if you were there then. Because if Bantling testifies, I might go crazy again."

"If you want me to be there, I'll be there."

Maura was relieved. At least she would have one person on her side if everything fell apart. "You'll have to come early to get another seat, the show is hot. CBS pitches its tent the night before, I hear."

He laughed.

She thought out loud. "Maybe Sarah does have a conscience. Maybe she thinks her client is lying about the rape. Or maybe she just thinks it's a bad defense strategy. I guess we'll find out on Tuesday."

Dr. Chambers folded his hands under his chin and propped his elbows loosely on his knees.

"I'm glad you've decided to resume therapy, Maura. I want to see you here regularly on Wednesday nights, at least while the trial is going on. I think this thing may be more exhausting than you realize."

Maura smiled. "Do I look like I'm going crazy? Am I rolling my eyes? Do I still sound intelligible to a non-lawyer?"

"Let's not get into that. You can't share what's happening with anyone, and that's a factor in favor of a weekly session. It has nothing to do with going crazy again, as you put it."

Maura nodded nervously. If the metamorphosis started all over again, would she recognize the signs, or would someone have to point them out to her? "I'm sorry," she said softly, "that I dropped out of therapy last spring ... without ... without talking to you about it. I wanted to see if I could handle my life on my own -"

"You don't have to explain anything to me. I understand. The important thing is, you realized you needed help, that you couldn't get through this thing alone." Then, after an embarrassed pause, he changed the subject. "How are you coming along with the case?"

"Everything is starting to fit together. The FBI has backed off a little. I think de la Flors is waiting to see what happens with the motion. If I lose, he'll crucify me publicly and then jump in himself as a saving angel with a lawsuit. If I win, he may do the exact same thing. Depending on which way the political wind is blowing. I got Bantling's medical history from New York," she continued. "The diagnosis, at least. Chaskel looked at the records and decided that unless Bantling pleads not guilty, only the diagnosis is relevant. Anyway, this gives me another piece of evidence linking him to Anna Prado and the other six women in whom Haloperidol was found. His psychiatrist prescribed twenty milligrams of Haldol a day."

"That's an extremely high dosage. Was he still receiving treatment from this doctor?"

"With Dr. Fineburg? Occasionally. Often enough that he was getting his refill every three months."

"And what was the diagnosis?"

Maura stood up now, sighing. "Borderline personality disorder with extreme and violent antisocial swings. In other words, he's a complete sociopath. Like I needed a medical professional to confirm that for me."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tuesday morning was oppressively hot. A warm front had been hanging over Boston for two days. Jane stood outside the courthouse, the T-shirt under her blazer now clinging to her body. It was 9:45 a.m.; she was almost late.

She had cut short her meeting with Lieutenant Cavanaugh because she felt she was needed here. Maura hadn't asked her to be here and probably never would, but the detective knew she had to be. Jane had seen often enough how Maura reacted when there was talk of Bantling, and her odd behavior when forced to be in the same room with the guy had caught the Italian's eye. Naked fear was written in Maura's eyes, and she began to tremble every time. As she prepared for the hearing over the last few days, Jane could feel Maura pulling away from her, how tormented she was. Maura didn't want to talk to Jane about it, blaming it on the outside pressures that came with any murder trial. The lawyer had so much to lose if she failed. Too much. So Jane still didn't know more, only that she didn't think it was stress alone that made Maura look so anxious. So Jane had decided that she had to be here, despite all Maura's objections, to escort the blonde through the loud, jostling, unruly press mob, past the curious onlookers and those hoping behind a smile that Maura would fall. Jane would be at her side as the prosecutor fought the unseen ghosts she kept from Jane.

The glass door of the building opened. Maura stopped when she spotted the detective, the Italian seeing her surprise even through her large sunglasses. Maura wore a well-fitting black suit, her honey blonde hair tied into a loose knot. Over her shoulder hung her heavy briefcase, and behind her, she pulled a trolley with three boxes of files.

"I thought I'd help you carry it," the brunette finally said.

"And I thought you had a meeting with Cavanaugh," the lawyer replied slowly.

"I did. But this seemed more important."

It was still all so new, the relationship that was developing between them. Even though they had spent last night together, now they were both embarrassed. Jane wasn't sure what direction this was all going in or what she actually wanted. But it was clear to her that Maura had a problem with appearing in public together with the detective. So Jane kept an unobtrusive distance as they walked silently side by side over to the courthouse, pulling the fully loaded little cart behind Maura.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Victor Chavez was nervous. Sweating, he watched the damn reporters flock together. Like vultures. They were just waiting for someone to screw up the case, wanted to be the first to report it. He sat on the bench outside courtrooms 2-8 and waited to be called. All the world was gathered here. All the world was watching. His sergeant, the lieutenant, the guys from town.

It wasn't even his first court date as a witness. On the contrary, it was the third criminal trial in which he had had to testify, and so far everything had always gone smoothly. But the Boogeyman case was of a different caliber, of course. And in the previous cases, he hadn't made such a total mess of things either. Now he was called by the defense as a witness in this bullshit motion to dismiss the whole case. It was about his vehicle stop. His search. The guy is driving around Boston with a dead body in his trunk, and the vehicle check was supposed to have been illegal? What was all that shit about anyway?

Sgt. Ribero practically never let him out of his sight since the incident. Man, he even had to sign out when he just went for a piss while on duty, and it was really getting on his nerves to be watched. But he knew everything would be much worse if he failed now, in the coming hour, in front of the cameras. Then he wouldn't only be out of his job. There would also be a case against him. And the damn lunatic would go free. He had to stick to the story very carefully.

That was the hardest part. Remembering every damn detail, exactly as the prosecutor had drilled it into him, in exactly the same order. That's the problem with tall tales, his mother used to say, you forget what you've told. Especially because everyone always wanted to hear from him about what had happened that night and how he'd caught the Boogeyman. Not just in court. Everyone, everywhere, wanted to know everything. Neighbors, school friends, strangers on the street. The girls in the bars, at the pool. He was something of a celebrity. The cop who caught the Boogeyman. And even if the sergeant had told him to keep his mouth shut, it wasn't the sergeant, after all, that the girls wanted to give him a blowjob when he told them the story. How he, Victor Chavez, although still on probation, had caught the worst serial killer in America practically single-handedly and only by instinct.

But now the clock was running out, and he had to have every detail right. Every little detail. Everything was whirring in his head like a rewound tape.

With clammy hands, he sat on the bench in his BPD uniform, waiting to plunge into the abyss, when the door opened and the bailiff called his name in a loud voice.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bantling, in his orange jumpsuit, was already seated next to Lourdes Rubio at the defense table when Maura entered the courtroom. She felt his gaze as she walked past the bench to the prosecution table and, with Jane's help, unpacked the files. Although she didn't look at him, she knew he was smiling. Concentrate. Concentrate. Just like any other case.

Jane sat down behind the lawyer, between Korsak and Jim Fulton in the front row. Chris Masterson and Eddie Bowman arrived late and just managed to grab a seat in the very back next to Greg Chambers. Across the courtroom, she spotted the Blues Brothers: Carmedy, Stevens, and bandleader Gracker, dressed as usual in black suits, his black sunglasses tucked in his breast pocket. Even if Maura couldn't make him out, she was sure de la Flors was there too, or at least his assistants. They probably had the indictment from the federal prosecutor's office already in their pockets, in case Maura lost. As usual, every television station was represented, with cameras all over the hall. And, of course, newspaper reporters from every major paper in the country. Full house.

Rubio hadn't looked at the prosecutor when she came in but deliberately delved into her papers. Maura didn't know what to expect from the other woman today, and that wasn't a pleasant feeling. Now the judge's door opened, and Hank, the bailiff, called out, "Court is in session. The Honorable Judge Leopold Chaskel III presides. Take your seats and quiet, please. No cell phones."

Judge Chaskel sat down and wasted no time in speeches or announcements; he didn't even seem to notice the excited journo. After ten years as a prosecutor and another ten years on the bench, he had seen it all and reading his name in the newspaper no longer interested him. It was just an annoying side effect of his job. He turned to Rubio and immediately began.

"Well, Ms. Rubio, we're here today to hear your motion to dismiss for an unlawful vehicle stop and search in the case of Massachusetts vs. William Bantling. I have read your motion. Please, let's get started. Call your first witness."

Because the motion had been made by the defense, the defense also bore the burden of proof. It had to prove that the vehicle stop had been illegal, rather than the State proving otherwise. And, of course, the proof could only come from witnesses who had been on the scene. Rubio's first witness was Boston Police Officer Victor Chavez.

Chavez entered the courtroom through the large mahogany door and nodded solemnly to Judge Chaskel before taking his seat on the witness stand. He adjusted his uniform tie and cleared his throat, then the courtroom fell silent.

Rubio arranged her papers, and after seconds of silence, she rose from her seat next to Bantling and walked over to the witness stand. At that moment, cold fear gripped Chavez, his mouth went dry, and he knew it was all over.

It had been a few weeks since he and his brother had roamed the bars of South Boston. They had also stopped at the Clevelander, the club from which Morgan Weber had disappeared. And as always, when word got out that he was there, the cop who'd caught the Boogeyman, he'd been surrounded by women, all wanting to know exactly how it had happened. Whether he was armed. Where he would have the gun. Whether they could look at the back seat of his patrol car. It was just unbelievable. So many women that there were even some left for his brother. And that night had been no exception.

As soon as they were seated, a cute redhead in a tight pink skirt came up to the table with her dark-haired friend, sat down, and wanted to know all about the arrest from the Boogeyman. Chavez had already had a few drinks, and they kept drinking; he felt big. His brother was so drunk he could barely walk if he remembered correctly. And the redhead had been totally hot for him, practically sucking every word from his lips.

Now Chavez sat on the hard wooden bench, every eye in the crowded courtroom on him, every camera rolling, and he knew he'd blown it for good. Drops of sweat gathered on his forehead and rolled down his temples. He could feel it running wetly down his collar, and he chewed on his dry lips.

The petite criminal defense attorney now standing in front of him in a conservative gray suit, her arms crossed in front of her chest, was the dark-haired friend from the Clevelander.

And she had heard every word.

What had he said? What on earth had he said? He remembered blurry, slurred sentences. Of a thousand and one fairy tale, which one had he told? Which version did she know? He had been so drunk that by the end of the night he barely knew his own name.

"Please tell us who you are," she began.

"Victor Chavez. Boston Police Department," he stammered. Loosely. Very nonchalant.

"How long have you been an officer with the Boston Police Department?"

"Uh, since January. January of this year."

"Let's get right to the chase, officer. On September nineteenth of this year, the day my client William Bantling was arrested, you had the shift from 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. Is that correct?"

"Yes. That is correct."

"Just for the record: You were the officer who stopped his car, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"What events led to you stopping Mr. Bantling's car?"

Chavez looked around for help as if hoping someone would tell him the answer.

"In other words, what happened that night, officer?" Chavez looked down at his report, but Rubio stopped him. "In your own words, officer, from memory, if that's possible."

Maura rose. "Objection. The witness has the right to see documents that will help him remember."

Judge Chaskel leaned forward and looked skeptically down at Chavez. "He hasn't told the court yet that he needs a memory aid, Ms. Isles. Besides, Officer, I imagine it was the biggest day of your law enforcement career, and you'll remember practically every second of the evening. Why don't we try it without the report for now and see how far we get with it?"

Maura held her breath, trying to avoid the look of exasperation on the officer's face.

"I was on patrol. Down by the main road, when I saw the Jaguar, it was speeding south toward the highway. So I went after him. I followed him for a while, on the highway, watching him. Then, without signaling, he changed lanes, and I saw that one of his taillights wasn't working. So I pulled him over. I went to his car, right in front of the Boston Globe- skyscraper, and asked him for his license. He seemed nervous, you know, so erratic, and he was sweating. When I went back to my car with his license, I looked at his taillight. And as I did, I saw something that looked, um, like blood. On the bumper. I gave him back his license, and in the process, I smelled marijuana in his car. I, uh, I asked him, Bantling, if I could look in his trunk, and he said no. So I called the K-9 unit and backup. Beauchamp from BPD came with his dog Butch, and Butch was going all crazy on the trunk. Sorry, I meant to say he gave a bark. So we broke into the trunk and found the girl's body."

"You were alone on patrol, or was there someone else with you?"

"I was alone."

"How fast was Mr. Bantling driving when he first caught your eye?"

"He was going about 40 mph, in a zone where 25 mph was allowed."

"Did you measure his speed with a radar device?"

"No."

"Oh. Did you follow him, noting on your own speedometer that he was going about 40 mp/h?"

"No." Chavez shifted uneasily in his seat.

"Where exactly were you, Officer Chavez, when you first noticed this gross speeding? This bandit speeding a full fifteen mph too fast down Main Street in a new Jaguar?"

"I was on Main Street."

"Which way were you facing?"

"My car was facing east. I was on the corner."

"You weren't in your patrol car at all? So, if I understand you correctly, Officer, you were not using a radar, you were not following my client in your patrol car, but you were standing on a street corner when you saw this car that was slightly over the speed limit?"

"Yes."

"And just nine months after you graduated from the police academy, you can see with the naked eye that this black car is going about fifteen mph over the limit?"

"Yes. Yes, I could. He kept changing lanes in heavy traffic. He was endangering other road users." Like out of the manual.

"And what were you doing on that corner?"

"I settled a dispute between a couple of kids."

"And you let the arguing kids back up, who were probably going to fight, jumped in your patrol car, which was parked the other way, and then what did you do?"

"I, uh, I followed your client onto the highway."

"How did you get on the freeway access road to follow my client onto the highway?"

"I went down Sixth Street, then across Collins onto Fifth, crossed Washington, and got on the highway."

"As you drove down Sixth Street, you lost sight of my client, I suspect." Chavez nodded. "Please speak into the microphone, Officer Chavez, nodding your head isn't enough for the tape."

"Yes. I lost track of him. I found him again, though. Pretty quick. The same car with the same license plate, on the highway." Chavez wasn't only becoming noticeably more uncomfortable; he was obviously beginning to hate Sarah Rubio. His answers were terse, sharp.

"Was he still driving at excessive speed then?"

"Uh, yeah. He was going about sixty-three mph where fifty was allowed."

"But you didn't pull him over right away, did you?"

"No."

"Approximately how many miles did you drive on the highway before you came to the decision that he posed such a danger to the citizens of Boston that you needed to pull him over?"

"About three miles. I stopped him in front of the Boston Globe before he was out of my jurisdiction."

"I see, and did he stop immediately?"

"Yes."

"Did he attempt to flee?"

"No."

"But you say he was erratic, sweaty, and nervous when you got to his car?"

"Yes."

"About the same as you are now?"

Low laughter rose in the hall.

"Objection." Maura rose again.

"Touché. Ms. Rubio, go ahead," Judge Chaskel said.

"And then did you look at the taillight that suddenly caught your eye after a three-mile chase?"

"No. I had noticed the broken taillight as soon as I rediscovered him on the highway."

"And that's when you saw the blood on the bumper."

"Well, it looked like blood. It was a dark stain. Later it turned out it was, the girl's blood."

"What time was that, officer?"

"About 8:25 p.m."

"Did you have a flashlight with you?"

"No. It was in the car."

"And at 8:25 p.m., in the headlights of passing traffic, you could see a dark spot on this man's bumper and automatically assumed it was blood?"

"Yes. It was bright enough from the streetlights. The stain was dark and sticky. Just like blood."

"And then you went back to Bantling and gave him back his driver's license?"

"Yes."

"Did you draw your gun?"

"No."

"Even though you discovered bloodstains, my client was supposedly nervous and erratic, and you suspected something was wrong, you didn't draw your gun?"

"No. Not then. It wasn't until I found the dead girl in his trunk that I drew my gun."

"You've already reported to the court that there was a body in his trunk, officer. More than once, but that's not what this is about at all."

Chavez pulled himself together. "When I got back to Mr. Bantling, I smelled marijuana in the car," he said.

"The car was thoroughly searched that night, wasn't it, Officer Chavez?"

"Yes."

"And no trace of marijuana was found, was there?"

"Apparently he had smoked it, ma'am. He probably swallowed the butt before I gave him his license back." Chavez was annoyed. She was making a complete fool of him.

Sarah Rubio looked urgently at the young police officer. Then she turned to Maura as she asked him the next question. "What did you really think you were going to find in that trunk, Officer Chavez?"

"Drugs, weapons ... I didn't know for sure. But I knew something was fishy. That dog was crazy; scratched up the whole rear end with his paws."

"Isn't that what you were expecting all along, Officer? Finding drugs?"

Maura's hands began to tingle.

"No. I pulled him over for speeding. He was violating the traffic laws. Later, additional factors added to my suspicion that he was smuggling drugs or weapons in his trunk. The dog confirmed that."

"Let's be honest, officer. Didn't you suspect he was carrying drugs from the moment you saw the Jaguar on Main Street?"

"Objection," Maura exclaimed with a deep frown. "The question has already been asked and answered."

"Overruled. Let the witness answer," Judge Chaskel said.

Now Chavez remembered what he had told the redhead in the bar, but it was too late. She had backed him into a corner. His whole career as a cop now depended on his answer. "No. I pulled him over for speeding."

"Where do you get off getting in the way of settling an argument, getting in your car, and catching a speeder? What did your instincts whisper to you? Or maybe a third party had told you that you would find something in the trunk?"

She knew about the caller. Maura jumped to her feet. "Objection! The question has been asked and answered."

"Overruled. Let's move on, Ms. Rubio."

"He was driving too fast. That was the reason. Nothing else." Chavez wouldn't back down. From here on out, it was war. Unless she had evidence. "And then your client, when I finally get a look in the trunk, has a body lying in there."

"You fucking liar," Bantling suddenly said very loudly and audibly. Sarah Rubio left Chavez standing there and turned to her client in horror.

"Mr. Bantling, please don't interrupt the testimony. And this court will not tolerate that language," Chaskel rebuked him sharply. He had heard about Bantling's performance at the preliminary hearing and wouldn't allow such things, not in his courtroom.

Now Bantling stood up, his leg irons rattling. "I'm sorry, Your Honor, but he's a liar. They're all lying. Just look at him."

"That's enough, Mr. Bantling. Sit down."

"I have something to say, Your Honor." Bantling stared at Maura, and a smarmy smile spread across his face. "There's something I should let the court know about."

Maura felt the room begin to spin, and she tried to cling to the pen in her hand. She avoided Bantling's gaze and looked at the judge. Now was the moment when everything would come crashing down. How would it feel to stand in the pillory in front of all those people? With bated breath, she waited for Bantling's next sentence.

"Everything the court needs to know, your defense will tell us. Sit down, Mr. Bantling, or you'll have to leave the courtroom. Ms. Rubio, is there anything else?"

Sarah Rubio watched as her client was ordered back to his seat by two burly prison officers. All the while, he stared incessantly at the prosecutor. He enjoyed the cat-and-mouse game he was playing with her. I know something you don't. But Rubio wouldn't let him enjoy himself. Not today. Not with her. "Nothing further, Your Honor," she said curtly and sat down.