"Hand me that law report — the other one — the other other one — that's it."

Colleen took the volume down and put it in McCoy's reaching hand. "Can I look something up for you, Mr McCoy?"

"If I knew what I was looking for, Mrs James, that would be the case. Unfortunately, I don't." He leafed through the volume. "I'm sure I made a similar argument on admissibility in a case I handled two years ago, and I won. Which case was it, though …" He raked his fingers through his hair and then scrubbed his hand over his face. "I'm getting old, Mrs James, or jaded, or both, if I can't remember a motion I myself wrote and argued."

"Two years ago?" Colleen asked. McCoy nodded. "Do you remember the judge?"

"That I do remember. It was Louis Fenderman. His fly was down and every time he stood up from his desk I got a glimpse of the judicial boxers."

Closing her eyes, Colleen concentrated. Two years ago, Fenderman. McCoy. The words rose up in front of her as clear as they had been as her fingers depressed the keys of her Remington and the type-hammers had stamped them black against the white page. "The People's submission on defense motion in limine in the matter of the State of New York against Brian Pope, Supreme Court Criminal Term, Part forty-one, Judge Louis Fenderman presiding."

"That's amazing, Mrs James," McCoy said.

She opened her eyes. McCoy was running his finger down the table of contents. "Don't you want to know what you argued?"

His finger went still, and he looked up. "You remember?"

Colleen nodded. "As per State of Arizona against Michael Towson, upheld by the Supreme Court in Towson versus Arizona —"

When she'd finished, McCoy grinned at her. "You have a photographic memory," he said matter-of-factly.

Colleen shook her head. "Oh, no, I have a terrible memory." If she had a good memory, she'd remember the things that upset Dan and not do them. "I'm terribly forgetful."

"Mrs James, you just recited a motion you typed for me two years ago. I bet it was word perfect, too."

"That's just …" She shrugged. "I remember what I type."

"All of it?" McCoy asked.

"A lot of it," Colleen hedged.

McCoy leaned sideways and yanked open the bottom drawer of his desk. "You," he said as he produced a bottle of scotch and two glasses, "are what I believe people call 'an untapped resource'. Your discovery deserves a drink."

"Oh, no, Mr McCoy," Colleen said quickly. "I don't drink."

His eyebrow went up, and then he frowned. "Let me guess. Mr James doesn't like it?"

"He …" Colleen paused. "He prefers if I …"

McCoy leaned back in his chair. "Your husband's not here, Mrs James."

"He'll smell it. On my breath, when I get home."

"And he'll be unhappy." McCoy uncapped the bottle slowly, and splashed a half-inch in the bottom of one of the glasses.

"Yes."

"And you'll do anything to keep your husband from being unhappy with you, won't you?"

Colleen made herself smile. "Wouldn't any wife?" she said brightly.

McCoy shook his head. "Not every wife has your reasons, Mrs James." He tossed back the scotch. "And you need to know that no wife should."

"I don't know what you think you mean," Colleen said quickly. She got to her feet. "If that's all, Mr McCoy, it's getting late and I —"

"Don't want to keep Mr James waiting," McCoy said.

"No." Colleen went to the coat-rack and grabbed her handbag.

McCoy smiled, with absolutely no humor. "It doesn't do to keep Mr James waiting."

"I don't want to discuss my marriage with you, Mr McCoy," Colleen said. "It's not appropriate."

Or safe.

She picked up her coat and hurried out the door.