Ashlyn O'Laighin grimaced and put down the paper cup of dark liquid in front of her in disgust. Whatever the vending machine in the lawyers' room spat out, it was anything but coffee. With her right hand, she unbuttoned the first two buttons of her light blue blouse. She had been waiting in vain for almost an hour now for the announcement of her next appointment, the hearing of a serious assault case. And just now, she had learned from the sergeant that she would have to wait at least another hour, which hadn't improved her mood. As so often, the proceedings in court were delayed today because too many appointments had been scheduled at too short intervals. Ashlyn reached for her cell phone to inform her office she would be late when something else caught her attention.

A blonde woman in her thirties, wearing designer jeans and a light-colored blouse, had been talking at the female guard for a few minutes at the entrance to the attorneys' room. Her tone of voice became increasingly impatient, and now it looked like an argument was about to break out between the two.

Officer Jennifer Andersen was slowly reaching the limits of her patience – and that was saying something. She had been the excellent soul guarding the entrance to the lawyers' room for over twenty years, and no one had ever gotten past her without authorization. She performed her task calmly and as reliably as a Swiss watch. But now, even she seemed on the verge of losing her composure. Her dark eyes sparkled behind her simple black glasses, which contrasted with her hair, which was tightly coiffed back. But the blonde woman simply would not be put off.

Strange, she doesn't fit in here at all, thought Ashlyn. Overdressed, too insistent, it doesn't make sense somehow.

But that's precisely what piqued her curiosity. She loved the unusual. Without further ado, she pushed aside the paper cup of vending machine brew and went to Andersen.

"Again, I need a lawyer. Understand that this is an emergency. A mistake has been made here, and my husband is now in jail," the blonde woman tried again. She sounded desperate and seemed on the verge of a breakdown.

"I can only repeat myself, ma'am," Andersen replied like a mantra. "This is not a law firm; you are in court. The lawyers are waiting for their next case, and certainly not for you. Please call the number I gave you. That's the Boston Criminal Defense Legal Aid hotline. They will definitely help you."

The blonde woman shook her head and still wouldn't be shaken off. Just as she was about to make another attempt, Ashlyn intervened. She looked at the woman trustingly before saying calmly, "My name is Ashlyn O'Laighin. Let's take a few steps." She pointed with her right hand toward the hallway outside the attorney's room and gave the officer an unobtrusive wink.

At first irritated and then visibly relieved, she returned the attorney's gaze. Andersen seemed glad to be rid of the troublesome person but obviously didn't understand why Ashlyn had taken the matter. Then she shrugged her shoulders and went back to her actual work.

Ashlyn gently but firmly pushed the woman out of the entrance and looked her up and down. Classically dressed, expensive but straightforward. Over thirty but not yet forty. Self-confident but desperate. And obviously, without any plan. "Well, then tell me, what brought you here?"

First, she had to take a deep breath. Then the stranger said, "My name is Brandt. My husband Nicholas is innocently in prison."

Ashlyn listened to the woman's story, and after more than thirty minutes, she suddenly realized what kind of situation she had gotten herself into.

xxx

So this is where I'll be spending the next few months, thought Nicholas Brandt as the heavy cell door slammed shut behind him. No Holiday Inn, but at least I'm alone.

He had known that he would end up in prison. But he had not imagined what it would really be like behind bars. Fortunately, his fear that they would put him in a cell with another inmate, possibly a felon or a rapist, had not come true.

His eyes fell on the simple steel-framed bed. The moss-green paint was chipped in most places, and the mattress had seen better days. He carefully lowered himself onto it and stretched. Musty. Old. Worn out. A glance at his left wrist reminded him that they had also taken his watch. Just like everything else. What time was it, anyway? It had been a while since lunch. It must be after 2 p.m., he guessed. Whatever. He was drained. He hadn't slept a wink on his first night in an access cell – he was between total exhaustion and constant tension. Too many thoughts were racing around in his head, and he couldn't get any of them to end.

How was Lily doing? He loved her so much. Even before she was born, he had designed and furnished her room. The walls were pink, a mobile was above the changing table, and even a rocking horse was waiting for the baby to arrive. Full of joy, he had resolved to be a father that the little girl could be proud of. A cool father. But also a rock. He wanted to play soccer with her. And horse riding. And climbing. Maybe something technical? How about building something out of wood? With a saw and nails. He wanted to do all that with her. And then she was there. So pretty. And so innocent.

But everything turned out quite differently. Fate had struck ruthlessly. He was devastated. Of course, it wasn't Lily's fault. She was just a tiny little creature. His little darling! Just a month ago, she celebrated her sixth birthday.

He had done all of this for her and only for her. In the beginning, everything was quite simple. After all, nobody was harmed. Quite the opposite. At the time, he had convinced himself he was entitled to it. After all, the state was letting them down. And nobody noticed. Not even Anja. He explained that they suddenly had more money with a promotion And lucrative consulting contracts. It only became more complicated later. He had desperately tried to explain this to his contact. They would otherwise be found out. But he didn't want to hear it. For this reason, he had chosen the path for himself that had finally led him to this place, to prison. All of this was part of his plan.

xxx

That evening, Ashlyn sat in her apartment, frowning profoundly and lost in thought. After she had told Adrian Saunters, her superior, about her conversation with Anja Brandt, he had given her a severe dressing down. He made it more than clear to her once again that she would not be leading the prosecution against the accused, Nicholas Brandt, but rather his defense since his wife had confided in her and would probably insist that Ashlyn take over the defense. But before that, Saunter had asked her loudly, after the young woman had closed the door behind her, whether she had lost her mind.

She took a deep breath, nodded, got up, and went to the large antique oak cabinet on the left side of the apartment. The bar behind the massive doors was reminiscent of the decor of a Cary Grant film. Whiskey, gin, rum, and vodka lined up next to each other. Only the finest. A crystal soda dispenser and four bottles of red wine. Two from France and two from Italy.

There was a knock at her apartment door, and her good friend and former colleague Dominic Burke stepped in. He paused and drew his chin in when he saw her standing at the cupboard. "So, one of those days?"

She glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. "Exactly that kind of day. You're not telling me you haven't heard about it," she replied as she took out two whiskey glasses.

He sat down at her walnut table without being asked and straightened his tie. "You mean you talked to Nicholas Brandt's wife without identifying yourself as a prosecutor? Yes, I've indeed heard about that."

Ashlyn sat back down at her desk and frowned a little. "Yes, that wasn't exactly my finest hour when I made that rookie mistake. His wife, Anja, wanted to hire me and asked about me in court because I didn't give her a business card. You can imagine she wasn't pleased when Brandt learned that I work for the DA's office. And Saunters chewed me out in his office before telling me that I was obliged to take on Nicholas Brandt's defense because even though Anja was really pissed off, she insisted on my services." She filled both glasses and took a deep breath. "In court, she was utterly distraught. She thinks it's all a mistake and can't imagine that her husband did it."

Burke took the glass and looked at his colleague intently. "Did he do it?"

Ashlyn was about to take a sip from her glass and stopped. "There's no doubt about that. From what she's told me, though, the question is why? Nicholas, her husband, went to the bakery by bike like he does every Sunday. And then he walked in and shot apparently out of the blue and without any reason. He shot three people, and one died. I don't know how badly the other two were injured. And last but not least, he apparently allowed himself to be arrested without resistance."

"The Killer-Official," Burke replied.

"Yes, that's what the tabloids called him. The Killer Official. Sensational but not entirely wrong. Brandt works as a department head in urban development in the construction department."

"Why did he do it?"

Ashlyn took a sip from her glass. "That's the million-dollar question. I have no idea. But I haven't been able to look at the file yet and haven't talked to anyone about it. From what his wife said, he's the prototype of a dull civil servant. He even has an electronic train set in his basement hobby room."

He nodded slowly. 'Who's prosecuting?'

Ashlyn pursed her lips. 'Ryan Bauman.'

Dominic Burke looked up and said with an unmistakable sarcastic undertone, "Well, then you'll definitely have a lot of publicity."

She made a face. "I will."

"Have you spoken to Brandt yet?"

"No, I will visit him tomorrow at the MCI Norfolk. He was taken there directly after the warrant was issued last night. That's the last time Anja Brandt saw him."

"Hasn't a lawyer been assigned?"

"Yes, but that was one from the Criminal Defense Legal Aid yesterday. He resigned immediately after the arrest warrant was issued. Anja Brandt then asked the clerk where she could find a criminal defense attorney for her husband, and she apparently told her that she was exactly right."

Burke raised his eyebrows and looked at Ashlyn intently.

"I know," she said with a smile. "A very questionable recommendation. But that's how she finally met me."

"A prosecutor who didn't identify herself as such. And who is now forced to take on the defense of a man she would put in prison under normal circumstances." He raised a hand when he saw the look on his former colleague's face. "Okay, a woman who is caught off guard because her husband is a criminal. That's not so unusual. And that he supposedly led a perfectly everyday life before that, neither. Most murderers, unless they're career criminals, act impulsively and without any prior indication."

Ashlyn took a deep breath and licked her lips. 'Right. But something's not right here.'

"Is your Rizzoli instinct kicking in again?" He raised his hand again. "And what do you think is wrong?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "I'm not sure, but the couple have a six-year-old daughter, Lily. When Anja Brandt mentioned her, I asked how she was doing and if she was okay. And instead of answering me, she changed the subject relatively quickly. It was as if something were wrong with Lily."