Beneath the newspaper, Teddy could see a copy of Philadelphia Magazine’s Power 100 issue. Barnett had risen from thirteenth to eleventh this year and no doubt would eventually make the top ten. He was in his mid-fifties and still grinding. The man had plenty of time to reach his goal.

“I’m supposed to be in court,” Teddy said. “Brooke called. Now tell me why.”

“It couldn’t be helped. I should’ve called you myself, Teddy. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” Before Teddy could respond, Barnett gave him a nervous look and added, “I need a big favor.”

Barnett found his address book underneath the magazine and threw it into his briefcase. As he yanked open a desk drawer and fished out a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol, Teddy noticed that Barnett’s hands were trembling.

“Someone’s been murdered,” he said. “I need your help.”

Teddy lowered his briefcase to the floor and leaned against the arm of the couch. It was a big office, luxuriously furnished, with a million-dollar view. For some reason, it appeared unusually small and insignificant just now.

“A girl,” Barnett went on. “Darlene Lewis. She was only eighteen-years-old. Shit, Teddy, she was still in high school. I’m in a jam, and I need your help.”

“Do they know who did it?” Teddy asked.

“Her mailman. A guy named Oscar Holmes. They’ve got the murder weapon. It sounds like they caught him in the act.”

Barnett shuddered. Teddy had never seen him act this way before and looked him over carefully. At six-feet-one Barnett was the same height as Teddy but bulkier by about fifty pounds. In spite of the extra weight, Barnett appeared in good shape and carried himself well. The man’s grooming was meticulous, his clothing handmade by a tailor Barnett visited once a year in Milan. His hair was a wiry mix of brown and gray, his eyes sky-blue and sparkling, even in the grim light of a conference room. But what struck Teddy most about the man was his face, usually overflowing with confidence and a measure of charm he could turn on and off at will. Jim Barnett was a master at litigation, his skills as a negotiator well known. Until now, Teddy thought. It looked as if the man had lost his self-control.

“What’s the favor?” Teddy asked.

Barnett forced the bottle of Tylenol open and gave him a look. “We’re representing Holmes,” he said.

A moment passed. Then Barnett shook two caplets out and swallowed them with whatever was in his coffee mug.

“We don’t do criminal law,” Teddy said, trying to suppress his concern.