Free Skeleton Justice by Michael Baden, Linda Kenney Baden

Preppy Terrorist case was generating so much publicity that the judge had reluctantly agreed.
    Now with the information Sam had provided and the research she had done on the shaky science of identifying bite marks through forensic odontology, Manny felt sure that she’d have Travis Heaton out on bail by the end of the day.
    Sailing through the security check without setting off any alarms, Manny entered Judge Freeman’s courtroom and took her place at the defense table. Lisnek was already at the prosecutor’s table with a whole phalanx of assistants. “How many federal prosecutors does it take to change a lightbulb?” she muttered to Kenneth.
    “You mean, to screw in a lightbulb. And the answer is none. Prosecutors only screw defendants.”
    Manny paused from unloading her briefcase. “Did you just make that up, or have you been reading joke e-mails when you’re supposed to be working?”
    “Keeping you amused is part of my job description, remember?”
    Manny grinned. It was true that with Kenneth by her side she felt much more relaxed than she would have if she were assisted by some navy blue pinstriped-clad minion with an Ivy League law degree. Today, Kenneth had dressed to match the dark green marble that heralded the floors and walls of the imposing house of justice. He wore a slightly used Oscar de la Renta suit he had purchased on eBay, and two-toned green-and-ivory shoes with matching green horned-rimmed glasses. She slid some files across the table to him. “Here. Organize this for me. I don’t want to be fumbling for notes when I have their so-called expert on the stand.”
    She sat down and watched Lisnek for a while. He was so busy conferring with his assistants, he didn’t even notice her. Her client was escorted in by a muscular federal marshal and seated next to her. He wore the clothes he had been arrested in—big baggy pants and a black cotton shirt. The bailiff entered the courtroom and Lisnek snapped to attention, finally glancing her way. She smiled sweetly. The assistant U.S. attorney looked away.
    “All rise,” the bailiff intoned.
    Showtime .
    Manny and Lisnek danced through the opening procedures like Fred and Ginger, so familiar with the steps that they didn’t even have to think about what they were doing. Then Lisnek rose to make his argument for why Travis should remain in jail without bail. “An act of terrorism against the federal government… possible coconspirators, so the accused must be kept in isolation … a matter of national security …” On and on he went.
    Manny could feel her adrenaline surge and her stomach churn. This is what being a trial lawyer was all about—face-to-face combat with the enemy. Honestly, how could Lisnek say all this with a straight face? The man was shameless in his pursuit of publicity. She’d defended clients against bogus, trumped-up charges before, but this case beat all.
    The judge was also tiring of Lisnek. With a slight elevation of the hand, he cut the prosecutor off in mid-speech. “Very eloquent, Mr. Lisnek, but this isn’t a dress rehearsal for the opening argument of the trial. I believe Ms. Manfreda has some issues with the quality of your supporting evidence, so let’s move directly to the expert testimony.”
    The witness, Dr. Eugene Olivo, forensic odontologist, was called and sworn in. In a jury trial, Manny would spend considerable time establishing the expert’s qualifications or lack thereof, because juries tended to believe every word coming from the mouth of anyone who called himself a doctor or scientist. Judge Freeman, thankfully, was not so gullible. He had been a federal judge for more than four decades, handling all the hard cases: Mafia killings, an Aryan gang prison trial, massive drug cartel trials. Freeman was now on senior status, a form of hardworking retirement that allowed him to pick and choose his cases. Not impressed with the pretentiousness of office or enamored with the trappings of power, he no