First degree - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,43

a meeting, and we can wait in Hobbs's small conference room just outside his office.

Looking around, I have to assume we visitors are often deposited in here first to impress us, as the room is a shrine to Special Agent Hobbs. Hastings had told me that Hobbs was a star within the Bureau, and the decor drives that point home. Hobbs's commendations and newspaper clippings detailing his heroics cover most of the walls and almost obscure the top of every piece of furniture in the room. The only remaining spaces are taken by similar tributes to his exploits in Vietnam. Based on all these chronicled heroic triumphs, it's amazing we didn't win.

"Very humble," I say.

"He's earned it" is Agent Spodek's response.

It seems like my time with her is heading for a conversational wasteland, so I immediately trot out the line guaranteed to turn that around. "By the way, I saved a golden retriever from death row at an animal shelter."

"How nice for you," she says with no enthusiasm, leaving me to wonder where I went wrong. Maybe the line requires Tara to be standing next to me, or maybe it only works outdoors. It's certainly going to require further study, but for now I just nod and look around the room.

I'm holding one of the photos from Vietnam in my hand when the door opens and Hobbs walks in. He's probably fifty years old, not that imposing in size but energetic and fit, the type who hasn't found a room he can't dominate. He sees me holding the photograph.

"Those were dangerous but exciting times," he says. "Were you over there?"

I was a good fifteen years too young for that, but I don't mention this. "No, I missed it," I say, ruing that fact by snapping my fingers. "Just my luck."

"It was no fun, believe me."

I already knew that, so this is not a revelation that throws me off my stride. At least not as much as his handshake, which reminds me of Superman squeezing a lump of coal so hard it turns into a diamond. "Darrin Hobbs." He smiles. "Good to meet you."

I could wait to speak until the circulation returns to my hand, but I don't think he invited me here for a sleep-over. "Andy Carpenter. Thanks for seeing me so quickly."

"No problem." He looks at his watch. "Although I don't have a hell of a lot of time. Hastings said it was important."

"It is. I'm representing a woman charged with the murder of Alex Dorsey."

Hobbs looks over to Agent Spodek, as if realizing for the first time that she is even there. "We'll be fine, Spodek" is how he dismisses her.

Once Spodek has left the room, Hobbs picks up the conversation as if she had never been there. He shakes his head, as if remembering past times. "Dorsey was always a murder waiting to happen."

I nod. "But my client didn't make it happen." I decide not to share with him the fact that Dorsey is still alive and making phone calls. That has nothing to do with what I'm trying to learn.

He smiles. "Another innocent client ... so what is it you want from me?"

"I know you were familiar with Dorsey's actions a couple of years ago, when he was almost nailed by Internal Affairs. I know you, or at least the Bureau, intervened."

"You know that?" He smiles, apparently amused.

"Are you telling me otherwise?"

He seems about to say that he is, but then shrugs with some resignation. "What the hell, sure. Inside these four walls ... that's basically what happened."

"Was Dorsey the target of the investigation?"

"No way. We had bigger fish to fry."

"And they were?"

"They were none of your business. Next question."

"Is the investigation ongoing?"

His smile is a sad one. "No, I wish it were. The Dorsey stuff killed it--too much publicity."

Dead End Hastings had indicated the investigation was in fact ongoing, but Hobbs is denying it. Could it be that Hobbs doesn't trust Andy Carpenter, defense attorney?

I continue asking questions, and he continues smiling and answering them, all the while providing me with absolutely no useful information. He may have such information, but I'm sure not getting it out of him. Or he may not.

I leave after about a half hour, with Hobbs wishing me luck and offering to be available should I need more help in the future. I make a note to myself that if I ever want to have another completely unproductive meeting that is a total waste of time, I will give him