AfterNet 01 - Good Cop Dead Cop

…”
    “Yes?”
    “Interested in going to a Christmas party? On Christmas Day, I mean?”
    “I’ve told you about Christmas before, Alex.”
    “Yeah, but this will be different.”
    “In what way?”
    “You’ve never been to a Christmas party thrown by a rich dead guy and attended by his rich dead friends.”
    “Rybold? What? He really does have the hots for you.”
    “We’re just friends is all. No, seriously, I’ve been dreading Christmas, as usual. I know you’re not fond of it. But this seems, I don’t know, different.”
    “Like discovering your boyfriend is into leather different or like your mother trying to stab your father with a fork different?”
    “Your mother tried to stab your father with a fork?”
    “It’s just one of the many reasons I don’t like Christmas. As to your party, I don’t like being the token fleshie.”
    “No, there’ll be other fle … living people there.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “I’m sure.”
    “I don’t know. Maybe.”
    Just then the bailiff called their names.
    “Please state and spell your name and occupation for the record,” the bailiff said.
    “Alex Arthur Munroe. A-L-E-X A-R-T-H-U-R M-U-N-R-O-E. I’m a Denver police officer.” He fought the temptation to spell out his occupation.
    The bailiff withdrew and the deputy district attorney stood up to approach the witness stand. As usual, Yamaguchi found the scene surreal. The assistant district attorney was addressing her portable terminal, perched on the edge of the railing of the empty witness stand. It was connected to a boom box placed on an audiovisual cart.
    He asked the familiar roll call of questions: How long have you been a police officer? How long have you been a Denver police officer? What are your duties with the police department? When did you die? What did you die of? In what capacity were you engaged on the afternoon of September the 13th of this year? Where were you on the afternoon of September 13th of this year?
    She yawned. She’d actually had a good night’s sleep, but she always yawned in court, which was dangerous. Defense attorneys often managed to sneak a “Have you stopped beating your wife?” question in a long-winded cross-examination and pity the sleepy officer who didn’t notice.
    She often thought of the phrase “all deliberate speed” at this point. The ADA was moving with all the deliberate speed of a zombie in a horror film. She knew the point of this slow-motion train wreck was: “Officer Munroe, is this the man you observed accepting $2,000 in cash from Stephen Andriewski on the afternoon of Sept. 13 in Cheesman Park.” But if he asked a direct question, the defense attorney would accuse him of leading the witness.
    Eventually, despite 10 minutes of foreplay, the ADA finally came to the point. “Please identify the person you just described.”
    Munroe’s digitized voice sounded wonderfully doomful, Yamaguchi thought, as he said, “He’s sitting at the defense table, the person in the middle.”
    “Thank you, officer. No further questions.” The ADA sat down while the defense attorney immediately stood up.
    “Officer Munroe, how do we really know you are who you say you are?”
    “Objection, your honor, the identity of disembodied individuals on the AfterNet has been recognized by the courts for a year now,” the ADA said, as calmly as a bored outfielder shagging flies.
    “But he’s not on the AfterNet now, is he? And he wasn’t on the AfterNet when he allegedly saw my client accepting a payoff. He’s communicating through a portable terminal, your honor, not through an AfterNet terminal with its supposed ability to detect the unique energy fingerprint of a disembodied person and match it against a database.”
    The ADA was sitting bolt upright and looked as if he were ready to make an objection, but then realized that he couldn’t think of one. Instead, he said, “We could … uh … bring in a terminal, your honor?” The judge agreed and after learning it would take a half hour or more to install, ordered a short recess.
    Yamaguchi reclaimed her portable terminal and was then pulled aside by the ADA.
    “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he asked.
    “Because … I never thought about it,” she said.
    “Does he have a point?” the ADA, Feldman, asked of his assistants who acted as a screen from the passersby in the hallway outside the courtroom.
    “I don’t know,” the woman assistant said.
    “It’s not as secure, I