“It’s better than a copy.” She leaned back.

“Somebody scanned your signature and fed it into a plotting machine.

This signature is an electronic trace executed on a commercial plotting machine, Captain Ross.”

I asked her to put the rest of it in writing.

She typed up the affidavit at her desk while I sat with my hands flat on my knees.

“Front row,” I said, when she asked if I wanted her in the courtroom.

“And the serial number of that machine, if you can get it.”