Annie’s standing by the television, taking in every word. Few things disturb children more than frightened adults, and Annie was upset before anyone got here. I go over and put an arm around her, telling her softly that things are going to be all right, that everybody’s just upset by a mistake Mr. Avery made. But I can feel her shivering against me.
“Let’s all calm down,” I say firmly. “There’s got to be some rational reason Quentin is doing what he’s doing. We’ve got three lawyers in this room. Let’s figure it out.”
Mom suddenly realizes that she’s let herself go in front of her granddaughter. She gets up and leads Annie over to the love seat in the corner, murmuring so softly I can’t make out her words.
Rusty is watching me expectantly, but it’s Miriam I turn to first. She may be a glorified corporate accountant in her normal life, but she graduated fourth in her class at Stanford Law School, and she did two years in the public defender’s office in San Francisco.
“What do you think?” I ask.
She sucks in her lips and shakes her head, obviously as bewildered as the rest of us. “Penn, I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Rusty? You ever see any backwoods Clarence Darrow try something like this?”
Rusty shakes his head in a perfect imitation of Miriam. “I kept wondering, ‘Is this like a slowdown offense in basketball? Where it looks like the coach is an idiot and the team is shit, even though they’re playing smart?’ But this ain’t no basketball game, bubba. Quentin hasn’t invoked the rule to keep his witnesses sequestered. He didn’t even file for discovery. I’ve never seen that happen in a murder trial. The guy even deferred his opening statement, and let Shad have all the momentum from the word go! I’ve seen that maybe once in my career. He hasn’t made one objection or cross-examined a single witness. And every time Quentin lets some trademark Shad Johnson bullshit pass without objecting, that’s one more thing that’ll never be reversed on appeal.”
“Bingo,” says Miriam. “That jury has already heard things it never should have heard. Those images will never leave their minds, no matter what instructions the judge gives. I can’t believe Judge Elder isn’t worried about getting reversed based on ineffective assistance of counsel.”
“It’s Quentin Avery,” Rusty says, stating the obvious. “Lawyers don’t come any more experienced than that. Not in these parts. Not anywhere.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Miriam says, voicing our common fear.
“Alzheimer’s?” Rusty asks, looking for confirmation in our eyes. “I mean . . . surely it’s in the realm of possibility. The guy’s lost both legs to diabetes already. Could he have had, like, mini strokes or something? Something not obvious, but still incapacitating?”
“I’m no doctor,” Miriam points out, “but from what I saw this morning, I’d say it’s possible. Penn, did you notice anything worrisome when you spoke to him prior to the trial?”
“When I saw him at the prison, he did tell me to expect an unconventional strategy. But we’ve hardly talked to each other since. This is his and Dad’s show, and I’m not part of it.”
My mother cuts her eyes at me, the old maternal reproach.
“Have you tried to call Quentin?” Rusty asks.
“At least ten times before you guys showed up. His mobile keeps kicking me to voice mail.”
“We’ve got to fire him,” Mom insists from the corner. “I don’t see any other way.”
This draws every eye in the room to her.
“Nobody can fire Quentin except Dad,” I repeat. “And Dad won’t do it. I wasn’t in the courtroom. Did he look panicked by what Quentin was doing? Or not doing?”
“All I could see was the back of his head,” Mom says with frustration.
“He’s not scared,” Jenny says from the sofa. “He just sat calmly through it all. But I don’t know what that says about his mental state.”
“That could just be resignation. Fatalism.”
Everyone suddenly looks at me, as though I have the answer to the riddle of Quentin Avery.
“Whatever Quentin’s doing, ” I think aloud, “it’s been part of his plan all along. As I said, he told me three days ago that he was going to take an unconventional approach to Dad’s defense.”
“Unconventional,” Rusty grunts. “Like driving thirty miles per hour is an unconventional way to win the Daytona 500.”
In the wake of this comment, the front door opens and closes softly. A moment later John Kaiser leans past the door frame, acknowledges me with a quick salute, then vanishes. The next thing I hear is his feet padding softly up the stairs.
My mother is gazing curiously at me, but I ignore her.
“I think we’ve done what we can here,” I tell them. “Which is basically nothing. I’ll keep trying to reach Quentin. You guys need to eat something. There are sandwiches in the kitchen fridge.”
“I can’t eat,” Miriam says miserably.
“I can,” Rusty growls, getting up and lumbering toward the kitchen. “My fingers have about seized up from texting you all those updates.”
Mom catches my eye over Annie’s shoulder. “Penn, you need to go back to court for the afternoon session. I’ll stay with Annie.”
I shake my head. “No way. The jury has to see you there, supporting Dad.”
“Then let’s take Annie with us.”
Annie claps her hands with relief and excitement. At last we’ve arrived at the simple solution she proposed in the beginning.
“Boo, go help Rusty find the sandwiches.”
She starts to argue, but today my look is enough to propel her into the kitchen. As she vanishes, Mom says, “Penn, what is John Kaiser doing here?”
“It’s nothing to do with Dad’s trial. Now, you need to brace yourself for the next session. Based on what Shad has done so far, I expect him to recall Cora Revels to the stand, or else he’ll call Lincoln. And they’ll dive straight into the issue of motive. We’re going to hear all about Dad and Viola’s relationship. All about it.”
My mother’s jaw clamps shut, and her eyes glaze over with suppressed rage. But at whom? Shad Johnson? Or my father?
“All right,” she says in surrender. “You stay here.”
I hit speed dial for Quentin’s cell and wait for the automated voice-mail message, but the sound of repeated ringing rocks me back on my heels. I hold up my left hand sharply, and the resulting silence brings Rusty and Annie back from the kitchen.
“Hello?” says Doris Avery.
I feel an alarming pressure in my chest, like something’s trying to burst out of it through my constricted throat, but I force myself to be calm. “Doris, this is Penn. Could I please speak to Quentin?”
“He’s trying to eat lunch. It took us forever just to get to Edelweiss.”
Edelweiss is only four blocks from the courthouse, but they probably had a harder time getting clear of the courthouse than my crew did. Still, they could easily have answered the phone while stuck in Quentin’s converted van.
“I really need to speak to him, Doris. You must know that, after what happened in court this morning.”
Mom’s eyes blaze. She’s about two seconds from snatching the phone out of my hand and reminding Doris who’s paying her husband’s fee.