“Are you calling to ruin my lunch?” Quentin growls in my ear. “I hope not, ’cause I ain’t got much time to eat before the afternoon session.”
It’s a shock to finally have Quentin on the phone, but I recover quickly. “Quentin, I’ve got my mother and sister here, and we’re more than a little concerned about your courtroom tactics thus far.”
Rusty pokes his head through the door and makes a horrified face.
“Or your lack of them, rather,” I clarify.
“What are you talking about?” Quentin asks as he noisily chews what sounds like a salad.
I hit the speakerphone button so that everyone can hear. “The fact that you haven’t made a single objection or cross-examined a single witness.”
“Don’t worry about that. Everything’s going according to plan.”
As I shake my head in disbelief, Rusty twirls his hand in a circle around his ear. “And what plan is that?”
Quentin barks a short laugh, then continues chewing. “You’re an old prosecutor. What plan does it look like?”
“It looks to me like the Mahatma Gandhi plan. Nonviolent resistance. Turn the other cheek until you’re lying dead in the gutter.”
This earns a belly laugh from the old lawyer. “That shows what you know, big shot. I’ll tell you what my plan is—the Leonardo da Vinci plan. I’m the master, and you’re watching me paint my Mona Lisa. Come back for the afternoon session, if you can, but don’t worry if you can’t. And tell Peggy not to worry.”
“It’s too late for that, Quentin,” Mom says in a serrated voice.
“Hello, Peg,” Quentin says in a softer tone. “Don’t worry about Tom and me. We know what we’re doing.”
“If that’s true, I wish you’d let the rest of us in on it.”
“I wish I could, darling. But you’ll see soon enough. Have faith.”
When Mom’s hand touches her cheek, I realize she’s very close to breaking down.
In the resulting vacuum, Quentin says, “Penn, tell your buddy Rusty to come back for the afternoon session. He can consider it free remedial education.”
Rusty’s face goes red as the old man cackles, and I know then that Quentin’s about to hang up.
“Quentin, wait!” I say, but I’m too late. We’re all staring at a dead phone.
“Out of his effing mind,” Rusty says. “Certifiable.”
I meet Miriam’s deep gray eyes.
“I don’t know,” she says. “It comes down to how much faith you have in your father’s judgment.”
“Temporarily impaired,” Mom says in a soft voice. “Tom’s not thinking straight. I’ve got to talk to him.”
“You won’t get to him before they start up again,” Rusty says, looking at his watch. “Not for more than a couple of minutes, anyway. Can you convince him to fire Quentin in two minutes?”
Mom looks at Annie, then smiles wretchedly and wipes a strand of hair from her eyes. “I doubt it.”
“Who takes Quentin’s place if Dad does fire him?” I ask. “Who walks in there with the score twelve–zip and tries to pull out the game?”
“You do,” the four answer in unison.
“Sounds like a plan,” Mia says from the kitchen doorway.
As my friends and family look into my eyes with emotions ranging from hope to desperation, I think about Quentin and my father. Dad always taught me that fear is contagious, and disastrous to decision making. Three days ago, Quentin told me I probably wouldn’t understand his strategy in this case, and he made me promise not to run to him every five minutes for an explanation of his tactics. Does what happened this morning constitute genius or incipient dementia? I don’t have enough information to answer that question. In the last analysis, with Quentin Avery pulling the strings, I’m willing to bet on the former—at least for a little bit longer.
“No,” I tell them. “Quentin and Dad have information we don’t. We can’t even guess what that might be. And even if Dad were willing to fire Quentin right now, there’s not enough time for me to prepare for the afternoon session. Tomorrow would be the earliest I could start.”
“Your dad could be toast by tonight,” Rusty says with brutal frankness. “He’s halfway to Parchman already.”
I spear my old friend with a glare for saying this in front of Annie and my mother, but he only shrugs. The truth is the truth, say his eyes. What’s the use in sugarcoating it?
“Let’s give Quentin the afternoon. If he goes any farther off the rails, Judge Elder will have to shut the thing down anyway.”
“Declare a mistrial?” Miriam asks.
“Elder won’t do that,” Rusty argues. “He knows nobody’s going to reprimand him for letting Quentin Avery run his own show.”
“I’m not so sure. But the point’s moot anyway. You barely have time to finish eating and get back.”
“Jesus,” groans Rusty.
“You guys go play your roles. Annie and I will be here. And try to get closer to the bar, if you can, so I can hear better.”
Rusty rolls his eyes, but in the end he gobbles down the remains of a sandwich and walks into the hall. As the women file past Rusty toward the front door, he looks back with a pragmatic tilt of his head.
“Start warming up that pitching arm, Counselor. Avery’s coming off the mound.”
“Get out of here.”
Thirty seconds after Rusty’s Town Car pulls away from the curb, followed by the Yukon, two black sedans glide into the space. Four FBI agents get out, and there’s absolutely nothing casual about their movements. I nearly jump out of my skin when John Kaiser touches my shoulder from behind.
“Let’s go in the den,” he says, his eyes troubled.
“What is it?” I ask once we’re clear of the hall.
“Dolores St. Denis has agreed to enter protective custody.”
“What’s the status of Cleotha Booker?”
“She’s unlikely to regain consciousness.”
His answer covers me like a shadow. “Is there any chance it was a real fall?”
“About one percent.”
“No,” I breathe, pushing my fingers back through my hair.
As we stare at each other, the door opens and the four agents move swiftly up the staircase.
“You need to go?” I ask.
“They’ll wait for me. This is a bad situation, Penn.”
“You think that’s news to me?”
I know Kaiser’s grinding his teeth, because his jaw is flexing, hard. “Who is Serenity Butler?” he asks.
“A friend. A writer.”
“Why is she taking care of Mrs. St. Denis?”
What can I say? “They’re both women? They’re both black? She got elected because Dolores trusts her.”
“You brought Mrs. St. Denis up here in an airplane?”
“It seemed like the safest method.”
Kaiser shakes his head. “This was right on the borderline, man. You really pushed it. You should have called me yesterday, before you ever went to see her.”
“You and I have different objectives, John.”
“There were gunshots reported within one block of that woman’s house last night. Also a false report of a home invasion.”
I say nothing to this.