“Remember what he asked that property clerk? Asked him if he ever took home items entrusted to his own care?”

“The man said no,” said one of the Asians, a Ms. Chin.

“But Nierstein didn’t stop there,” Gloria reminded them. “He asked about a specific item, a video camcorder.”

“Wanted to know if the guy didn’t borrow it to film his daughter’s birthday party.”

“And he said no,” Ms. Chin countered.

Keller remembered the exchange. The property clerk, who Gloria felt would cut a much more impressive figure if he lost ten pounds and shaved off his mustache, had admitted that his daughter had a birthday party on such-and-such a date, that he himself had attended, and that he had immortalized the event on tape. He had admitted as well that he had not owned a video camera at the time, and did not own one now, but he steadfastly denied that he had taken one home from work, maintaining that he’d borrowed one belonging to his brother-in-law. Sheehy had objected to the whole line of questioning, calling it irrelevant, and suggesting sarcastically that the defense might next call for the tape of the party to be played in court. That brought a reprimand from the judge, who’d evidently found the whole business absorbing enough to overrule her objections.

“Well, I don’t know,” Gloria said.

“We can only go by the testimony,” Mrs. Estйvez said. “The lawyer asked the questions and the man answered them.”

Keller hadn’t wanted to say anything, but he couldn’t help himself. “But how did he know to ask?” They looked at him, and he said, “How did he know about the birthday party, and that the guy taped it?”

“Everybody tapes their kids’ parties,” somebody said.

Did they? Was every childhood birthday party captured that way, the moment frozen on time through the magic of videotape? Did anybody ever look at the tapes?

“But he knew the date,” Keller said. “He must have heard somewhere that the guy borrowed a camcorder. The clerk had to deny it, it’s a breach of regulations. Just because he denied it doesn’t necessarily mean it didn’t happen.”

“It doesn’t mean it did, either,” a woman pointed out.

“Well, no,” Keller said. “It’s a question of who you’re going to believe.”

“But what’s it matter? There’s no camcorder in the prosecution’s case. Just a VCR. Who cares if the guy borrowed a camcorder? Nobody was using it, and he brought it back in the same condition he borrowed it.”

“It establishes a pattern,” Gloria said.

“What pattern? If he borrowed a camcorder, he must have borrowed a VCR? And so what if he did? So what if he took the VCR home with him, which nobody says he did, by the way, and brought it back a day later or a week later? It’s still the same VCR.”

“Unless he switched it,” a man said.

And now they were off and running, trying to figure out why the property clerk would borrow a VCR in the first place, and why he might then substitute another one for it. “Maybe it was like your cousin’s,” a man said, with a nod at the woman whose cousin’s set kept changing channels for no discernible reason. “Maybe he had a lemon, so he switched it for the one in the evidence locker.”

“The one Mapes bought off the defendant.”

“The one Mapes says he bought off the defendant.”

Keller looked at Gloria. She wasn’t smiling, the expression on her face was carefully neutral, but he could tell that she was pleased.

“Eight guilty,” Morgan Freeman announced. Well, Milton Simmons, Keller thought, but Morgan Freeman himself couldn’t have said it better. “Three not guilty.”

“That doesn’t add up,” someone said.

“Makes eleven, and there’s one blank slip of paper. Guess somebody couldn’t make up his mind.” He frowned. “His or her mind. Their mind. This was just to get an idea where we stand, so your mind don’t have to be completely firm to vote one way or the other, but if you can’t say one way or the other at this point, that’s cool. Anybody who voted not guilty want to say anything about why you voted that way?”

“Well,” Gloria said, “I’m just not convinced the state proved their case. I still can’t be sure it’s the same VCR.”

“Girl,” the largest of the black women said, “is that a defense? ‘That’s not the stolen VCR I sold him. I sold him a different stolen VCR.’ Stolen is stolen and sold is sold.”

“What about the fruit of the poisoned tree?”

“That’s something else entirely,” Milton Simmons said, and explained what lawyers meant when they talked about the fruit of the poisoned tree. “If they searched the man’s house,” he said by way of example, “and if they found a roomful of stolen goods, and if the search was ruled illegal, then everything they found and everything it led to is the fruit of the poisoned tree, and woe unto him who eats of it. Meaning it’s inadmissible as evidence.”

“I bet they did, too,” Keller said.

“How’s that?”

“Search his house. You arrest a man for receiving stolen goods, you’d search his house.”

“Maybe they didn’t find anything.”

“Then you’d have had Nierstein crowing about it. ‘And did you search my client’s residence, officer? And did you find anything incriminating? So you would have us believe that the VCR allegedly sold by my client was the only piece of allegedly stolen property alleged to be in his possession?’ But nobody said a word about a search, which means it was suppressed.”

“Somebody screwed up the warrant,” a woman said. “Fruit of the poisoned tree.”

The mention of fruit aroused Mr. Bittner. “You had to go to the bathroom,” he said to Mrs. Estйvez. “And now there’s nothing to eat.”

“Hey, man, what was she supposed to do?”

“I’m sorry,” Bittner said. “I have low blood sugar, I get cranky.”

“Then why didn’t you tell the bailiff to leave the sandwiches?”

On and on, Keller thought. On and on and on.

There was a knock, and before they could respond the bailiff let himself in. “Judge wants to know how you’re doing,” he said. “If you think you’re getting close to a verdict.”

“We’re doing okay,” the foreman said.

“Well, not to rush you,” the bailiff said, “but it’s four o’clock already, so you got an hour if you want to get home tonight. If you don’t reach a verdict by five you get sequestered for the night. That means you spend the night in a hotel at the city’s expense. It’s a decent place, but it’s not the Waldorf. My opinion, you’d probably be more comfortable in your own homes.”

“What about food?” Bittner demanded.

“Meals will be provided at the hotel.”

“I mean now.”

The bailiff gave him a look and left the room.

“More comfortable in our own homes,” said the large woman, the one who’d called Gloria “girl.” “Translation: Get off your butt and come up with a verdict. Anybody think he didn’t do it?”

“That’s not the question,” Gloria said. “The question-“

“-is did he prove it. You think I don’t know that? We been saying it all day long and not getting noplace. So how about my question? Is there anybody here thinks he didn’t do it?”

No one else answered, so Keller said, “Did the man ever receive stolen property? I would say yes. Did he ever sell stolen property? Yes again. Did he sell it to a cop? Did he sell this particular stolen article to this particular cop? I could believe that and still not believe the state proved its case.”

“Beyond a reasonable doubt,” someone murmured.

“But I don’t know that I do believe it,” he went on. “It comes down to the same question all the time. Do we believe Mapes?”

“Even if Mapes stretched the truth some-“

“If Mapes isn’t telling the truth, there’s no case. And if Mapes is lying, there isn’t even a crime.”

“He’s a police officer,” someone said, “and the ones I’ve known have been pretty decent and honest, but there’s something about him that seems a little shifty.”

“Now that’s funny,” someone else said, “because my experience is cops lie all the time, but he impresses me as a real straightforward young man.”