“Yes, yes, I’m sure. Here’s my problem, though. If you went to see your mother, why didn’t you mention it to the police?”

The silence that blanketed the courtroom was louder than any amount of shouting could be.

“I don’t quite understand…”

“I read this transcript from start to finish last night, Mr. Christensen,” Drabble continued. “I watched the interrogation video. And at no time do you mention being at your mother’s. Not even after you’re told when the estimated time of death was.”

“I… was trying to leave her out of it.”

“Why?”

“I just didn’t want her involved.”

“You thought you could be arrested for murder and your mother wouldn’t be involved?”

“I didn’t want to drag her into the-”

“So you had an alibi witness, but chose not to mention it? Very noble.”

“I didn’t know then how bad this would get.”

“You’re telling me-and the jury-that you knew you had a witness who could testify to being with you at the time of Tony Barovick’s death, yet you chose not to tell anyone? Because you have such a strong sense of family loyalty?”

“I was trying to protect her!”

“Mr. Christensen, don’t lie to us.”

“I’m not.”

“You didn’t tell the police about going to your mother’s house because you didn’t go anywhere near your mother’s house.”

“That’s not true!”

“You went back to the fraternity house and finished what you had started.”

“I didn’t!”

“It must’ve really bothered you, sitting there thinking that flaming queen was still alive. Your own fraternity brother heard you say you were going to finish what you started.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“And if you thought you could impress your friends by saying you beat that boy up, imagine how popular you’d be if you could say you killed him.”

“That’s not what happened!”

“Objection!” Christina shouted. “Badgering the witness.”

“You had the motive and the opportunity,” Drabble continued.

“The objection is sustained,” Judge Lacayo said firmly.

Drabble pressed on. “You wanted Tony Barovick dead. Like you want all gay people dead. So you killed him.”

“I did not!” Johnny screamed. He was sweating, his voice was strained, he seemed shaken and terrified and-

Christina couldn’t pretend otherwise. And guilty.

“I said, the objection is sustained!” Lacayo barked, slamming his gavel.

“Sorry, your honor,” Drabble said, suddenly quiet. He closed his notebook, then let his eyes wander toward the jury box. “No more questions.”

45

Ben had been in Chicago only a week, but Garfield, the elderly gentleman working the courthouse snack bar, recognized him from the opposite end of the corridor. And the expression on Ben’s face was apparently sufficient to tell him exactly what was called for.

“One chocolate milk, ice cold, coming up,” he said.

“Make it a double,” Ben groused.

“Bad?”

“Real bad. Lethal-injection bad.”

Garfield winced. “Sorry to hear that.” He passed the cup. “Here’s your drink.”

Ben took a long swallow. “Thanks. I needed that. Guess you must think this is pretty wimpy. A grown man, drinking chocolate milk.”

Garfield laughed, rubbing a hand on his stubbled chin. “Hey, after the stuff I’ve seen some of the other attorneys drinking-or smelled on their breath-I’m relieved to see you sticking with the milk.”

Before he could take another swallow, Ben felt a hand on his arm. Funny how he knew who it was, even before he looked. “Ben, we have to talk.”

He looked at Ellen coldly. “That used to be my line.”

“Johnny didn’t do well, did he?”

Ben took another drink. “He did about as well as could be expected. It was an impossible situation. There’s too much evidence against him. And too much of it came from his own mouth.”

“You can’t believe he killed that boy.”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe.”

“He couldn’t have. I know he couldn’t have.”

“Ellen…”

“There must be more you can do.”

“After the break, Christina will redirect, but that’s damage control at best.”

“Aren’t there any other witnesses? Someone who will speak on Johnny’s behalf?”

“We have a doctor who will say that the beating, as described by Johnny and his late friend Brett, would not necessarily have been fatal.”

“And that’s it?”

“Two professors willing to appear as character witnesses.”

“Nothing more?”

“Ellen, believe me when I say we’ve searched high and low. We’ve turned every stone. We haven’t found any miracle witness. And frankly-I think that’s because the miracle witness doesn’t exist.”

Long tapered fingers spread across her face.

“I’ll give it all I can in closing,” Ben continued. “I’ll hammer away about reasonable doubt. The prosecution only has indirect evidence that Johnny caused Tony Barovick’s death. It’s possible that some juror might find that insufficient.”

“But you don’t think so.”

Ben stared down into those black eyes, the dark pools that had once meant so much to him. There was still something there, no matter how hard he tried to pretend there wasn’t, no matter how determined he was to deny that there had ever been any trace of affection.

“No, Ellen,” he said quietly. “I don’t think so. I think the jury will convict.”

“Would you? If you were on the jury? Would you find him guilty?”

Ben didn’t see how any good could come of answering that question. So he didn’t.

“Shelly!” Mike bellowed.

Shelly Chimka froze in her tracks, just outside the front entrance to Remote Control. “Yes?”

Mike ran up to her, Swift and Baxter close behind. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all over town!”

“I went to Springfield to visit a girlfriend. I told Mario I wouldn’t-”

“You didn’t tell him where you were going.”

“Why would I?”

“Don’t give us that innocent routine,” Swift said. “You know you’re a material witness. You were told not to leave town.”

“I didn’t, really. It was just Springfield.” Her face scrunched up. “What’s this all about, anyway?”

“This is about you,” Mike said, gazing down at her right arm, still tucked into the blue sling. “And something that’s bothered me since the first time I talked with you. You told me, not to mention an investigator named Loving, that you tried to commit suicide after Tony was killed. But something about that never seemed right to me. You may well have been close to Tony, but you don’t seem the suicidal type, and your face gave off all the wrong signals when you said it. You’re much too pragmatic. Too controlled.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a compliment, lady. But it left me with a major problem. If you didn’t really try to off yourself, what happened to your arm?”

Shelly instinctively pulled the sling close to her. “I don’t see why it matters to you.”

“Oh, I think it matters a lot,” Mike said. The three of them closed around her. “You told me you tried to kill yourself the night after Tony was killed, but Mario Roma says that the next time you came to work-the very next morning after the incident-your arm was already in a sling.”

“He’s misremembering.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve been reading Tony Barovick’s journal. The last thing he records-the last thing he wrote before going off to his death-was that he had a phone call from you. Coincidence?” Mike shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

“You’re way out of line.”

“Are we?” Baxter asked. “Why did you call Tony?”

“I-I-hardly remember.”

“Give me a break. Last time you talked to him before he’s killed, and you don’t remember what you called about?”

Shelly’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for an avenue of escape. “It was just… just… some work thing.”

“Cut the crap,” Mike growled, pushing his nose into her face. “Someone else might go soft on you because you’re cute and perky, but I don’t give a damn about any of that. All I see is a liar. And now I want the truth!”