"Mr. Mason seized on an innocent misstatement by the court to suggest that you have prejudged this case, although he knows that you haven't and wouldn't. Mr. Mason has his own reasons for trying to keep our attention away from the facts, away from his client. When the state has finished presenting its evidence, listen closely to hear if Mr. Mason denies any of the facts we present to you. Listen to hear if he offers any other explanation for who shot Jack Cullan in the eye with a.38-caliber handgun. Listen to the silence from Mr. Mason because that's all you will hear.

"I told you that this case was cut-and-dried. Tell me if I'm wrong. Jack Cullan was found murdered on Monday, December tenth, by his housekeeper. He'd been shot to death. Mr. Mason won't deny that. The preceding Friday night, Mr. Cullan and Beth Harrell had been customers at a bar owned by the defendant called Blues on Broadway. Mr. Cullan and Ms. Harrell quarreled. The defendant intervened and fought with Mr. Cullan. Afterward, the defendant threatened Mr. Cullan with physical harm if he interfered with the defendant's liquor license or came back to his bar. Four witnesses, including Ms. Harrell, will testify at trial to the fight and the threat. Mr. Mason won't deny that.

"Blood and tissue belonging to the defendant were found under the fingernails of the murder victim. The defendant's fingerprints were found in the room in which Mr. Cullan died. The defendant has a history of violent conduct, including shooting to death an innocent and unarmed woman while he was a police officer. The defendant has no alibi. Mr. Mason won't deny any of that.

"There is more than enough evidence to bind the defendant over for trial on the charge of murder in the first degree. I call that a cut-and-dried case and make no apology for it. I wonder what Mr. Mason calls it."

Chapter Eighteen

At eleven o'clock that night, Mason was still sitting on the sofa in his office, staring at the notes he had written on the dry-erase board. Patrick Ortiz had presented his evidence in a smooth procession of well-prepared witnesses, finishing at five o'clock. Mason had not called anyone to testify.

Judge Pistone had said that he would deliberate in his chambers and announce his decision shortly. When he had returned fifteen minutes later with renewed pep, Mason had concluded that the judge had used the time to go the bathroom and have a cup of coffee. Resuming the bench, the judge had ordered that Blues stand trial on the charge of first-degree murder in the death of Jack Cullan and that Blues would continue to be held without bail. He had added that the case had been assigned for trial to Judge Vanessa Carter and that Judge Carter had set the case for trial beginning Monday morning, March 4.

True to form, Judge Pistone had kept his head down while announcing his order. Blues had held his head up, eyes drilling the judge. Blues had remained impassive throughout the long day, occasionally passing Mason a handwritten note in response to a particular bit of testimony. When Dr. Terrence Dawson, chief of the forensics lab, had testified that Blues's fingerprint had been found in Cullan's study, Blues had reached over to Mason's legal pad and written NO, pressing hard enough with his pen to have cut through to the next sheet of paper.

Everyone in the courtroom had stood while the judge made his exit. The media had poured from the courtroom; the print reporters had raced to meet deadlines and the broadcasters had bolted for their live feeds from the courthouse steps. Leonard Campbell had clapped Patrick Ortiz and his assistants on their backs, straightened his jacket, and left, looking for the nearest microphone. Ortiz had packed his briefcase and shaken Mason's hand, telling Mason that he'd done a good job. It was the standard empty praise of an adversary who'd won the day, and Mason had grated as Ortiz had delivered the bromide.

Turning around, Mason had seen the three deputies surround Blues again while one of them put the handcuffs back on Blues's wrists. Mason had pressed into their circle and tapped his fists against Blues's balled hands.

"Today was their day, man," Mason had told him. "Tomorrow will be ours."

Blues nodded. "Get 'em," he had said, and left with his escort.

Mason had looked around the empty courtroom. On paper, no one could have found fault with what had happened there. The state had met its burden of proof. Even Mason had conceded that. No appellate court would overturn Judge Pistone's ruling, even though Mason was convinced the judge had decided the case before breakfast. The system had worked, except for one tiling: Mason was certain that Blues was innocent. That realization had led him to another conclusion. He would have to find justice for Blues outside the courtroom.

Now, hours later, worn with fatigue and slightly buzzed from a dinner of Budweiser, Mason replayed the few points he'd scored during cross-examination of the prosecution's witnesses, looking for leads. Carl Zimmerman had testified first. He was an experienced witness, directing his answers to the judge, who sat upright in his chair, watching Ortiz and Zimmerman play catch with softball questions. Mason wasn't surprised that Judge Pistone had abandoned his head-down disinterest. Murder had that effect on people.

Ortiz had taken Zimmerman through each step of the investigation, beginning with the call he had received from the dispatcher about a hysterical woman claiming to have found her employer shot to death. The woman turned out to have been Norma Hawkins, the housekeeper. Mason had started his cross-examination with that description.

"Norma Hawkins told the dispatcher that Mr. Cullan had been shot to death. Is that correct, Detective?" Mason had asked.

"Yes, sir," Zimmerman had answered.

"The body was found facedown and hadn't been moved when you arrived at the scene, correct?"

"That's right. The uniformed officers who arrived at the scene first secured the area. The housekeeper said that she hadn't touched anything in the study."

"No gun, bullets, or shell casings were found at the scene, correct?"

"Correct."

"In fact, when you arrived at the scene, you didn't see anything that told you Mr. Cullan had been shot. Isn't that correct, Detective?"

Zimmerman had stiffened as he saw the high hard pitch coming. "I suppose that's correct, Mr. Mason. But, there's no question that Mr. Cullan had been shot."

"Yet, somehow, Norma Hawkins knew that Mr. Cullan had been shot. That's what she told the dispatcher. True?"

"Well," Zimmerman had said, stalling for a better answer than the one he had, "I don't know what she told the dispatcher. I could have heard him wrong."

"There is another explanation, isn't there, Detective?"

"What's that, Mr. Mason?"

"Norma Hawkins shot Mr. Cullan."

"Objection!" Patrick Ortiz had said. "The question calls for speculation. There is no evidence that Norma Hawkins committed this crime. She's an innocent woman who doesn't deserve to be smeared by Mr. Mason."

"The police and the prosecution rushed to judgment in this case," Mason had shot back. "They picked their suspect at the beginning and disregarded any other possibilities."

"Sustained, unless you've got better evidence than that," Judge Pistone had said. Mason didn't.

Norma Hawkins was the next witness. She was a slightly built white woman in her late thirties whose rough hands and sloped shoulders testified to the hard work she did and the hard life she led. Norma spoke slowly and softly, in the upstairs-downstairs tradition of domestic help, describing her daily routine at Jack Cullan's house. Then Ortiz asked her about finding the body.

"What happened when you came to work on Monday morning, December tenth?"