“I think you’ve already made that very clear, Mr. Patterson. May we have it, please?”

Howard Patterson looked over to the spectator area where a man in a prison guard uniform was seated. Patterson nodded to him. The guard rose and came forward, carrying a covered wooden box.

Jennifer took it from him. “The defense would like to place this in evidence as Exhibit A, Your Honor.”

“What is it?” District Attorney Di Silva demanded.

“It’s called a goodie box.”

There was a titter from the spectators.

Judge Waldman looked down at Jennifer and said slowly, “Did you say a goodie box? What is in the box, Miss Parker?”

“Weapons. Weapons that were made in Sing Sing by the prisoners for the purpose of—”

“Objection!” The District Attorney was on his feet, his voice a roar. He hurried toward the bench. “I’m willing to make allowances for my colleague’s inexperience, Your Honor, but if she intends to practice criminal law, then I would suggest she study the basic rules of evidence. There is no evidence linking anything in this so-called goodie box with the case that is being tried in this court.”

“This box proves—”

“This box proves nothing.” The District Attorney’s voice was withering. He turned to Judge Waldman. “The State objects to the introduction of this exhibit as being immaterial and irrelevant.”

“Objection sustained.”

And Jennifer stood there, watching her case collapse. Everything was against her: the judge, the jury, Di Silva, the evidence. Her client was going to the electric chair unless…

Jennifer took a deep breath. “Your Honor, this exhibit is absolutely vital to our defense. I feel—”

Judge Waldman interrupted. “Miss Parker, this court does not have the time or the inclination to give you instructions in the law, but the District Attorney is quite right. Before coming into this courtroom you should have acquainted yourself with the basic rules of evidence. The first rule is that you cannot introduce evidence that has not been properly prepared for. Nothing has been put into the record about the deceased being armed or not armed. Therefore, the question of these weapons becomes extraneous. You are overruled.”

Jennifer stood there, the blood rushing to her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said stubbornly, “but it is not extraneous.”

“That is enough! You may file an exception.”

“I don’t want to file an exception, Your Honor. You’re denying my client his rights.”

“Miss Parker, if you go any further I will hold you in contempt of court.”

“I don’t care what you do to me,” Jennifer said. “The ground has been prepared for introducing this evidence. The District Attorney prepared it himself.”

Di Silva said, “What? I never—”

Jennifer turned to the court stenographer. “Would you please read Mr. Di Silva’s statement, beginning with the line, ‘We’ll probably never know what caused Abraham Wilson to attack…’?”

The District Attorney looked up at Judge Waldman. “Your Honor, are you going to allow—?”

Judge Waldman held up a hand. He turned to Jennifer. “This court does not need you to explain the law to it, Miss Parker. When this trial is ended, you will be held in contempt of court. Because this is a capital case, I am going to hear you out.” He turned to the court stenographer. “You may proceed.”

The court stenographer turned some pages and began reading. “We’ll probably never know what caused Abraham Wilson to attack this harmless, defenseless little man—”

“That’s enough,” Jennifer interrupted. “Thank you.” She looked at Robert Di Silva and said slowly, “Those are your words, Mr. Di Silva. We’ll probably never know what caused Abraham Wilson to attack this harmless, defenseless little man…” She turned to Judge Waldman. “The key word, Your Honor, is defenseless. Since the District Attorney himself told this jury that the victim was defenseless, he left an open door for us to pursue the fact that the victim might not have been defenseless, that he might, in fact, have had a weapon. Whatever is brought up in the direct is admissible in the cross.”

There was a long silence.

Judge Waldman turned to Robert Di Silva. “Miss Parker has a valid point. You did leave the door open.”

Robert Di Silva was looking at him unbelievingly. “But I only—”

“The court will allow the evidence to be entered as Exhibit A.”

Jennifer took a deep, grateful breath. “Thank you, Your Honor.” She picked up the covered box, held it up in her hands and turned to face the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, in his final summation the District Attorney is going to tell you that what you are about to see in this box is not direct evidence. He will be correct. He is going to tell you that there is nothing to link any of these weapons to the deceased. He will be correct. I am introducing this exhibit for another reason. For days now, you have been hearing how the ruthless, trouble-making defendant, who stands six feet four inches tall, wantonly attacked Raymond Thorpe, who stood only five feet nine inches tall. The picture that has been so carefully, and falsely, painted for you by the prosecution is that of a sadistic, murdering bully who killed another inmate for no reason. But ask yourselves this: Isn’t there always some motive? Greed, hate, lust, something? I believe—and I’m staking my client’s life on that belief—that there was a motive for that killing. The only motive, as the District Attorney himself told you, that justifies killing someone: self-defense. A man fighting to protect his own life. You have heard Howard Patterson testify that in his experience murders have occurred in prison, that convicts do fashion deadly weapons. What that means is that it was possible that Raymond Thorpe was armed with such a weapon, that indeed it was he who was attacking the defendant, and the defendant, trying to protect himself, was forced to kill him—in self-defense. If you decide that Abraham Wilson ruthlessly—and without any motivation at all—killed Raymond Thorpe, then you must bring in a verdict of guilty as charged. If, however, after seeing this evidence, you have a reasonable doubt in your minds, then it is your duty to return a verdict of not guilty.” The covered box was becoming heavy in her hands. “When I first looked into this box I could not believe what I saw. You, too, may find it hard to believe—but I ask you to remember that it was brought here under protest by the assistant warden of Sing Sing Prison. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a collection of confiscated weapons secretly made by the convicts at Sing Sing.”

As Jennifer moved toward the jury box, she seemed to stumble and lose her balance. The box fell out of her grasp, the top flew off, and the contents spilled out over the courtroom floor. There was a gasp. The jurors began to get to their feet so they could have a better look. They were staring at the hideous collection of weapons that had tumbled from the box. There were almost one hundred of them, of every size, shape and description. Homemade hatchets and butcher knives, stilettos and deadly looking scissors with the ends honed, pellet guns, and a large, vicious-looking cleaver. There were thin wires with wooden handles, used for strangling, a leather sap, a sharpened ice pick, a machete.

Spectators and reporters were on their feet now, craning to get a better look at the arsenal that lay scattered on the floor. Judge Waldman was angrily pounding his gavel for order.

Judge Waldman looked at Jennifer with an expression she could not fathom. A bailiff hurried forward to pick up the spilled contents of the box. Jennifer waved him away. “Thank you,” she said, “I’ll do it.”

As the jurors and spectators watched, Jennifer got down on her knees and began picking up the weapons and putting them back in the box. She worked slowly, handling the weapons gingerly, looking at each one without expression before she replaced it. The jurors had taken their seats again, but they were watching every move she made. It took Jennifer a full five minutes to return the weapons to the box, while District Attorney Di Silva sat there, fuming.