Judge Long checks in with Harry and Geraldine and then nods at the uniforms, telling them it’s time to escort Rinky to his all-too-familiar digs. Rinky’s not quite ready to leave the courtroom, though. He does a double-take in Anastasia’s direction and then elbows the guard nearest the door. “Would ya lookit that?” Rinky says. “Ever seen anything like that before?”

Anastasia tosses her hair over her shoulder and snarls at him. The guards look somewhat alarmed by her performance, but Rinky doesn’t. He seems delighted. He encircles his eyes with his hands as if he’s holding binoculars, then bounces up and down and starts to walk toward her, as if he’s spotted a rare bird and wants a better view.

The uniforms have a different plan in mind, of course. Each of them takes one of Rinky’s elbows and they move him toward the side door. Both guards stare at the floor—eyes averted from Anastasia—as they move out of the courtroom. Rinky doesn’t. He walks backward, smiling and still bouncing a little. And he gives Anastasia raccoon eyes until the heavy door slams shut between them.

Judge Long massages his temples as he watches them leave, then sighs and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he seems a bit startled to find Steven Collier smack-dab in front of him. “I’m sorry,” the judge says, looking down at the mountain of paperwork on the bench, “but I’m afraid I don’t know who you are, sir.”

“I’m Steven Collier.” He gives the judge a slight bow and an indulgent smile, as if that says it all.

Judge Long looks confused, rifling through his papers now. “Are you an attorney?”

Collier’s laugh is inordinately hearty. He slaps his thigh and shakes his head; that Judge Long is a real kidder. “Oh no, Your Honor. Me? No, I’m not an attorney.”

The judge checks the paperwork again. “You’re not a party to this proceeding, are you?”

“No, Judge. No. I’m not a party.”

“Well, then who are you?” the judge asks.

“I’m Mrs. Rawlings’s financial advisor,” Collier says, sweeping one arm back toward Louisa. He looks over his shoulder and then leans toward the judge, as if he’s about to share government-classified information. “And I’m an extremely close friend of the entire family.”

Judge Long rests one forearm on top of the other, tucking his hands inside the wide sleeves of his robe. “That’s all well and good, Mr. Collier,” he says, peering over the rims of his half-glasses, “but why are you standing in front of my bench?”

“Oh, that.” Collier laughs again, and again it’s too hearty. He gets it now. Or he thinks he does. He lets out a small, embarrassed cough, as if he’s hosting this event and momentarily forgot his manners. “This,” he says, “is Anastasia Rawlings.” He rests a hand on her forearm.

Judge Long takes a deep breath. He’s losing patience. “I’m aware of that,” he says.

“She is the daughter of the deceased,” Collier whispers, as if Anastasia might not already know this.

“I’m aware of that, too,” the judge says.

Collier releases Anastasia’s arm and points to himself. “And I am here to speak on her behalf.”

Judge Long shakes his head before Collier finishes his sentence. “I can’t let you do that, sir.”

“You can’t? What do you mean, you can’t?” Collier’s posture changes, stiffens. He seems to take umbrage at the judge’s words and I wonder for a moment if he’ll say: You’re a judge, aren’t you?

Judge Long sees the body language too. “It’s nothing personal,” he says. “But if you’re neither a party to these proceedings nor a licensed attorney representing a party, then you don’t speak on behalf of anyone. Not in this courtroom. Not in any courtroom. You may have a seat in the gallery.” The judge points.

Collier turns and stares out at the benches as if he hadn’t realized they were here until now. “But, Judge,” he says, “hear me out, please.” Collier clutches Anastasia’s arm as if she’s a toddler who might wander into traffic. “Miss Rawlings isn’t up to this. She’s had an awfully rough go of it. She’s rather fragile.”

The Kydd tries to disguise his outburst of laughter as a coughing fit, but Judge Long isn’t fooled. He looks out at the Kydd, who’s bent in half in his chair at the bar, and then at Harry, who’s sitting next to him. Harry shrugs. “He does this sometimes,” he says.

Finally the judge looks at Louisa and me. We’re laughing too—a little louder than we should. “Fragile,” Louisa repeats. “Oh my, that’s rich.”

Judge Long looks back at Collier, who hasn’t budged. “Miss Rawlings will be just fine,” the judge says, pointing again to the gallery. “You are excused now, sir.”

Collier pivots and retreats, clearly unhappy to be denied his moment in the history of American jurisprudence. I smile as he passes. He doesn’t.

Geraldine leaves her table, saunters up front, and joins Anastasia near the bench. “Your Honor,” she says, “perhaps I can help move this matter along.”

The judge must have a headache; he’s massaging his temples again. “And for that, Ms. Schilling,” he sighs, “the court would be most grateful.”

“Miss Rawlings has made two requests, Your Honor. First, she’d like her father’s remains released for cremation.”

“And your position is?”

“The Commonwealth has no objection, Your Honor. The post was done on Monday. Evidence collection is complete.”

The judge peers down at his papers on the bench and scribbles hurriedly, his signature, no doubt. He passes the form to Wanda and then looks at Anastasia and smiles. “Consider it done, Miss Rawlings.”

“She’d also like her father’s house released from crime scene status,” Geraldine says. “She’d like to use it while she’s on-Cape.”

“And?”

“And we have no objection, Judge. Again, evidence collection is complete.”

The judge scribbles a second time and then arches his eyebrows at Anastasia. “This must be your lucky day, Miss Rawlings,” he stage-whispers, as if he doesn’t want Geraldine to hear. “Attorney Schilling is usually much more difficult to get along with.”

“Your Honor.” I leave the table and approach the bench. If Geraldine is feeling agreeable, I want in. “Mrs. Rawlings would like to be heard on a related matter.”

“Yes,” he says, looking down at his file. “I have a note to that effect.”

The thunder of a small stampede makes me pause and turn. Four court officers are running, two coming toward us from the back of the room, two passing by us from the front. They’re headed toward the defense table, all of them. And they’re shouting now, calling out “Move it!” and “Get back!” One look at the table tells me why.

In the time it took for me to walk to the bench, Steven Collier made his way to Louisa. He stands up straight now, backs away from the chair at the bar he’d been leaning over, and smoothes his suit coat. “I’m sorry,” he says to the judge, raising his hands in surrender. “My mistake. I didn’t know it would be a problem.”

Two of the uniforms escort him out, Collier talking nonstop as they go. I wonder if his nose is growing.

When I look back at Judge Long, he’s massaging his temples yet again. “You wanted to be heard, Ms. Nickerson,” he reminds me, “on a related matter.”

“Yes, Your Honor. Mrs. Rawlings would like the court’s permission to attend her husband’s memorial service tomorrow morning.”

Anastasia wheels around, her thickly outlined eyes boring holes into the woman she couldn’t bear to look at fifteen minutes ago. “No-oo,” she bellows. It’s a two-syllable word.

Judge Long leans forward on the bench and looks down at Anastasia, his half-glasses on the edge of his nose. “Attorney Nickerson isn’t asking for your permission, Miss Rawlings,” he says.

“Your Honor, we can’t do that.” Geraldine peers up at the judge with the back of one hand to her forehead, looking like her next comment might be “woe is me.”

“We’ve done it before,” he says.