Harry’s looking at me, like “Gimme a break.” “What if I had glass kidneys?” He says this in a whisper, turning to me as he crosses in front of our table on the way toward the witness.

“Quite a story,” he says. “I almost don’t know where to begin.”

“You might start with a question,” says Acosta.

“Right, Your Honor.” It’s Harry’s best deadpan.

“Mr. Skarpellos, you say that when your partner told you he was going to divorce his wife you were unable to say anything to him because you were too shocked, is that correct?”

“Yeah. I was surprised.”

“Then from all appearances they had a happy marriage?”

“What do I know?” he says.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Mr. Skarpellos.”

“The witness will answer the question.”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Ben wasn’t real happy the day he told me about the divorce.”

“Let’s get to that day,” says Harry. “You say that Mr. Potter told you he was going to divorce his wife, and that he asked you for the names of some good divorce lawyers, is that correct?”

“Right.”

“And the next day you gave him the names of three good lawyers?”

“Right.”

“Very prompt of you,” says Harry. “Did you think this was an emergency that required immediate attention?”

“When a friend asks for help, I give it,” he says.

“I see. Who were these lawyers?”

“What do you mean?”

“What are their names, the three lawyers you recommended to your partner?”

“I can’t remember. It’s been a long time. These weren’t guys I knew. I had to check around to get their names. Wrote ’em down and gave ’em to Ben, that’s all.”

“Checked them out thoroughly, did you?”

There’s a sneer from Skarpellos.

“To your knowledge, did Ben Potter ever hire any of these lawyers?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he ever talk to you again about any intentions to divorce Talia Potter?”

“No. Just the one time.”

Harry takes him over the falls on the issue of why he failed to tell the police about this conversation sooner, during his first interview with them. Skarpellos says he forgot, and Harry makes some points with the jury, a rehash of the deposition.

“A man is reported to have killed himself, and you don’t think it’s significant that he’s talking about divorce, a shattered marriage? You don’t think he might be depressed by such things?”

“Like I say, he was thinking of marrying somebody else.”

Skarpellos wrings his hands in the box a little, gives a shrug, like “Whadda ya gonna do.” “I didn’t think,” he says.

“But you remembered this conversation fast enough after the defendant was charged with murder?”

“Sure,” he says. “I thought it might be important.”

I can see some of the jurors making mental notes in the box on this. The Greek will not be winning any credibility awards today.

“Do you know for a fact whether Ben Potter ever told his wife he was planning on divorcing her?”

“No.”

“So he never told you that in fact he had ever discussed the subject of divorce with Talia Potter, isn’t that correct?”

“True.”

“To your knowledge, then, it’s possible that Talia Potter never knew that Ben Potter had ever contemplated divorce?”

“Objection.” Nelson’s on his feet. “Calls for speculation on the part of the witness.”

“Sustained.”

It doesn’t matter; Harry’s made the point with the jury.

“Mr. Skarpellos, isn’t it a fact that during the early stages of Talia Potter’s defense in this case you actually met with the defense attorneys representing her and arranged to advance fees and other costs for her defense?”

“Objection,” says Nelson. “This exceeds the scope of the direct examination.”

“Bears on the witness’s credibility, Your Honor, bias or motive for his testimony.”

“I’ll allow it,” says Acosta, “subject to a motion to strike if counsel fails to tie it together.”

Harry looks at Skarpellos, waiting for an answer.

“I did advance some fees,” he says. “It was a business deal. An advance against the purchase of Mr. Potter’s interest in the firm.”

“And at some point you stopped advancing those fees, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t afford it any longer.”

“Come, come, Mr. Skarpellos. Isn’t it a fact that you stopped advancing fees to the defendant because you believed that she would be convicted, and that if this happened you stood to inherit Mr. Potter’s interest in the firm without the need to purchase it?”

“No,” he says. “I don’t know any such thing.”

“Isn’t it true, Mr. Skarpellos, that if Talia Potter is convicted in this trial, by virtue of Ben Potter’s will you stand to inherit the bulk of his estate, his entire interest in the law firm, a fortune, millions of dollars?”

“Objection,” says Nelson.

“I wouldn’t know. I have no idea what was in his will.”

“I see, he let you into his confidence regarding his divorce, but not his will.”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Strike that last comment. The jury will disregard the last comment of defense counsel.”

“Nothing more of this witness, Your Honor.” Harry has set the stage.

“Redirect?” says Acosta.

“Nothing, Your Honor.” Nelson’s not going to touch it.

Harry turns to the bench. “We reserve the right,” he says, “to recall this witness during our case in chief. We would request that the court hold him available.”

“So ordered,” says Acosta. “Mr. Skarpellos, you will remain on call until you testify in the case for the defense or the defense has rested. Do you understand?”

The Greek is angry. He’d thought this was the end of it. He figured he was getting by cheap.

Nelson has finished his case. The state rests.

CHAPTER 36

I search the faces of the twelve souls who will soon decide Talia’s future, perhaps whether she lives or dies. It is the chief bane of the criminal defense lawyer, juries conditioned by a generation of violence on the tube and glad-handing politicians campaigning on the theme that crime is rampant in our lives. It is no wonder that we now believe there is evil under every rock. Jurors arrive here with one driving notion, that it is their job to convict, that it is their civic duty. This is the sword that I must lift from over Talia’s head in my opening argument.

This morning Acosta recessed for only ten minutes, then returned to deny our motion for a judgment of acquittal at the close of Nelson’s case. This was a mere formality, an act of going through the motions, a routine followed by every defendant in every trial. I argued that the prosecution had failed to make its case, to prove each element of the crime beyond a reasonable doubt, to a moral certainty, and that for this reason there was no plausible issue for the jury to decide.

For Acosta, feeling as he does now toward me, his denial of this motion was an easy call. It was made and argued out of the presence of the jury, the only saving grace. They did not see us lose on this core issue. It will become one more arrow in our quiver on appeal, if Talia is convicted.

So now I stand directly in front of them, centered on the jury box, eye contact so intense it would kill the thin-skinned.

“This was a serious crime,” I muster all of the sand that I can, holding their eyes, riveting their attention.

“And like you,” I say, “we believe that serious crimes must be punished. Talia Potter believes this. She has lost a husband to a brutal murder. Who is more the victim here, society, or the widow who is left to grieve?” I ask.

I look at Talia, her gaze cast down at the table, dutifully mournful. Harry next to her, a little subtle consolation.

“We understand the urge to convict,” I tell them. “But in venting this urge you must not punish the wrong party. To do so would be to perpetrate an injustice more monstrous than the crime itself.” I see a few heads nodding gently in these rows of corn.