"I truly can't see how."

"I can't either, and I suppose that's why I hadn't suggested it before."

"Well, he's your brother. I'll leave that decision up to you."

"I'll think about it," Alexis said. Then she checked her watch. "We don't have a lot of time. Are you sure you don't want to grab something to eat?"

"You know, now that I've gotten out of that courtroom, my stomach has been growling. I could use a quick sandwich."

After they stood up, Craig enveloped his wife in a sustained hug. He truly appreciated her support and felt even more embarrassed about his behavior prior to his legal problems. She was right about his ability to compartmentalize. He'd totally separated his professional life and his family life and put far too much emphasis on the professional. He prayed he'd have a chance to balance the two.

"All rise," the court officer called. Judge Marvin Davidson whisked out of his chambers with a swirl of black robes at the exact moment the second hand of the wall-mounted, institutional clock swept past the number twelve.

The sun had moved in its diurnal trajectory, and some of the shades over the story-tall windows above the six-foot-high oak paneling had been raised. A bit of cityscape could be seen, as well as a tiny patch of blue sky.

"Be seated," the court officer called out after the judge had done so.

"I trust you all had a refreshing bite to eat," the judge said to the jury. Most jurors nodded.

"And as I instructed, I trust no one talked about the case in any capacity." All the jurors shook their heads in agreement.

"Good. Now you will hear the opening statement by the defense. Mr. Bingham."

Randolph took his time standing up, walking to the podium, and placing his notes on the angled surface. He then adjusted his dark blue suit jacket and the cuffs of his white shirt. He stood ramrod-straight, using every inch of his six-foot-plus height while his long-fingered hands gently enveloped the lectern's sides. Every single silver hair on his scalp knew its assigned place and had been snipped to a predetermined length. His necktie, with its sprinkling of Harvard veritas shields set in a crimson field, was tied to perfection. He was the picture of inbred, refined elegance and stood out in the middle of the shabby courtroom like a prince in a brothel.

From Craig's perspective, he couldn't help but be impressed, and for a few moments he'd gone back to thinking that the contrast with Tony Fasano might be favorable. Randolph was the father figure, the president, the diplomat. Who wouldn't want to trust him? But then Craig's eyes moved to the jury and went from the muscular fireman to the plumber's assistant and on to the inconvenienced businessmen. Every face reflected a reflex ennui that was the opposite of their reaction to Tony Fasano, and even before Randolph opened his mouth, Craig's brief flash of optimism disappeared like a drop of water on a sizzling fry pan.

Yet this rapid flip-flop realization wasn't all bad. It gave validation to Alexis's advice about mind-set, so Craig closed his eyes and conjured up the image of Patience Stanhope in her bed when he and Leona charged into the woman's bedroom. He thought about how shocked he'd been by her cyanosis, how quickly he'd reacted, and everything he'd done from that moment until it was apparent she was not going to be resuscitated. Over the course of the last eight months he'd gone over the sequence numerous times, and although on a few other cases over the years, he could second-guess himself and believe he should have done something slightly different, with Patience Stanhope he'd done everything absolutely by the book. He was confident that if he were confronted with the same situation that very day, he would not do anything differently. There had been no negligence. Of that he was absolutely certain.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Randolph said slowly and precisely. "You have heard a unique opening statement from someone who admits he has had no experience in trying medical malpractice cases. It was a tour de force with clever, initial self-deprecations which made you smile. I didn't smile because I saw the ploy for what it was. I will not debase you with such oratory tricks. I will merely speak the truth, which I'm certain you will come to understand when you hear the testimony that the defense will present. In contrast to the opposing attorney, I have had more than thirty years' defending our good doctors and hospitals, and in all the trials I have participated in I have never heard an opening statement quite like Mr. Fasano's, which in many ways was an unfair character assassination of my client, Dr. Craig Bowman."

"Objection," Tony shouted, leaping to his feet. "Argumentative and inflammatory."

"Your Honor," Randolph interjected. With annoyance, he made a small, dismissive gesture with one hand toward Tony as if shooing away gnats. "May I approach the bench?"

"By all means," Judge Davidson snapped in return. He waved for the attorneys to come to the sidebar.

Randolph strode up to the side of the judge's bench with Tony fast on his heels. "Your Honor, Mr. Fasano was allowed wide discretion in his opening statement. I expect the same courtesy."

"I only described what I intend to substantiate with witnesses, which is what an opening statement is supposed to prove. And you, Mr. Bingham, objected about every ten seconds, interrupting my train of thought."

"Good God!" Judge Davidson complained. "This isn't a murder-one trial," the judge said. "It's a medical malpractice trial. We're not even through the opening statements and you're at each other's throats. At this rate, we'll be here for months." He allowed what he said to sink in for a beat. "Let this be a warning to you both. I want to move things along. Hear me? Each of you are experienced enough to know what is appropriate and what the other will tolerate, so rein yourselves in and stick to the facts.

"Now to the objection at hand. Mr. Bingham, what's good for the goose is good for the gander. You did object to Mr. Fasano being inflammatory. He has every right to object to you doing the same. Mr. Fasano, it is true you were given wide discretion, and God help you and your client if your testimony doesn't support your allegations. Mr. Bingham will be allowed the same discretion. Do I make myself clear?"

Both attorneys dutifully nodded.

"Fine! Let's continue."

Randolph returned to the podium. Fasano sat back down at the plaintiff's table.

"Objection sustained," Judge Davidson said for the court reporter's benefit. "Continue."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Randolph said, "motivation is not usually part of medical malpractice proceedings. What is normally at issue is whether the standard of care has been met such that the doctor possessed and used that degree of learning and skill in treating the patient's condition that a reasonably competent doctor would employ in the same circumstance. You will note that in his opening statement, Mr. Fasano said nothing about his experts suggesting that Dr. Bowman did not use his learning and skill appropriately. Instead, Mr. Fasano must bring in the concept of motivation to get his allegation of negligence to be substantive. And the reason for this, as our experts will testify, is that from the instant Dr. Bowman knew the gravity of Patience Stanhope's condition, he acted with commendable speed and skill, and did everything possible to save the patient's life."

Alexis found herself nodding in agreement as she listened to Randolph. She liked what she was hearing and thought he was doing a good job. Her eyes switched to Craig. He was at least sitting up straight. She wished she could see his face from where she was sitting, but it was impossible. Her eyes then went to the jury and her evaluation of Randolph 's performance began to erode. There was something about the jurors' posture that was different from when Tony Fasano was speaking. They seemed too relaxed, as if Randolph wasn't sufficiently engaging their attention. Then, as if to confirm her fears, the plumbing assistant gave a long, sustained yawn, which spread through most of the others.