I rehearsed facing the verdict, although I said nothing to Mr. Bates. My resignation seemed almost sacrilegious next to his perseverance. He was still stinging from my refusal to go along with his and Frank’s plan, but at the same time this fed his determination to win. There was a growing glint in his eye whenever he turned that pen round and round between his hands.

It was a Monday morning when I entered the courtroom and saw the pen not in his hands, its customary place, but stuck squarely in his pocket. He gripped my arm and whispered in my ear.

“We may have ourselves a deus ex machina.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have one more witness. Keep your fingers crossed.”

“Who is it?”

“No one you know. Someone’s volunteered to come forward. This might make all the difference.”

After the opening rituals, the judge called upon Mr. Bates. “You wish to call another witness?”

“Yes, Your Honor. I call Wanda Lowell to the stand.”

Peck High had its share of poor kids, mostly black and Mexican, but the relaxation of the dress code and the adoption of denim as the national uniform of youth had successfully eliminated the conspicuousness of poverty. Wanda Lowell was conspicuously poor. Her face was gaunt and sallow, her hair thin and lusterless. Her shoulders rounded to make a hollow of her chest, while her hipbones jutted forward like two tiny buttresses. The yellow and white in her dress cruelly accentuated her colorless appearance; the striped material did not match up at the seams. It was painfully apparent this woman had no time for, or perhaps no conception of, even modest vanity. I looked at her ankles, and remembering Frank’s story, I half expected to see socks sliding down them into her shoes. Of course, she didn’t wear socks. She wore white heels, dulled and cracked by several layers of liquid polish.

She was sworn in and gave the court her maiden name, place of residence, and former relationship to Frank. Mr. Bates began his questioning, and several of the jury leaned forward in their seats.

“Mrs. Lowell, will you please tell the court how you came to be here today?”

“I been reading about this in the paper and I seen the lies Mr. Mattison’s brothers were telling about—”

“Objection!”

“Your Honor, Mrs. Lowell’s testimony will clarify her accusation.”

“Objection overruled. Proceed.”

“Well, that’s what they were,” said Wanda Lowell. “It looked like no one knew Mr. Mattison’s side of the story except me, so that’s why I decided to speak up.”

“Will you tell the court why you waited so long?”

“My husband didn’t want me to get mixed up in it. I had pneumonia in January and lost three weeks at work. And I don’t get paid for today, either.”