As if on autopilot, Helen stood. “Yes, Your Honor.” While she walked toward the jury railing, she saw Clarice Hanson, Judge Page’s judicial assistant, bust out of the doors of his chambers. Clarice approached the bench, where Page had risen from his seat. He leaned forward and listened to her whisper something in his ear. Then, just as Helen was about to address the jury, Harold Page’s voice stopped her.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’m sorry to have to do this, but we are going to need to take a recess. Sundance . . .” Page glanced at the bailiff, who had been within earshot of whatever Clarice had informed him.

“Members of the jury, please follow me,” Sundance said. As he ushered them out, the bailiff stole a glance at Helen.

Ricardo Cassidy was only a couple of inches over five feet tall, but his upper and lower body were chiseled from years of weight lifting. His skin tone was almost orange from tanning bed use, and he dyed his hair platinum blond. Because of his hair and last name, Helen had taken to calling him Sundance from almost the minute they had been introduced, and the nickname had held over the years. Now everyone, even Harold Page, addressed the bailiff in this manner. As he looked at her, Sundance’s normally tan face was even more ashen than Lou Horn’s.

Once the jury had filed out, Judge Page, who’d remained standing, ushered the attorneys forward. “Counsel, let’s talk in chambers,” he said, the tension in his voice palpable. “You too, Hank,” he said, pointing a finger at Sheriff Hank Springfield, who’d been sitting next to Helen at the prosecution table.

Helen’s feet remained glued to the floor. She was still standing in the well of the courtroom, that place right in front of the jury, her customary spot for beginning an opening statement. All morning, she had been under the odd and ridiculous notion that if she could start her opening, everything would be OK. All that had happened last night after she’d left Doug Brinkley’s gun range would go away. So close, she thought.

She felt a hand squeeze her arm, and she glanced at Gloria Sanchez, whose eyes were wide. “Any idea what this is about?” Gloria asked.

“No,” Helen said.

Helen was the last person to enter Page’s chambers. As she did, a uniformed deputy closed the door behind her. She blinked her eyes, noticing that two other officers were also in the room. Judge Page had already taken his robe off, and he and Hank were whispering back and forth. Remembering her place in these proceedings and steeling herself for whatever came next, Helen stepped forward and spoke in a sharp voice. “What’s going on here, Harold?” She frowned at Page, knowing that everyone would expect her to be annoyed that her opening statement had been interrupted.