Fresh anxiety brings on a sudden urge to urinate. “Bullshit. How can they pressure a judge?”

“Elected judges are politicians, my man. And what politician doesn’t want to be on TV?”

“Me.”

Rusty pulls a wry face. “You’re an aberration. Mark my words: the first big revelation that comes out of this trial, we’ll have cameras inside the court.”

“The court will come to order!” cries the bailiff.

This time the hum dies more slowly, slowly enough that Judge Elder pans his eyes across the crowd like a machine gunner sighting his weapon.

“Before we begin,” Elder says in a deep baritone, “let me be clear about something. Because of the notoriety of this trial, people may feel that the normal rules of decorum do not apply.” He glances down at the lawyers’ tables. “Some attorneys may even feel that way. But let me assure everyone in this room: If you cause trouble in this court—if you make undue displays of emotion or cause a disturbance of any kind—you are going to jail. You will not pass Go, nor will you collect two hundred dollars.”

If this is a joke, nobody laughs.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Judge Elder says gravely, “a distinguished member of the community stands accused of first-degree murder, and the sharks are circling outside. Media people, political fanatics with their own agendas. Some may even have made it into this room. So I say it again: There are deputies present who will enforce my commands without a moment’s hesitation. I won’t lose five minutes’ sleep over jailing anybody in this courtroom. I can’t be clearer than that. Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

The spectators have drawn back from Judge Elder’s daunting presence, and while they’re still pressed into their chair backs, the judge says, “Mr. District Attorney, you may begin your opening statement.”

Shadrach Johnson has prepared his whole life for this moment. Now forty-four years of age, he hasn’t risen nearly as high in the world as he once believed he would have by this time. Shad believed, in fact, that he would be governor of Mississippi by now. That was the goal he set himself when he first returned to Natchez from Chicago and ran for mayor of this city, seven years ago—or nearly eight now, I guess. And rightly or not, Shad blames me for the most crippling setbacks in his quest. In some cases he’s right, others not. The black community here wasn’t nearly so quick to accept an ambitious “outsider” as Shad assumed they would be—not even a prodigal son—but most of their reluctance was based on a collective assessment of Shad as a man bent on furthering his own cause, and not that of his people.