“Judge, the defense elects to defer its opening statement until prior to presenting its case in chief.”

While the puzzled crowd tries to work out what this means, my blood pressure plummets. For a few seconds I fear that I and not my mother might faint to the floor. Just as with the issue of discovery, Quentin has exercised a little-used prerogative of the defense, which is to make no opening statement until after the prosecution has presented its entire case. There’s a reason this option is seldom used. Almost no defense attorney believes his client can withstand several days of unopposed accusations and damning evidence without sustaining devastating damage in the minds of the jury.

No attorney except Quentin Avery.

“Penn, what’s happening?” my mother asks with barely restrained panic.

“Wait a second,” I temporize, certain that Quentin must be stalling for some reason.

Judge Elder is staring down at Quentin with one eyebrow raised, but Quentin appears to be intent on something on his table.

“Mr. Avery?” asks Judge Elder. “For the record, are you sure about that?”

Quentin looks up and answers with the same lack of passion. “Positive, Judge.”

“Well, then. All right.”

My pulse is somewhere north of 110 beats per minute when my cell phone buzzes again. This time the text is from Mia Burke: You need to get here. Serenity just reached Carl, and he’s 20 minutes away from old lady’s house. Dolores is losing it. Premonitions of disaster. Annie is freaking out because of D. Come NOW.

“Mom, I have to go,” I whisper.

“What? Penn, what’s happened?”

“Dolores is so upset she’s freaking Annie out.”

“Oh, God. But what about your father? Penn, why didn’t Quentin argue with everything Johnson said?”

“I don’t know, but I promise I’ll find out. Stay here and remember every word that’s said. Rusty will keep me posted via text. I love you, Mom.”

Before I can rise, Judge Elder says, “Mr. Johnson, please call your first witness.”

“Your Honor, the State would like the jury to see the video recording of the death of Viola Turner, which has been stipulated into evidence as State’s Exhibit One.”

While the crowd thrums in anticipation, I rise into a crouch and start moving toward the aisle, grazing knees and thighs, triggering protests and even muffled curses from those I pass. It would have been better to wait until the room was darkened for the playing of the video, but Mia’s SOS sounded desperate. Praying for leniency from Judge Elder, I push into the aisle and start toward the back door.

“Mayor Cage,” booms the judge. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I freeze in the aisle like a schoolboy caught trying to sneak out of assembly.

“No one enters or leaves my court except during a recess.”