Judge Elder is looking at his watch and probably thinking of his stomach when the click and whir of Quentin’s chair announces that he will indeed cross-examine Lincoln Turner.

Quentin’s chair rolls up to the lawyer’s podium, then past it, and stops about ten feet from Lincoln, who stares back with sullen defiance.

“Hello, Mr. Turner,” Quentin says in his warm baritone.

Lincoln nods warily. He is facing a man whose cases he probably studied in law school.

“That’s a mighty sad story you just told.”

Lincoln offers no comment.

“Judge,” Shad complains, “is there a question on the horizon?”

Joe Elder gives Shad a dark look. “Mr. Johnson, Mr. Avery just allowed you to conduct a fireside chat with your witness. Be patient.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Quentin hasn’t broken eye contact with Lincoln since rolling up to the witness box. But now he looks down, touches his joystick, and makes a quarter turn toward the jury. “Before we get into any of the substantive issues you raised, Mr. Turner, I want to get my chronology straight. I find that it sometimes helps me—and also jury members—to work backwards from the present rather than forward from a past event. All right?”

“Whatever you say.”

Quentin gives a tight smile. “You stated that you did not see your mother from the time you had the confrontation over Tom Cage until she lay dead in her sister’s home. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you never got to tell your mother you’d forgiven her, because you didn’t arrive from Chicago in time. You were still thirty minutes outside of town when she died.”

I can see the lawyer in Lincoln trying to figure out where Quentin is going with these questions, but Quentin’s casual tone gives no clue to what he considers important.

“That’s right,” Lincoln says.

“All right. Now, you stated that you wanted to kill Tom Cage after you learned he was your father.”

“That’s right.”

“And you only learned that fact three months before your mother died?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still want to kill Dr. Cage?”

Lincoln looks like he’d prefer to kill Quentin Avery right now, but the blaze of anger in his eyes slowly subsides. “No, I don’t want to kill him. I don’t want nothing from him.”

Quentin draws back his head in surprise. “You want him to go to jail, don’t you?”

“If the jury believes he should.”

Quentin smiles at this. “Come now, Mr. Turner. Don’t you believe that Tom Cage murdered your mother?”

“Yes.”

“And didn’t you prompt the DA to begin the investigation into her death?”

“Any son would have done the same.”

Quentin nods agreeably. “But you never wanted anything from Dr. Cage, you said?”

“You mean money? Or something like that?”

“I mean anything.”