“I could parade five hundred people through this courtroom to verify my assertions,” Quentin continues, “but I don’t need to do that. Because most everybody in this room already knows they’re true. The black folk here know there ought to be a monument in front of the old house on High Street where Dr. Cage had his clinic. Where other whites saw a Negro, a nigra, a nigger, a buck, a boy—Tom Cage saw a human being. When most everybody else treated you like a servant, Dr. Cage treated you as an equal. Black folk knew they could go to his clinic and get help, no matter how much trouble they were in.” Quentin raises his forefinger and tilts it just enough that it’s pointing at a pair of black women sitting in the jury box. “How can I put a price on what that meant to people in this town? I don’t know a number that high. And yet”—he sighs as though he can hardly bear to go on—“here sits Tom Cage, accused of premeditated murder of a patient under his care. Here he sits, stoic and silent, while low men and women lie under oath and slander his name.” Quentin hangs his head, as though he can barely endure the injustice of the situation. “Do you know what I say to that, ladies and gentlemen?”

The jury collectively leans forward.

The white shock of hair comes up. “Do you know what I say to the State of Mississippi? To the high-and-mighty district attorney?”

Several jury members actually cock their ears toward Quentin to be sure they don’t miss his answer.

Quentin turns to Shad, his eyes burning with what looks like contempt. “Have you no shame, brother?”

Shad finally explodes, which is exactly what Quentin wanted. “Judge, this is outrageous! Opposing counsel isn’t making an opening statement. He’s delivering an oral hagiography of his client and slandering the district attorney!”

“Oral hagiography?” Quentin echoes, as though mystified. “Isn’t that illegal in Mississippi?”

Half the lawyers in the room burst into laughter, prompting Judge Elder to come down hard on Quentin.

“Mr. Avery, attorneys are permitted considerable leeway in their opening remarks, but you’re not only exceeding the agreed-upon speed limit, you’re driving on the wrong side of the yellow line. Confine yourself to the facts of the case, or move on to your case in chief.”

Shad is livid, but he can do nothing more to slow Quentin’s flow.

“Members of the jury,” Judge Elder continues, “please disregard the defense attorney’s last comments.”