“Ladies and gentlemen, I can’t leave it at that. I have a confession to make. During the 1960s I was known as a crusader for justice, a defender of human rights. But I tell you now, I have represented guilty men. Every defense lawyer has. A client never tells you he’s guilty, and you don’t ask. But deep in your soul—in your inmost heart—you know. Nevertheless, you hold your nose and remind yourself that you’re serving the Constitution, which was written by men a lot wiser than yourself. Men who believed it was better that ten guilty men go free than one innocent man rot in prison.”

Quentin rolls himself slowly back toward the jury. “Why am I telling you this? Because I want you to know that today I came into court with a clear conscience. Today I am not holding my nose, or willfully blinding myself to some dark truth. Because on this day, in this trial, my client has more integrity in his little finger than I have in what’s left of my whole body.”

Now I’m the one left breathless by Quentin’s audacity. With an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, I watch him point at my father in exactly the same way that I, as a prosecutor, often pointed at murderers. With almost religious conviction Quentin says, “That man—Dr. Thomas Jefferson Cage—is innocent.”

Shad leaps to his feet, yelling something I can’t make out over the roar of the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no rule that prohibits a lawyer from saying that his client is innocent, but few take that risk. Quentin has just done so with devastating effect. Shad might be able to call into question the way Quentin prefaced his statement, but right now that doesn’t matter. Both the jury and the spectators have been knocked out of their socks. It’s as though a football team trailing in the Super Bowl suddenly followed a ninety-seven-yard touchdown run with a successful onside kick, and the momentum shift was enough to give the spectators whiplash.

Judge Elder bangs his gavel, calling for order, and the crowd settles back into a resentful but expectant silence.

“Overruled,” Judge Elder rules with obvious reluctance. (I never even heard what Shad’s objection was.) The judge would clearly like to make Quentin pay a price for his boldness, but he can do little other than give the old lawyer a reproving glare. “Please conclude your remarks, Mr. Avery.”

Quentin looks pointedly at his watch, as if to say, I’ll take my full allotted time and no less, thank you.