Quentin is studying the first photocopied page in his lap, after grumpily chastising me for bothering him at this hour. I don’t know why he’s taking so long to speak. I highlighted the names of Fannie Elder and Claude Devereux in yellow, with the dates of their rendezvous. But Quentin is staring down at the photocopy like a doctor deciphering a litany of lab test results.

“You see those names, right?” I ask. “The highlighted ones?”

He doesn’t look up. “I’m not blind yet, goddamn it.”

“You get the significance, right?”

At last he raises his head, his face dark with frustration. “Reverend Baldwin’s out for blood, isn’t he? Forty years of sitting on this, and now he’s ready to blow the whole city wide open. I’ve known Fannie Elder for fifty years. And yes, I know that coonass snake-in-the-grass Claude Devereux. Did Reverend Baldwin tell you that Devereux is definitely Joe’s father?”

“He did.”

“Damn.” Quentin folds the sheet and slips it into his wheelchair pocket. “I guess he would know, if anybody would. He’s Fannie’s pastor. Goddamn it.”

“Don’t you think this could be grounds for a mistrial?”

“A mistrial?” Quentin looks at me like I’m crazy. “Man, I don’t want a mistrial! I want a fair trial.”

“But Quentin—”

“This isn’t the easy call you seem to think it is, Penn. Judicial bias is a funny thing. For one thing, all judges are biased, some way or other. That’s human nature. You start trying to prove it, though, and you’ll run out of friendly jurisdictions quick.”

“You’re not worried about that. Not anymore.”

“Because I have one foot in the grave? Is that what you’re saying?”

“All I’m saying is, look at the situation for what it is.”

“And what is the situation, my brother? As you see it?”

It takes a lot of will to control my frustration. “Judicial bias in a trial is like a rock under a rushing stream. You can’t see it, and you might get through the rapids without hitting it, but that rock is steering the current the whole fucking time. The rock itself doesn’t even know what effect it’s having. But in the end, it’s decisive.”

Quentin smiles. “That’s a pretty good analogy, boy. You’ve got a way with words. But don’t start kidding yourself that you’re a voting member of this defense team. You’re on it because your mama wanted you there. Now, if that’s all, I’ve got things to do.”

“Surely you’re not going to just sit on this.”

The old lawyer takes a deep breath, then blows out all the air in one long rush. “Doris?” he says over his shoulder. “Bring me my cell phone, please.”

The shadow behind him disappears, then quickly returns with the phone.

“Dial Joe Elder for me.”