Quentin raises both hands, palms upturned. “But I’m talking like Dr. Cage helped Viola Turner to die! The fact is, he didn’t. This man who had the guts to help young soldiers die rather than face torture could not bring himself to kill a woman he had loved, and who had borne him a child. Not even out of mercy. But he did bring himself to come here today, take the stand, and tell you the truth, no matter what it might cost him. And as for the assertions of the district attorney, who claims that Tom Cage is playing some sort of con game on us all . . . I ask Mr. Johnson what I asked him at the conclusion of my opening remarks.”

With the slow but inexorable motion of a gun traversing in its mount, Quentin turns to Shadrach Johnson and says: “Have you no shame, brother?”

The ringing silence that follows this question is like the vacuum after an artillery round blasts open the earth. Several jurors sit openmouthed as they stare at Shad, awaiting his response, and even Judge Elder appears struck dumb by the force of Quentin’s question. A low hum begins to grow in the audience behind me, and within seconds it becomes the wild buzz of a junior-high-school auditorium before the teachers take charge.

Judge Elder’s bass voice booms out to the back wall and reverberates through the room. “Be silent, or I will clear this court!”

Turning back toward the crowd, I see the first few rows of spectators blinking in disbelief at the volume the judge summoned without the benefit of his microphone. When I face forward again, I see Quentin rolling to his place behind the defense table, his face looking peaceful in repose.

Can he really be that cool? I wonder.

“Mr. Johnson,” Judge Elder says softly into the ensuing vacuum, “you may conclude your closing argument.”

As Shad stands behind the prosecution table, Rusty’s elbow digs into the ribs on my left side.

“Shad’s got more balls than I do,” he whispers. “You couldn’t pay me to get up after what Quentin just did to him. He looks like Dan Quayle after Lloyd Bentsen gutted him on national television.”

I nod slightly, but as Shad walks to the lectern, I see something in his eyes that sends a wave of sickness through my belly. He still believes Dad is guilty.

“What is it, Penn?” Mom whispers in my right ear. “You just turned pale.”

For a moment I try to suppress my anxiety, but at this point there’s nothing to be gained by shielding my mother. One way or another, the verdict will come soon.

“Shad truly believes Dad killed her,” I murmur. “He believes it in his bones.”

In the span of three seconds, I feel my mother’s hand go cold.

Chapter 70