Confusion distorts the judge’s smooth face. “Color? Just what color community are you talking about assuaging here?”

“Cho-ler,” Shad says, trying to clarify his intent. “Displeasure.”

Judge Noyes looks like he’d like to throw his gavel at the district attorney. “What amount would you recommend, Mr. Johnson?”

“Two million dollars.”

The judge grimaces like a constipated bulldog. At length he gives a sigh of resignation and says, “All right.”

A deputy against the wall, probably the one who cuffed Dad at the house, nods with satisfaction.

Two hundred grand in cash, I note silently.

“Bond is set at fifty thousand dollars,” says Judge Noyes.

A choked sob of relief breaks from my mother’s throat. Shad stands openmouthed in a theatrical display of shock. Judge Noyes has sent a very loud message with this ruling. He clearly believes something is amiss in this case, and he’s willing to take political heat for his faith in my father.

Before Shad can protest, a new voice comes from the back of the room, taking us all by surprise: “All right. All right, I see how it is.”

The voice is soft but resonant—far deeper than any other man’s in the room—and my chest tightens at the familiar sound. Turning in my chair, I see Lincoln Turner standing at the back of the small room. His suit hangs loosely on his large frame, as though he’s recently lost weight. My first wild thought is that the Justice Court door has no metal detector. Men whose mothers have been murdered have been known to execute the alleged killer in the presence of a dozen deputies. A millisecond after this thought rises in my mind, I stand and interpose myself between Lincoln and my father.

“Who is that man?” Judge Noyes asks irritably.

“Your Honor,” Shad says, obviously discomfited by Lincoln’s appearance, “this is Mr. Lincoln Turner, the victim’s son.”

Noyes’s eyes narrow. “I see.” He directs his next comments to the back of the room, which is less than twenty feet from his desk. “Sir, you have my deepest sympathy, but I must ask you to refrain from interrupting this proceeding.”

“This is a public hearing,” Lincoln growls. “And I ain’t what you’re used to up in here. I ain’t some field nigger, Judge, or the son of one. I’m a lawyer.”

“Public it may be,” Noyes says, squinting. “But as a lawyer, you surely understand contempt of court.”

Despite his warning tone, Noyes is clearly uncertain about how to handle this unexpected confrontation.