Now the judge looked at the faces in the windows and narrowed his eyes. “Clear those spectators,” he said to the bailiff, loud enough so the entire courtroom could hear.

“I’ve tried, Your Honor. There are too many of them.”

“Tell them again,” he snapped.

Occasionally, Ram had seen the judge about town. He was a farmer too, and owned land on the north side. The newspaper had printed an editorial insisting that he should recuse himself because a few years earlier, he had leased a quarter section to a Hindu—Mohan Singh, whom Ram knew. But the judge had refused to step away from the case.

The district attorney stood up and approached the jury. He was a short man but carried himself with importance. He smiled broadly, looking polished in a gray suit. A gold watch dangled from an exquisite chain, pearl cuff links cinched his starched shirtsleeves. He was jovial, folksy, many in that courtroom thought he would one day represent the county in Washington, D.C. When he spoke, they felt he was one of them, and as he told the men on the jury that Karak Singh had attacked Clive Edgar with the intent to kill him, Ram could see that the jury believed him. How comfortably the information seeped into their consciousness.

“The defense will try to tell y’all that it was an act of insanity. That the defendant did not know what he was doin’ when he swung that axe. But we’ll discover that Mr. Singh knew exactly what he was doing, and that if he hadn’t been stopped, he would have harmed others. Mr. Jonathan Hitchcock, an esteemed, upstanding, and integral member of this community, a farmin’ man like us, will state that Singh meant to kill him too.”

Ram could see Karak keeping his head down, clenching his jaw, staring at the wooden table before him. Simms placed his hand on the back of Karak’s chair, as if protecting him. That was kind, Ram thought. Perhaps there was more to the man than he knew.

Simms stood briskly and buttoned his jacket, allowing silence to fill the room before he approached the jury. Ram could see: His manner made those men uncomfortable. They did not trust him. “The defense will not challenge that Karak Singh killed Clive Edgar,” Simms said. “It is obvious that he did.” Ram saw Karak flinch. The jury shifted in their seats, some stole a glance at Karak. Ram wished that the lawyer were not so stiff. Simms did not draw out his vowels like other men. Ram had never heard him claim to be a farmer. If he did those things, perhaps the jury would believe him. “What the defense will show is that Mr. Singh was insane, irrational, when the killing happened. The very nature of the killing shows insanity.”