The judge called for a half-hour recess and summoned the prosecutor and defense attorney to his chambers.

Gurney replayed the video. He’d never seen an opening statement quite like it. It was a lot closer in emotional tone and content to a closing argument. But he knew Piskin by reputation, and the man was no amateur. So what was his purpose? To act as though Kay Spalter’s conviction was inevitable, that the game was over before it began? Was he that sure of himself? And if that was just his opener, how was he going to top an accusation of “Pure Evil”?

Speaking of which, he wanted to see the expression on Carl Spalter’s face that Piskin had focused the jury on but the courtroom video had failed to capture. He wondered if there might be a photograph in the voluminous material delivered by Hardwick. He picked up the sequenced guide, looking for a hint.

Perhaps not accidentally, it was the second item on the list.

“Number two: Check out the damage. BCI case file, third graphics tab. It’s all in those eyes. I never want to see whatever put that look on his face.”

A minute later Gurney was holding a full-page head-and-shoulders photo printout. Even with all the preparation, the horror in Spalter’s eyes was shocking. Piskin’s final rant had not been exaggerated.

There was indeed in those eyes the recognition of a terrible truth—a reality, as Piskin had put it, dreadful beyond words.

Chapter 5

Bloodthirsty Weasels

The scraping squeak of the right-side French door being pulled from its sticking point against the sill woke Gurney from a surreal dream that slipped away as soon as he opened his eyes.

He found himself slouched down in one of the two armchairs at the fireplace end of the long room, the Spalter documents spread out on the coffee table in front of him. His neck ached when he raised his head. The light coming through the open door had a dawn faintness about it.

Madeleine stood there silhouetted, breathing in the cool, still air.

“Can you hear him?” she asked.

“Hear who?” Gurney rubbed his eyes, sitting up straighter.

“Horace. There he goes again.”

Gurney listened halfheartedly for the crowing of the young rooster but heard nothing.

“Come to the door and you’ll hear him.”

He almost replied that he had no interest in hearing him but realized that would be a poor way to start the day. He pushed himself up from the chair and went to the door.

“There,” said Madeleine. “You heard him that time, right?”

“I think so.”

“He’ll be a lot easier to hear,” Madeleine said brightly, pointing to the expanse of grass between the asparagus patch and the big apple tree, “as soon as we build the coop over there.”

“No doubt.”

“They do it to announce their territory.”

“Hmm.”