Judge Sam leaned back in his chair, which accidentally knocked his gavel off its block. He did not bother to replace it there.

“Now, I know this is difficult to avoid, but I ask you not to talk to any media that has been malingering around this courtroom or the Crowley building. I ask that if you see or hear anything about this trial or Reverend Raleigh, whether it’s TV, radio, or newspaper—please, turn the page, turn off that channel, stay off KRLD or WBAP for a while.”

What a shit show. Anne had thought about reporting her encounter with Raleigh in the elevator, but the news of the morning made it seem so inconsequential.

“Seriously, folks, this is an unexpected hiatus in our efforts here, which this court”—the judge glowered at Whiteside—“will do its best not to turn into a lengthy delay. Sergeant Redman is going to check everyone’s phone number and contact information, and we will keep you posted.”

Judge Sam scowled with annoyance. He’s worried they’re going to have to start over. He stood and, in his long black robe, loomed wraithlike over the bench. “Thank you again for your service. I apologize for this interruption. And please remember: keep all aspects of this trial to yourself, do not discuss it, and if you do hear something about this trial in passing—throw it out. I know you will do your best to stay fair and impartial. Okay, thank you, folks, dismissed.”

Anne got back to her car and immediately turned on KRLD. It was at the top of the news bulletin: Standing Raleigh had attempted to commit suicide. An empty prescription bottle had been found. Anne pulled out of the parking garage. The rain had started spitting down, and the scrum of cameramen and reporters scampered under the shallow overhang of the courthouse for cover. KRLD went on to report that today had been slated for the defense’s final witness, Lucy Goodfellow, Raleigh’s purported mistress, to come to the stand.

But now Raleigh was in the hospital. Unconscious but alive. Just like his wife.

The report ended with a sound-bite interview of a man who only would identify himself as a “servant of the Lord.” Since day one of the trial he had stood in front of the Crowley building with a giant wooden cross wreathed with a crown of thorns. He was not alone, and the crowd of trial watchers had been growing steadily. Last week, Dallas police had moved them across Commerce Street.

“We pray for Peggy and for justice.” The man had a thick Texas drawl. “And now, one thing is clear: Standing Raleigh is guilty as sin.”

As crazy as this yahoo sounds, Anne shook her head, I can’t disagree.