It was the Friday after Easter. The trial had restarted two weeks before. The delays brought on by Raleigh’s suicide attempt had been compounded by hearings about his mental health, his ability to take the stand, and an endless parade of motions and side contests that had put Judge Barefoot Sam in a very ornery mood. Many in the press thought for sure that he would declare a mistrial, but the defense was strangely keen on continuing. Whiteside had drawn a jury he liked, apparently, so no restart, and through juristic half steps and a procedural stubbornness, Judge Sam had kept this trial going as it entered its sixth month.

On their return to court, the defense had spent its first few days rehashing the testimony of Officer Bodel, Detective Hume, and all the other witnesses from the record. Then an FBI forensic specialist had explained the keystroke matches between the death-threat letters and the typewriter in the offices of Raleigh’s church. That was followed by the DA’s bombshell witness, Lucy Goodfellow.

Through tears, Miss Goodfellow confirmed her affair with Raleigh. He had visited her the night of Peggy’s attack, but they had an argument, and she felt he was close to breaking up with her.

“He was angry we couldn’t be together,” she confessed, “but I’m sure Standing is not capable of violence of that kind.”

Good Lord, she still thinks she can have him. She still wants him to leave his family for her. Lucy Goodfellow came off a little airheaded—Self-deluded, but believable, and too naïve to be covering for him. She was accounted for by a confiding call to her sister Libby, which was proven with a long-distance phone bill, as well as neighbors who put her car on the block and Lucy in her apartment that entire night. Her real purpose on the stand was to show Raleigh was a liar, an adulterer, and a hypocrite. Point made, but the supposed bombshell witness was ultimately a dud. If anything, Anne reasoned, the fact that his mistress is a run-of-the-mill bimbo and not conniving enough almost plays in the reverend’s favor.

On Holy Thursday, almost a year since the supposed death threats against Raleigh had begun, District Attorney Blackburn had rested the people’s case.

On Easter Monday, Haynes Whiteside had begun the defense with a parade of character witnesses for Raleigh. The Times Herald deemed it the “Raleigh Revival” as parishioners, church leaders, and everyone minus Raleigh’s own mother told the jurors how great a pastor he was. This did not sway Anne. Oblivious holy rollers, she deemed them all. Pharisees in the street.

And now, on Bright Friday, the defense presented their last, key witness.

“When did you meet your wife, Reverend?”

“At SMU, we were both graduate students. I was studying theology, she was studying music. She was the best organist I ever heard play.”