“If I had been at home that night, this may not have happened. That’s what I mean by the lowest of the low.”

Raleigh threw his head in his hands and winced with pain as he stifled his sobs. Anne watched the white knuckles of the defense attorney relax and let go of the podium. He believes the lies. Raleigh thinks he has everyone fooled, including himself.

“Thank you, Your Honor, no further questions.”

Douglas Blackburn strode toward the witness stand with his legal pad and ballpoint tucked against his chest. As Raleigh composed himself, Blackburn gave the jury a wry smile. He wore a gray, stippled suit with a banana-yellow tie and waited for a signal from Judge Sam. Anne scanned the courtroom. The anticipation for the cross-examination was apocalyptic. Bread and circus for these assholes. Judge Sam looked up and behind at the giant Roman numerals on the clock. It was just past three p.m. Raleigh exhaled wearily and crumpled tissues up his sleeve. Judge Sam nodded, and Blackburn began.

“Dr. Raleigh, do you have anything you want to get off your chest?”

“Excuse me?”

“Anything you want to confess to, like you did in the suicide note?”

“Objection, Your Honor.” Whiteside had barely sat down and he was rising up again.

“I said what I needed to say,” Raleigh offered.

“Dr. Raleigh, is it true you saw Miss Goodfellow on the day you attempted suicide?”

“Yes. As I said, it was a moment of despair for me.”

“So you met with your mistress—who you lied about to police investigators—as your wife lay in a coma in Presbyterian Hospital?”

Raleigh muttered assent at a barely audible level.

“Dr. Raleigh, the way I read this suicide note, it sounds like you’re confessing to doing something very bad to Peggy Raleigh.”

“I was ashamed and overwhelmed that I was not at home at the time someone tried to kill my wife.”

Overwhelmed—there was that rehearsed word again, Anne realized. Blackburn continued.

“The night of the attack, you left a note for the research librarian at SMU, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And is it typical for you to write the date and the time on your notes like this?”

“Yes, sometimes I do that.”

“Even at ten thirty at night, when establishing the time doesn’t really matter, unless, say, you were—”

Judge Sam raised his palm in the air, warning Blackburn.

“And this note—no one saw you leave it for the librarian?”

“I’m not sure. But I don’t think so.”

Blackburn smacked the lectern, the microphone amplifying his frustration. “Dr. Raleigh, this is very important, if you are planting an alibi with this note—”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Counselor, knock it off.” Judge Sam sat up and rested his chin on his knuckles, a number 2 pencil speared behind his index finger.

“Withdrawn. So no one saw you at the library at ten thirty?”

“Objection,” Whiteside repeated.