“I so get what you’re after, Mizz Malone.” Ferris was aw-shucksing Anne to death with his Andy Griffith routine. “I agree he has feet of clay.”

“He’s not some wayward sheep.” I’m being too shrill, too Yankee, too angry . . . , Anne thought, but why does he keep quoting the Bible? Is that code? Why am I doing it now in kind? “His wife is comatose in a hospital. Peggy’s the victim, not him.”

“Mrs. Malone . . .” Keller tried to corral her.

“It’s not Peggy’s fault that her husband has demons. It’s not her fault that the Dallas police can’t collect evidence—”

And there. Anne had let it slip. Keller jumped on it.

“So you admit there’s not enough evidence.”

Shit. She had to backtrack. “We know he had the opportunity—”

Caruthers blurted, “No, ma’am, we’re talking about direct evidence.” He was shaking his head like she wasn’t getting it. Silly, stupid woman. Anne was enraged.

“Dale is right,” Ferris said. “That’s our charge here. We have to stick with—”

“The Dallas police just want this to go—” Anne stopped. She could sense the room shifting on her gaffe. They don’t want to hear my theories. They don’t want to think about how awful this is. They want to go home.

Desperate, Anne tried again. “Think about it. If not him, then who? There’s no one else who could have done this. They didn’t even try to explain how . . .” But she trailed off when this was met with looks of confusion.

“We can only judge the case that was made.” Ferris stared Anne down, uncoiling his serpent smile. He had her. “I think we should try voting again.”

Anne started to cry but tried her hardest not to. Why am I so goddamn alone on this? “What about Peggy? Where’s her justice?”

It was a quarter to five. Ferris tore out twelve pieces of paper. The men wrote their answers to the first charge quickly, folded ballots, and then affirmed each other with side-eye looks. Anne watched down the line. Please. Please just think about it. Tamara Robbins glanced nervously up at the clock. Donna Passerine rubbed the anguish on her forehead. Carla Mirlo scratched out her vote and smiled at Pilar Golondrina, who took some sort of cue from that. Helen Klais folded her piece of paper more times than necessary, as if to diminish her decision. And Mary Crane tented her long, pale fingers over her ballot to pray.