“All right. We’re ready to go. Good morning. The next case we’re selecting a jury for—let me make sure I don’t have any . . .” The judge looked down at his clerk’s notes on the cards. “This case will not be scheduled for the twenty-sixth, so that shouldn’t be a problem. This one will start on November second or the ninth, so we’re okay.

“This is cause number six two oh dash seven one three six—I’ve had no request to shuffle so we’re going to proceed. Folks, please sit in the jury box in the order we call you. If you move around, you’ll confuse the attorneys and me, so please pay attention to the order in which you are called. This is cause number six two oh dash seven one three six, State of Texas versus Standing Raleigh. Reverend Raleigh is charged with the offense of attempted homicide. Mr. Whiteside, please stand up. Thank you. He is representing Reverend Raleigh . . .”

Haynes Whiteside pressed down his pink silk tie and turned to the gallery. “Good morning, everyone. This is my associate, Mr. Graybill.”

Judge Sam continued. “And, Mr. Blackburn, who is a representative of Dallas district attorney Mr. Wade. Mr. Blackburn is going to be lead prosecutor. Sitting over here with him is Mr. Blackburn’s compadre Miss Silverstone. And I guess she’s riding shotgun, right, on this one?”

Douglas Blackburn stood with Miss Sutton Silverstone. They wore complementary gray suits. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“All right. Those are your main legal participants. Have any of the prospective jurors in this room met or at any time dealt with any of the attorneys in this case?”

An older man lifted his raisined hand and in clipped English claimed to have done yard work for one of the attorneys.

“Which one, amigo?” Judge Sam gestured back and forth.

The man pointed at Mr. Whiteside.

“I take his word for it, Your Honor.”

Judge Sam had the clerk pull the card for Mr. Morales and sent him back to the jury pool. “Okay, anybody else cutting grass or sold Girl Scout cookies to Mr. Whiteside, myself, or any of the attorneys? Or Reverend Raleigh and his family? No? Going once, going twice. Mr. Greenfield will now call your names in order. Please take a seat in the jury box as directed by our bailiff, Sergeant Redman.”

Five names in, the clerk read aloud “Anne Malone,” and she moved from the gallery to the end of the first row of the jury box. A dozen and six alternates were seated. Mr. Whiteside took the grid from Judge Samuels and brought it over to Mr. Graybill, who had pulled the relevant questionnaires. After a long minute of consultation, Mr. Whiteside turned to the jury box.

“Mr. Garcia, it says here you work for the post office, is that right, sir?”

“Ms. Klais, you read the Times Herald every day?”