“I didn’t know who it was,” Weed cut in. “And I didn’t de-face him. He still has a face. You go look.”

“Your Honor.” Public Defender Cheddar’s voice was tight and high. “I don’t think my client understands the bit about self-incrimination.”

“He said he did,” Judge Davis replied.

“Yeah,” Weed told Cheddar.

“Please continue, Officer Brazil,” said the judge.

“Weed painted a Spiders basketball uniform on the statue and at or around five A.M. left the cemetery by climbing over the fence again.”

“It wasn’t that early,” Weed protested. “I know, ’cause the sun was starting to show up and that always happens after six ’cause that’s when I get up, too, ’cause I gotta make my own toast and jelly before I go to school ’cause my mama works too late to get outta bed that early.”

Mrs. Gardener bent her head. She hid her face, wiping tears.

“Immaterial,” said Judge Davis.

“And besides,” Weed declared, “it’s just poster paint. You go look. A hose will get it off, but they been so busy studying what to do about it they never even wet their finger and touched it to see if it would stick. First rain’s gonna ruin it,” he concluded with a trace of disappointment.

No one spoke for a moment.

Papers shuffled.

The C.A. was staring off, not present.

Brazil was amazed.

It took several synapses before Cheddar got it.

“Then it’s not really defaced,” Cheddar announced as if her voice was a gavel.

“How do you know?” Weed objected to his attorney. “Anybody looked at it today?”

Nobody had.

“Then don’t be telling . . .” he started to say before Cheddar clamped her hand over his mouth.

“How many times I gotta tell you to keep your mouth shut so I can do my job!” Cheddar exclaimed.

Weed bit her.

“Lord in heaven!” Cheddar exclaimed. “He bit me!”

“Not hard,” Weed said. “But she started it. What if she cut me with those nails? You seen them things up close?” He rubbed his mouth with his sleeve.

“Order!” Judge Davis declared.

“What if I clean up the statue?” Weed said. “If you want me to, I will.” It was a big sacrifice for Weed to make, but he knew Twister’s monument couldn’t last forever. “All I want is to be locked up except for Saturday when the Azalea Parade is.”

“We’re not there yet, Weed,” Judge Davis firmly told him. “I can’t decide anything until I’ve heard the evidence. And please refrain from biting your counsel again.”

“What if I promise to fix the police computer? Would you let me play my cymbals in the parade?” Weed went on.

“He’s referring to what the press has been calling ‘Fishsteria,’ ” Brazil told her.

Cheddar was visibly alarmed. “He has that?” she asked, her face stricken.

“He caused it,” Brazil said.

“Your Honor, may I approach the bench?” Cheddar panicked.

She lunged forward and grabbed the edge of the bench, standing on her tiptoes, leaning as close to the judge as she could.