I settled myself rather heavily on the cushion beside her. “What do I think? I think twelve sensible men couldn’t convict Bonnie and Clyde from the evidence presented. But then again”—I shook my head at the cigarette case she presented to me—“I’m not a man, am I?”

She made this hysterical little laugh. I figured she must be on her last nerve by now, but what did I know? I had begun to harbor a tremendous admiration for Mrs. de Marigny. Most women, already shocked by the brutal murder of a beloved father, would succumb to nervous collapse at the mere suggestion that a beloved husband had committed this atrocity himself. But Nancy, you understand, was not most women. She seemed almost to thrive under the scrutiny of the press, the attention of every spectator. No actress could have played her part more heroically in that witness chair. She waved away a little cigarette smoke and said, “Well, I hope you’re right.”

“Oh, you heard the judge. My goodness. What did he say in that summation of his? Never in all his years seen a case handled like that, evidence mishandled, testimony fabricated, et cetera. I wonder if he really meant that bit about recommending an investigation into the whole mess.”

“I hope so. I’ll hope it’s got them scared, all right, I mean everyone who had a hand in this. Everyone who wanted to take Freddie down.”

“Thank goodness they were so incompetent.”

She laughed shrilly. “Those Miami policemen! I never saw such a pair of dunces. That idiot Barker was on the stand, sweating and stuttering and backtracking. Everybody could see those fingerprints were planted. Everybody.”

She laid such an emphasis on that last word, I flinched. “Well, it won’t be long now. He’ll be vindicated, I’m sure of it.”

Even to me, the words sounded hollow. Nancy looked at the clock. Six fifty-six in the evening, not even two hours since the jury had retired. Across the room, a pair of policemen lounged about their desks, pretending not to notice us.

“What will you do when it’s over?” I asked.

“Over? My God. I don’t know. Just to settle down with my husband, I guess.”

“You deserve it. Everyone admires how you’ve handled yourself.”

She flicked a little ash from her cigarette. “Except my mother, it seems. Speaking of which, where on earth has your husband gotten to? He’s missed all the excitement around here.”

“You know how it is in wartime,” I said. “When you’re called away to serve king and country and all that. He sends his warmest regards.”

“Does he? That’s kind.” She rose from the sofa and stepped to the window, a few feet away, overlooking the street outside the courthouse. “Just look at all those folks standing there. They all support Freddie, you know. They love him.”