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  “But not satisfied with such degradation, one night this thug returns home drunk, goes upstairs, drags his wife out of bed by her hair, back down the stairs and into the kitchen; he is bored with simply beating her black and blue.” Fletcher began to walk in the direction of his client. “He needs some other thrill to reach new heights of excitement, and what does Anita Kirsten see immediately when she’s dragged into the kitchen? The ring on the stove is already red hot, and waiting for its victim.” He swung back to face the jury. “Can you imagine what must have been going through her mind when she first saw that ring of fire? He grabs her hand like a piece of raw steak, and slams it down on the stove for fifteen seconds.”

  Fletcher picked up Mrs. Kirsten’s scarred hand and held it up so that the palm was clearly visible to the jury, looked at his watch and counted to fifteen, before he added, “And then she fainted.

  “Which of you can even imagine such horror, let alone be asked to endure it? So why did the attorney general demand ninety-nine years? Because, he told us, the killing was premeditated. It was, he assured us, most certainly not a crime of passion carried out by someone defending their life in a moment of rage.” Fletcher swung around to face the attorney general and said, “Of course it was premeditated and of course she knew exactly what she was doing. If you were five foot four, being attacked by a man of six foot two, would you rely on a knife, a gun, or some blunt instrument that this thug could so easily turn against you?” Fletcher turned and walked slowly toward the jury. “Which one of you would be that stupid? Which one of you, after what she had been through, wouldn’t plan it? Think of that poor woman when you next have a row with your spouse. After a few angry words have been exchanged, will you resort to putting the stove on to 350 degrees to prove you’ve won the argument?” He looked at the seven men on the jury one by one. “Does such a man deserve your sympathy?

  “If this woman is guilty of murder, which one of you would not have done the same thing if you had been unfortunate enough to marry Alex Kirsten?” This time he turned his attention to the five women before he continued. “‘But I didn’t,’ I hear you cry. ‘I married a good and decent man.’ So now we can all agree on Mrs. Kirsten’s crime. She married an evil man.”

  Fletcher leaned on the rail of the jury box. “I must beg the jury’s indulgence for my youthful passion, for passion it is. I chose to take this case as I feared justice would not be done for Mrs. Kirsten, and in my youth I hoped that twelve fair-minded citizens would see what I had seen and would be unable to condemn this woman to spend the rest of her life in jail.

  “I must close my summation, by repeating to you the words Mrs. Kirsten said to me when we sat alone in her cell this morning. ‘Mr. Davenport, although I am only twenty-five, I would rather spend the rest of my life in jail than have to spend another night under the same roof as that evil man.’

  “Thank God she does not have to return home to him tonight. It is in your power, as members of the jury, to send this woman home tonight to her loving children, with the hope that together they might rebuild their lives, because twelve decent people understood the difference between good and evil.” Fletcher lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “When you go home to your husbands and wives this evening, tell them what you did today in the name of justice, for I am confident if you bring in a verdict of Not Guilty, your spouses will not turn up the stove to 350 degrees because they don’t agree with you. Mrs. Kirsten has already suffered a nine-year sentence. Do you think she deserves another ninety?”

  Fletcher returned to his seat, but did not turn around to look at Annie, for fear that Karl Abrahams would notice he was fighting back the tears.

  19

  “Hi, my name’s Nat Cartwright.”

  “Not the Captain Cartwright?”

  “Yes, the hero who killed all those Vietcong with his bare hands because he forgot to take any paper clips with him.”

  “No,” said Su Ling in mock admiration. “Not the one who flew a helicopter alone across enemy-infested jungle when he didn’t have a pilot’s license?”

  “And then killed so many of the enemy that they stopped counting them, while at the same time he rescued a whole platoon of stranded men.”

  “And the people back home believed it, so he was decorated, given vast financial rewards and offered a hundred vestal virgins.”

  “I only get four hundred dollars a month, and I’ve never met a vestal virgin.”

  “Well, you have now,” said Su Ling with a smile.

  “Well, can you tell her that I have been chosen to run against Boston University.”

  “No doubt you’d expect her to stand around in the rain and wait until you trail in near the back, like all your other adoring fans?”

  “No, the truth is that I need my tracksuit cleaned, and I’m told her mother takes in washing.” Su Ling burst out laughing. “Of course I’d like you to come to Boston,” said Nat, taking her in his arms.

  “I’ve already booked a place on the supporters’ bus.”

  “But Tom and I are driving up the night before, so why don’t you come with us?”

  “But where would I stay?”

  “One of Tom’s numerous aunts has a house in Boston, and has offered to put us all up for the night.” Su Ling hesitated. “I’m told she has nine bedrooms, and even a separate wing, but if that’s not enough, I could always spend the night in the back of the car.” Su Ling didn’t reply as Mario appeared carrying two cappuccinos.

  “This is my friend Mario,” said Su Ling. “Very good of you to keep my usual table,” she added.

  “Do you bring all your men here?”

  “No, I tend to select a different restaurant each time, so that way no one finds out about my vestal reputation.”

  “Like your reputation as a computer whiz?”

  Su Ling blushed. “How did you find out about that?”

  “What do you mean, how did I find out? It seems everyone on campus knew except me. In fact my closest friend told me, and he’s at Yale.”

  “I was going to tell you, but you never asked the right question.”

  “Su Ling, you can tell me things without having to be asked the right question.”

  “Then I must ask if you’ve also heard that both Harvard and MIT have invited me to join their computer science departments.”

  “Yes, but I don’t know how you responded.”

  “Tell me, Captain,” she said, “can I ask you something first?”

  “You’re trying to change the subject again, Su Ling.”

  “Yes, I am, Nat, because I need my question answered before I can reply to yours.”

  “OK, so what’s your question?”

  Su Ling lowered her head as she always did when she was slightly embarrassed. “How can two such different people,” she hesitated, “end up liking each other so much.”

  “End up falling in love, I think is what you are trying to say. If I knew the answer to that question, little flower, I’d be a professor of philosophy, and not worrying about my end-of-term exam grades.”

  “In my country,” said Su Ling, “love is something you do not talk about until you have known each other for many years.”

  “Then I promise not to discuss the matter again for many years—on one condition.”

  “And what is that?”

  “That you will agree to come to Boston with us on Friday.”

  “Yes, if I can have Tom’s aunt’s telephone number.”

  “Of course you can, but why?”

  “My mother will need to speak to her.” Su Ling lifted her right foot, slipped it under the table and placed it on top of Nat’s left foot.

  “Now I feel sure that has a significant meaning in your country.”

  “Yes, it does. It means I wish to walk with you, but not in a crowd.”

  Nat placed his right foot on her left. “And what does that mean?”

  “That you agree to my request,” she hesitated. “But I should not have done it first,