Nineteen Minutes Read online

  "Are you kidding?" Diana said. "Who did the jury think was in the gallery? Vagrants? Of course it's full of people who were affected by the shootings. That's why they're here."

  Judge Wagner glanced up. "Mr. McAfee, I'm not declaring a mistrial. I understand your concern, but I think I can address it with an instruction to the jurors to disregard any sort of emotional outburst from the gallery. Everyone involved in this case understands that emotions are running high, and that people may not always be able to control themselves. However, I'll also issue a cautionary instruction to the gallery to restrain themselves, or I will close the courtroom to observers."

  Jordan sucked in his breath. "Please do note my exception, Your Honor."

  "Of course, Mr. McAfee," he said. "See you in fifteen minutes."

  As the judge exited for chambers, Jordan headed back to the defense table, trying to divine some sort of magic that would save Peter. The truth was, no matter what King Wah had said, no matter how clear the explanation of PTSD, no matter if the jury completely empathized with Peter--Jordan had forgotten one salient point: they would always feel sorrier for the victims.

  Diana smiled at him on her way out of the courtroom. "Nice try," she said.

  *

  Selena's favorite room in the courthouse was tucked near the janitor's closet and filled with old maps. She had no idea what they were doing in a courthouse instead of a library, but she liked to hide up there sometimes when she got tired of watching Jordan strut around in front of the bench. She'd come here a few times during the trial to nurse Sam on the days they didn't have a sitter to watch him.

  Now she led Lacy into her haven and sat her down in front of a world map that had the southern hemisphere as its center. Australia was purple, New Zealand green. It was Selena's favorite. She liked the red dragons painted into the seas, and the fierce storm clouds in the corners. She liked the calligraphed compass, drawn for direction. She liked thinking that the world might look completely different from another angle.

  Lacy Houghton had not stopped crying, and Selena knew she had to--or the cross-examination was going to be a disaster. She sat down beside Lacy. "Can I get you something? Soup? Coffee?"

  Lacy shook her head and wiped her nose with a tissue. "I can't do anything to save him."

  "That's Jordan's job," Selena said, although to be frank, she couldn't imagine a scenario for Peter that did not involve serious jail time. She racked her brain, trying to think of what else she could say or do to calm Lacy down, just as Sam reached up and yanked on one of her braids.

  Bingo.

  "Lacy," Selena said. "Do you mind holding him while I look for something in my bag?"

  Lacy lifted her gaze. "You . . . you don't mind?"

  Selena shook her head and transferred the baby to her lap. Sam stared up at Lacy, diligently trying to fit his fist in his mouth. "Gah," he said.

  A smile ghosted across Lacy's face. "Little man," she whispered, and she shifted the baby so that she could hold him more firmly.

  "Excuse me?"

  Selena turned to see the door crack open and Alex Cormier's face peek inside. She immediately stood up. "Your Honor, you can't come in--"

  "Let her," Lacy said.

  Selena stepped back as the judge walked into the room and sat down beside Lacy. She put a Styrofoam cup on the table and reached out, smiling a little as Sam grabbed onto her pinky finger and tugged on it. "The coffee here is awful, but I brought you some anyway."

  "Thanks."

  Selena moved gingerly behind the stacks of maps until she was standing behind the two women, watching them with the same stunned curiosity she'd have shown if a lioness cozied up to an impala instead of eating it.

  "You did well in there," the judge said.

  Lacy shook her head. "I didn't do well enough."

  "She won't ask you much on cross, if anything."

  Lacy lifted the baby to her chest and stroked his back. "I don't think I can go back in there," she said, her voice hitching.

  "You can, and you will," the judge said. "Because Peter needs you to."

  "They hate him. They hate me."

  Judge Cormier put her hand on Lacy's shoulder. "Not everyone," she said. "When we go back, I'm going to be sitting in the front row. You don't have to look at the prosecutor. You just look at me."

  Selena's jaw dropped. Often, with fragile witnesses or young children, they'd plant a person as a focal point to make testifying less scary. To make them feel that out of that whole crowd of people, they had at least one friend.

  Sam found his thumb and started to suck on it, falling asleep against Lacy's chest. Selena watched Alex reach out, stroke the dark marabou tufts of her son's hair. "Everyone thinks you make mistakes when you're young," the judge said to Lacy. "But I don't think we make any fewer when we're grown up."

  *

  As Jordan walked into the holding cell where Peter was being kept, he was already doing damage control. "It's not going to hurt us," he announced. "The judge is going to give the jury instructions to disregard that whole outburst."

  Peter sat on the metal bench, his head in his hands.

  "Peter," Jordan said. "Did you hear me? I know it looked bad, and I know it was upsetting, but legally, it isn't going to affect your--"

  "I need to tell her why I did it," Peter interrupted.

  "Your mother?" Jordan said. "You can't. She's still sequestered." He hesitated. "Look, as soon as I can get you to talk to her, I--"

  "No. I mean, I have to tell everyone."

  Jordan looked at his client. Peter was dry-eyed; his fists rested on the bench. When he lifted his gaze, it wasn't the terrified face of the child he'd sat beside in court on the first day of the trial. It was someone who had grown up, overnight.

  "We're getting out your side of the story," Jordan said. "You just have to be patient. I know this is hard to believe, but it's going to come together. We're doing the best we can."

  "We're not," Peter said. "You are." He stood up, walking closer to Jordan. "You promised. You said it was our turn. But when you said that, you meant your turn, didn't you? You never intended for me to get up there and tell everyone what really happened."

  "Did you see what they did to your mother?" Jordan argued. "Do you have any idea what's going to happen to you if you get up there and sit in that witness box?"

  In that instant, something in Peter broke: not his anger, and not his hidden fear, but that last spider-thread of hope. Jordan thought of the testimony Michael Beach had given, about how it looked when the life left a person's face. You did not have to witness someone dying to see that.

  "Jordan," Peter said. "If I'm going to spend the rest of my life in jail, I want them to hear my side of the story."

  Jordan opened his mouth, intending to tell his client absolutely fucking not, he would not be taking the stand and ruining the tower of cards Jordan had created in the hope of an acquittal. But who was he kidding? Certainly not Peter.

  He took a deep breath. "All right," he said. "Tell me what you're going to say."

  *

  Diana Leven didn't have any questions for Lacy Houghton, which--Jordan knew--was most likely a blessing. In addition to the fact that there wasn't anything the prosecutor could ask her that hadn't been covered better by Maddie Shaw's father, he hadn't known how much more stress Lacy could take without being rendered incomprehensible on the stand. As she was escorted from the courtroom, the judge looked up from his file. "Your next witness, Mr. McAfee?"

  Jordan inhaled deeply. "The defense calls Peter Houghton."

  Behind him, there was a flurry of activity. Rustling, as reporters dug fresh pens out of their pockets and turned to a fresh page on their pads. Murmurs, as the families of the victims traced Peter's steps to the witness stand. He could see Selena off to one side, her eyes wide at this unplanned development.

  Peter sat down and stared only at Jordan, just as he'd told him to. Good boy, he thought. "Are you Peter Houghton?"

  "Yes," Peter sai