Outside, the January wind moved through the bare trees of Laurel Fork. Inside, a boy in his father's suit turned the page, and began.
Chapter 21: The Defense Begins
The morning the defense opened its case, Jesse arrived at the courthouse an hour early and sat alone in the empty courtroom, his father's legal texts stacked beside him on the defense table like a small fort. He opened none of them. He just sat in the oversized charcoal suit, listening to the radiators tick against the January cold.
By nine the gallery had filled. Lena sat in the second row with her hands folded around a tissue. Silas Grant sat behind her, straight-backed and still, the way he had sat every day of the trial. Theo Marsh had his notebook open on his knee, pen ready.
Judge Pruitt took the bench at nine sharp. "Ms. Whitfield rested yesterday," he said. "Mr. Cole, does the defense wish to present a case?"
Jesse stood. "Yes, Your Honor. The defense calls Andre Cole."
A breath went through the gallery. Andre rose from the defense table and crossed to the witness stand. The bailiff swore him in. Andre sat, and for a moment the brothers looked at each other across the small space between counsel table and witness stand, and Jesse saw the boy who had taught him to ride a bicycle.
"Please state your name for the record," Jesse said.
"Andre Cole."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
"What do you do for a living, Andre?"
"I'm a mechanic. Boone's Auto Repair, out on Mill Road."
"How long have you worked for Mr. Boone?"
"Five years. Started sweeping floors when I was eighteen."
"And now?"
"Now I do transmissions. Full rebuilds."
Jesse nodded, and let a small silence settle, the way his father's books said to do. "I want to take you back to that Friday night in January. The night the QuickStop on Highway 41 was robbed. Where were you?"
"At the shop. Under a transmission on a customer's pickup."
"What time did you leave the shop that night?"
"Quarter to midnight. Mr. Boone signed my work order at eleven-forty."
Jesse stepped closer. "Did you go to the QuickStop that night?"
"No."
"Did you rob the QuickStop?"
"No."
"The state says the robber drove a gray sedan with its left taillight burned out. Tell the jury about your car."
"I drive a blue Camry," Andre said. "Both my taillights work. They've always worked."
"Tell the jury about our father."
Andre's hands tightened on the rail. "Our daddy was a legal-aid paralegal. He helped people who couldn't afford lawyers. When he died —" His voice caught, and he cleared it. "I was twenty. Jesse was fourteen."
"What did you do then?"
"I went to work full time. Somebody had to keep the lights on."
In the gallery, Lena pressed the tissue to her mouth. Silas Grant's eyes glistened, and he did not wipe them.
"Why are you testifying today, Andre?"
Andre looked at the jury, all twelve of them, one by one. "Because I'm innocent," he said simply. "And I wanted you to hear it from me."
"Thank you," Jesse said. "Nothing further."
Whitfield rose and crossed to the witness stand.
"Mr. Cole," she said, "eleven oh five is the robbery. Your timecard says eleven-forty. Thirty-five minutes, Mr. Cole. Are you telling this jury a man can't slip out of a garage for thirty-five minutes?"
"Ma'am, I was under a Silverado with the transmission out," Andre said. "Mr. Boone was ten feet away. I drove home at eleven-forty. That's the truth."
"You didn't mention Mr. Boone or any work order when the deputies questioned you that night, did you?"
"I was scared, ma'am. I'd never been arrested. I asked for a lawyer. That's my right."
"Convenient," Whitfield said.
"It's the truth," Andre said.
She picked up a photograph and held it so the jury could see. "The clerk picked your photograph out of an array, Mr. Cole. She looked at six photographs, and she picked yours."
"I don't know what she saw that night," Andre said. "I know where I was."
"Your brother is very smart, isn't he? Photographic memory, I'm told."
"He's the smartest person I know."
"Smart enough to build an alibi?"
"Objection," Jesse said quietly. "Argumentative."
"Sustained," Pruitt said, and his voice had an edge. "The jury will disregard the question."
Whitfield studied Andre a moment longer, and found nothing. "No further questions," she said, and sat down.
Jesse felt something loosen in his chest. In the jury box, the forewoman was nodding, almost to herself. An older man in the back row had folded his arms and was looking at Whitfield with something like distaste.
"Nothing further, Your Honor," Jesse said.
Andre stepped down from the stand and returned to the defense table, and he put one heavy hand on his little brother's shoulder and held it there a second longer than necessary.