Chapter 10: The Empty Jury Box

He came back to the fourth floor at half past five, out of breath from the stairs.

I was still sitting on the bench in the corridor, where he had left me.

"They have the drawings," he said. "I'm free until Thursday."

"Congratulations."

"I mean I'm free right now."

He put his hand on the back of his neck.

"I want to ask you for something, and you can say no."

"Ask."

"Let me draw you once. Not for the news or for a paper. Only for me."

I thought about the napkin in my pocket, and the sketch from the overlook.

"You already drew me."

"I drew you for you. This one is mine."

The bailiff who had shouted at us earlier stood at the end of the hall, jingling keys.

He looked at Tobias, then at me, and sighed the heavy sigh of an older man who has seen it all before.

"Courtroom four's empty," he said. "I lock up at six. I'm not seeing anything."

"Thank you," Tobias said.

The courtroom was dim and enormous with the lights half on.

The jury box stood empty on the left side, two rows of old oak chairs with worn arms.

Tobias pointed to the front row.

"Sit there," he said. "Turn a little toward the window."

I sat in the juror's chair and folded my hands in my lap.

He took a stool from the press row and set it ten feet away.

Then he opened his sketchbook, and the room went quiet.

His charcoal made a soft, dry sound.

I had never been looked at for so long.

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