Chapter 9: Verdict Day

The defense called me back to the stand on Tuesday morning.

It was the last day of the trial, and the same lawyer was waiting.

He wore a blue tie with tiny sailboats on it.

I saw Tobias in the front row of the gallery, his sketchbook open on his knee.

He did not smile at me.

He just looked, and I understood he would be looking the whole time.

"Miss Pellam," said the lawyer. "Let's talk about warmth."

The judge frowned, and the lawyer waved a hand.

"My client lost his livelihood. I'd like the jury to understand who denied it."

"Objection," said the prosecutor, without much force.

"I'll allow a short line," the judge said.

The lawyer walked toward me with his hands behind his back.

"Isn't it true that in your entire career you have never shown a single claimant one ounce of sympathy?"

It was the same question he had asked last week.

Last week I had answered with a flat sentence about policy.

I looked at the jury, twelve strangers in a box, and then, for no reason, at Tobias.

His pencil had stopped.

I took a breath.

"It's true that my face doesn't show it," I said.

The lawyer paused, because that was not the answer he had practiced.

"My face barely moves," I said. "It never has. Most people think I feel nothing."

A woman in the second row of the jury raised her eyebrows.

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