Trevor didn’t look at me or my father as he went past our row.

He sat down at the defense table, laid his leather notepad flat, and adjusted his gold wristwatch with a quick twist of his wrist.

Colleen took the seat right behind him in the gallery, smoothing her coat over her knees.

Judge Patricia Vance took the bench at nine o’clock on the dot, her black robe trailing over the raised mahogany step.

She settled her small silver-framed reading glasses and looked down at the court clerk.