“Nine in the morning.”

Trooper Baird capped his pen and slid my statement into a manila folder.

“Judge Ross cleared his Monday for this,” he said.

“Nine sharp.

Be at the courthouse by eight thirty.”

The line at the door ran up the granite steps past the war memorial, and I stood in it beside Diane Miller without saying much.

Inside, the main courtroom smelled of floor wax.

A clerk ran an extension cord down the center aisle and taped it flat.