He looked down at a clipboard, then looked up at the benches.

“Mara Bell,” the bailiff said.

I stood up immediately, smoothing the front of my coat.

Arthur made a small, sharp movement as if to rise, but his attorney laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, pressing him back onto the bench.

Arthur adjusted his glasses again, his mouth opening slightly, but no sound came out.

“This way, please,” the bailiff said, holding the heavy door open for me.

The grand jury room was larger than I expected, arranged like a small lecture hall with rows of wooden desks rising toward the back.