She sat on the front bench of the gallery and lined up three yellow highlighters side by side on her wooden lap desk.

Daniel set his leather briefcase on our table, opened the brass clasps, and adjusted his round spectacles on the bridge of his nose.

“Judge Simmons is coming in,” Daniel whispered, leaning close to my shoulder.

“Keep your eyes on the bench.”

The side door behind the bench swung open, and Judge Harold Simmons stepped into the courtroom.

He walked to his raised leather chair, sat down slowly, and adjusted his black robe around his broad shoulders.

Judge Simmons picked up a heavy silver fountain pen from his blotter and tapped it twice on his oak desk.