Claire put a plate of sliced sharp cheddar and cold buttered rye between us on the Formica table, but neither of us touched it.

I had the fifty-page trial transcript spread out across the table.

The blue card stock cover was worn through at the staples and stamped with the Oak Creek Court Clerk’s mark in faded red ink.

“He stood right out there on the sidewalk in front of this building,” Claire said.

She sat completely still, staring out at her little front lawn without blinking.

“The hearing let out at noon.”