To keep the trials short, they are a bare-bones affair in every respect. Opening and closing arguments are limited to ten minutes each. The lack of a jury means there’s less need to explain every step in detail. Expert witnesses are allowed only when necessary—no Ph.D.-whores being paid to claim that DNA identification is a faulty science. Even regular witnesses don’t always need to take the stand. Noncritical ones, like Jaime, have their statements taken beforehand and answer questions posed by each side.

Breaks were as basic as the session itself, with a single fifteen-minute morning recess. By then I was already feeling the effects of my rushed recuperation. Lucas insisted I take painkillers, and I had to agree. Without them, I’d have been done by lunch. As it was, let’s just say it wasn’t the most comfortable morning I’d everspent. To get through it, I concentrated on paying attention and taking copious notes. Lucas and I shared a steno pad, which we passed back and forth, marking down pertinent points, elaborating on one another’s notes, and exchanging written comments on the progress of the trial.

For lunch, a caterer delivered sandwich trays and we had thirty minutes to eat while standing in the lobby. Benicio ate with us, and the three of us managed to carry on a reasonably normal conversation. Benicio only slipped up once, suggesting that we join him for dinner the next night…a dinner that would also include three prominent foreign shareholders who just happened to be in town. Lucas handled it with a gentle reminder that, with the way the trial was progressing, we’d likely be busy preparing Weber’s appeal.

After lunch, Lucas called the hotel where we’d stayed earlier. Our former room was still unoccupied and the manager offered it to us at the same rate. When Benicio heard our plans, he phoned the Marsh Clinic and arranged to have all our belongings moved to the hotel, so I could go directly there and rest after the trial. A considerate move, and only the latest of many, which prompted me to admit that perhaps Lucas had inherited more from Benicio than his “natural talent for lying.”

The trial did not go well. Weber had retained his own counsel. When I’d first learned this, I’d been relieved. As the trial progressed, though, I found myself wishing he’d let the Cabals assign him a lawyer. As much as I hated to give them credit, I saw nothing grievously unjust in their system and, had they provided Weber’s counsel, I’m sure he would have had competent representation, which was more than he had now.

There were two ways to play this cas. One: stress the circumstantial nature of the evidence. Two: plead insanity. Weber’s lawyer chose both. And that presented a problem. The first says Weber didn’t do it. The second says he did, but he can’t be held responsible. Using both says he did kill those teens, but you can’t prove it and anyway, he was crazy, but not crazy enough to leave anyhard evidence.

At six o’clock, the lawyers presented their closing arguments. At six-twenty, the judges retired to council. At six-thirty they returned with a verdict.

Guilty.

The sentence: death.

Weber, not surprisingly, panicked, and had to be forcibly escorted from the room, screaming muffled invocations from behind his gag.

As one of the judges said some final words, I took the notepad and drew a question mark, to which Lucas wrote “no change.” We’d heard no further evidence to damn or acquit Weber, and none of our concerns had even been raised. So we would proceed with his appeal.

The judge thanked the witnesses and counsel, and court was adjourned. Benicio leaned over and whispered that he’d be right back, and asked us to wait. Then he escorted Griffin to the front of the courtroom. The other guard followed, but Troy stayed at his post in our row. Benicio, Griffin, and the other guard walked to the door through which Weber had just been taken. Before Griffin stepped through, he turned, caught our attention, and mouthed a thank-you. Then they were gone.

“You must be exhausted,” Lucas said, handing me my purse from the floor.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Do we need to launch the appeal today?”

Lucas shook his head. “I’ll tell my father that we plan to go ahead and he’ll relay the message to the Cabals. Tonight we rest and try to put it out of our minds.”

I glanced up to see Benicio slip back into the courtroom, accompanied by his new guard.

“There he is,” I said. “That was fast.”

“Good,” Lucas said. “Earlier, he offered to drive us to the hotel and, if you don’t mind, I’d like to accept. Then we can tell him our appeal plans on the way, rather than delay our departure by doing so now.”

“If it gets me to a bed sooner, I’m not arguing.”

Lucas looked up as Benicio eased into our aisle. “Paige and I would like—” He stopped. “What’s wrong, Papá?”

Benicio shook his head. “Nothing. You were saying?”

Lucas studied his father’s face. At first, I could see no sign of anything wrong. Then I noticed it, the slightest tilt to Benicio’s head, not quite meeting Lucas’s eyes as he spoke to him.

“I’m sure Paige can’t wait to get out of here,” Benicio said. “Why don’t we—”

A cough. We looked up to see William and Carlos standing on my other side.

“Thomas Nast wants to speak to you, Father,” William said.

Benicio waved him away. William’s lips tightened.

“We’ll wait for you in the car, Papá,” Lucas said. “We can discuss the appeal on the drive.”