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him.
    “Mr. Durden, did anything unusual happen on the morning of March first last year?”
    “Yes. I’ll never forget it.”
    “Please tell the court about that morning.”
    “I had gone out to get the newspaper off the porch and I saw Mr. Herman carry his daughter’s dead body out to his car. I could tell that Lily was dead. He put her into the backseat and drove away.”
    There was a gasp in the gallery, a satisfying intake of breath, and the jury appeared absolutely gripped by what they had heard.
    “Did you call the police?”
    “Yes, I did.”
    “Did the police question the defendant because of your phone call?”
    “Yes. The day after I called nine-one-one, I was asked to come into the station for a lineup. I positively identified the man who put the body of Lily Herman into his car.”
    “Do you see that man here today?”
    Durden said he did, and at Yuki’s request he pointed to the man sitting next to John Kinsela at the defense table.
    “How well do you know Mr. Herman?” she asked.
    “I’ve known him for about five years. I knew Lily since she was three. She likes my dog, Poppy. They used to play on my lawn. I know the man’s car, too. Lexus. A 2011 four-door sedan.”
    “So you are absolutely sure that the man you saw on the day in question, the man putting Lily Herman into the back of the Lexus, was the defendant, Keith Herman?”
    “Yes. I’m sure.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Durden. I have no further questions.”
    Yuki returned to her seat at the prosecution table. There was some foot shuffling in the gallery, and people coughed on both sides of the aisle.
    Judge Nussbaum scratched his nose, made a note on his laptop, then said, “Mr. Kinsela, your witness.”

Chapter 13
    JOHN KINSELA STOOD. He didn’t snort or mug for the jury. In fact, he looked quite grave as he faced the witness.
    “Mr. Durden, have you ever testified in court before?”
    “No, sir.”
    “It’s a little nerve-racking, isn’t it?”
    Yuki thought it was a question meant to rattle the witness, but it allowed the jury to see defense counsel as sympathetic, treating the witness with respect. If she objected, she could irritate the jury.
    “I’m feeling fine,” said Graham Durden. He folded his hands in front of him.
    “Good. Now, Mr. Durden, you swore to tell the truth, and yet in truth, you weren’t a hundred percent sure that the man you saw on March first was Mr. Herman, isn’t that right?”
    “It was Mr. Herman. I know Mr. Herman.”
    “You told the police—and I’m reading from the transcript of your phone call to nine-one-one—‘I’m ninety percent sure that the man getting into the car was Keith Herman.’”
    “I said that, but it was a figure of speech. It was definitely him. And Keith Herman was carrying Lily out to the car. Put her body into the backseat.”
    “What kind of car was that again, Mr. Durden?”
    “A late-model Lexus sedan, 2011.”
    “And what color was the car?”
    “Black.”
    “Now, you told the police it was a dark-colored Lexus, isn’t that correct?”
    “Black is dark. I should know.”
    There was a smattering of nervous laughter in the gallery. Yuki wasn’t concerned. Graham Durden was a high school principal. He was about as credible a witness as there was. He had described the car as “dark.” And yes, black was dark. He had told the police he was 90 percent sure he saw Herman. He was being careful.
    “So just to be sure we’re both on the same page,” Kinsela said, turning to give the jury a good long look at the gravity of his expression. “You saw Mr. Herman put his daughter into a dark Lexus sedan on the street outside his house.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Did you get the license plate number?”
    “That car is always parked right there. I
know
the car.”
    “Yes or no: did you get the license plate number of that dark Lexus, Mr. Durden?”
    “No.”
    “Now, as to the body of the girl you say you saw the defendant bring out to the car: did you one