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up. How come you let him go on like that?”
    “Because it makes a very bad impression if you negate the victim’s suffering.” Vekt raised his eyebrows. “And,” Herrera continued
     coldly, “we shall probably make use of it later in the trial.”
    Vekt opened his mouth, but just then Judge Quinn entered. “Remain seated, please. Mr. Johnson, have you any more witnesses?”
    “One bit of redirect for Mr. Jagoda, Your Honor.”
    Morris Jagoda seemed to have lost weight since just the day before. Johnson asked him one question: “What was there about
     Mr. Vekt’s picture that drew your attention to it despite the fact that the hair looked different?”
    “The eyes and the shape of the mouth are rather unusual.”
    Vekt reflexively touched the betraying features. Herrera also had one more question for Jagoda: “What time was it when this
     person first approached you?”
    “I can’t say exactly. But we’d left the restaurant at about ten oh-five and walked slowly, because Annabelle was wearing high
     heels. Probably ten twenty or so.”
    “Ten twenty. Thank you, Mr. Jagoda.”
    Vekt followed Jagoda’s stiff descent from the witness chair and saw him take a seat at the end of the first row, next to a
     couple in their fifties who’d been there every day of the trial.
    “What’s he doing there?” he hissed. “I thought he wasn’t allowed in.”
    “That was before he testified. Now it doesn’t matter.”
    “It matters to me!”
    Herrera’s cheek muscles twitched. “His
wife
was murdered.”
    “Yeah.”
    ____
    T HE FIRST WITNESS for the defense was Harold’s mother. “Mrs. Vekt, where, to your knowledge, was your son on the evening of March twenty-first?”
    “He came to my place for dinner.”
    “Where do you live?”
    “In Yonkers.”
    “Do you remember what time he left?”
    “About ten minutes to ten.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “We watched
Celebrity Poker
for a while, and he helped me unload the dishwasher. Then he had to rush off to make sure of catching the ten o’clock bus.”
    “And that bus arrives in the city about what time?”
    “Maybe ten to eleven, if the traffic’s light.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Vekt. Pass the witness.”
    Johnson positioned himself about six feet from the witness stand. “Mrs. Vekt, how often does your son visit you?”
    “Two or three times a month.”
    “How is it, then, that you remember this one instance so clearly?”
    “It was the last time before he was arrested.” Johnson blinked and turned his back to her momentarily.
    “Mrs. Vekt, do you love your son?”
    “You bet I do. He’s a great kid.” Harold smiled, hoping she wouldn’t mention the gifts he’d given her.
    “Wouldn’t you, then, lie in order to keep your son out of prison?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Please respond with yes or no.”
    “Objection,” called Herrera, but Theresa Vekt spoke over him.
    “I can’t say yes or no. A person can’t answer that sort of question unless they really need to decide about doing it. But
     I don’t need to because I’m telling the truth.”
    “Right on, Mom,” Harold mumbled, eliciting another squelching glance from Herrera.
    “Sustained,” the judge said, finally. He looked at Johnson. Anything further?”
    “No,” the prosecutor grunted.
    “Call your next witness, Mr. Herrera.”
    “Please call…,” Herrera said before he noticed that Harold was beckoning him. “Just a moment, please.” He sat down, and Vekt
     leaned over to speak into his right ear.
    “Put me on the stand. I’ll knock’em dead, the way Mom just did.”
    Herrera winced. He glanced around at the nearest spectators, then placed his mouth next to Harold’s left ear and shielded
     it with his cupped right hand. “I thought we’d settled this. You have a legal right to testify, and if you are adamant I can’t
     stop you. But in my
experienced
professional opinion, it would be extremely unwise—in fact, disastrous. So much so that I am unwilling to