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book on Islam that I’m reading for my comparative religion class. That’s when they really started coming down on me. How did I know how to build a bomb? Was this the first one I’d ever set off? They wouldn’t let up. That’s when they read me that Miranda thing, just like on TV That’s when I knew I had to call my mom. Those cops think I’m some kind of terrorist, don’t they?”
    Manny didn’t want to tell Travis what the newspapers were calling him. She honed in on something Travis had said earlier. This could be her salvation. “You said they searched your backpack. Did they do that without your consent?”
    “No. They asked permission and I said okay. I figured they were looking for drugs and I knew I was clean. I forgot all about the book being in there.”
    Shit! So far the cops had done everything by the book. This case was looking worse and worse. But she plastered a smile on her face for her client’s sake. “Okay, Travis. That’s all for now. In a little while, I should have you out of here.”
    “You’ll explain to them that this is all a mistake?”
    “I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that. But we’ll try to get you out on bail.” Manny watched Travis shuffle forlornly to the door. He turned once to look at her; then he was gone.
    Maureen Heaton sat in the waiting room, her back pressed against the pea green plastic chair, her fingers picking at a frayed thread on her canvas purse. Manny greeted her, careful to banish all signs of worry from her face. “All right, ma’am, first things first. He was with a group of boys who may have done something. But he says he is innocent, and I believe him. Let’s arrange to get Travis out of here. Then we’ll work on our strategy for his defense.”
    Mrs. Heaton twisted her dulled wedding band on her right ring finger continuously, as if trying to conjure up some genie who would make this nightmare go away. “Defense! But he’s innocent. It’s obvious those other boys set the bomb.”
    “Yes, but the police don’t have those other boys; they have Travis. And a suspect in custody is worth four on the streets. We may have to hire our own investigator to track them down.”
    “Investigator? I’m a widow; I work two jobs. Where do you think I’m going to get all this money?” Mrs. Heaton groped in her purse for a tissue. Manny could see billable hours evaporating before her eyes. She patted Mrs. Heaton on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I know someone with some time on his hands who may be able to help us.” This was the perfect chore for Sam, Jake’s perpetually unemployed brother.
    Mrs. Heaton gazed at her with brown eyes full of pathetic hope and Manny could feel the burden of worry shift from the mother’s shoulders to her own. She hoped she was strong enough to carry the load.

“We’re opposing bail.” Lisnek leaned back in his desk chair, straining the blue oxford cloth of his shirt over his belly. “We want him in custody until his trial.”
    Manny was thunderstruck. “The kid’s never been in trouble before. He’s from a hardworking family with limited financial resources. He poses no flight risk. Why would you oppose bail?”
    “We suspect he’s part of a larger conspiracy. We found this in his backpack.” Lisnek held up a dog-eared paperback book— Understanding the Koran by Imam Abu Rezi.
    “Required reading for the comparative religion class he’s taking at Monet,” Manny explained.
    Lisnek shrugged. “Students have been known to be unduly influenced by their subject matter. The police just called with the results of their search of Travis’s home. They found a whole shelf of books on Muslim theology, Islamic fundamentalism, jihad, et cetera. I rather doubt that prep schools delve into the topic that deeply.”
    Manny jumped up. “That’s absurd. Even in these crazy times, no judge in the District of New Jersey is going to deny bail based solely on the suspect’s reading material.” But even as