Anderson tapped away on her laptop, as did Carling, Chu, Gupta and Wykoff.

"Wait a minute, stop typing." Nat raised a palm. "Everybody stop typing and look up. It's a story. Just listen."

Anderson lifted her gaze, as did the others, one by one, reentering.

"Good. Thanks. As I was saying, the prisoner couldn't afford a lawyer, so at the trial, he asked the judge to appoint one for him. The judge said no and told him that under the law, the poor were entitled to a lawyer only in capital cases or in exceptional circumstances. The judge was right, because that was the law at the time. So the prisoner defended himself at trial, making an array of mistakes, such as calling as his witness the very police officer who had arrested him. He was convicted and sentenced to five years."

Wykoff frowned, and Chu blinked. Warren's hand never strayed to her keyboard, for IM-ing. Kewl.

"But the prisoner studied law books in the prison library, and no matter how many times the inmate read the Sixth Amendment, he couldn't square it with the judge's refusal to give him a lawyer. So he wrote his own habeas petition to the Florida Supreme Court, which was denied, and then, undeterred, he handwrote a letter to the U.S. Supreme Court itself."

Gupta and McIlhargey were paying attention, at least apparently The Supreme Court took his case and, as was their custom, appointed him a lawyer, one who couldn't have been more different from the prisoner. Abe Fortas was the quintessential Washing-ton insider, a major partner in a prestigious law firm. He drove a Rolls Royce, and his hero was Justice Brandeis. Fortas would say of Brandeis, 'He is an angry man-angry at injustice.'" Bischoff and Warren were listening, "Fortas got angry about injustice, too, and he argued the prisoner's case before the Supreme Court. He argued that the Sixth Amendment requires that the indigent be appointed counsel in all state criminal trials. The prisoner and the lawyer were asking the Supreme Court to revolutionize the law of the land. And the Court answered yes."

Nat spoke without notes because the case always hit home for her, though today she was powered by something extra. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"In the end, the prisoner got justice. He received a new trial in the Florida court, and a lawyer was appointed to represent him. His lawyer discovered that the state's star witness, the policeman, had himself been arrested for beating up and robbing another man outside the very same pool room. The prisoner was found innocent. His name was Clarence Earl Gideon. The case was Gideon v. Wainwright!'

Gupta and Anderson exchanged glances, and a slow smile spread across Chu's face.

"In a November 13 letter to Abe Fortas, Gideon wrote, 'I believe that each era finds an improvement in law, each year brings something new for the benefit of mankind. Maybe this will be one of those small steps forward.'" Nat paused. "Clarence Earl Gideon believed that a single person could change the world, if he had justice on his side. He made history, because he was right"

The huge hall fell silent. The students remained looking at her. Nat had given this lecture for two years and had never gotten this response. It thrilled her, affirming her, the class, and Clarence Earl Gideon, all at once. In the next instant, she put her finger on that something extra.

And finally began to learn something she had been trying to teach.

Students in peaked Tibetan hats, red-and-white-checked keffiyeh scarves, and multicolored hand-knit sweaters clogged Angus's hospital room. They turned when Nat walked in, looking at her like she was the one dressed crazily, in confidence boots and a black Armani coat. Truth to tell, the coat was a little pretentious, but after losing her toggle coat and camelhair coat, Nat was down to her dress coat, reserved for funerals and foreign films.

Deidre lifted an untweezed eyebrow. "Hi, Professor Greco," she said coolly, standing nearest the bed. All the other students parted deferentially.

"Natalie! You're just in time for ice chips." Angus craned his neck from his pillow in his hospital gown. He sported a new bandage and wasn't on an IV any longer, but he still had the splint in the crook of his arm and that golden tangle at his collar.

Hey, pal." Nat made her way to the bed, and Angus's eyes lit up. "You look pretty."

Nat's cheeks warmed. "Thanks. How're you feeling?" Good news! I may get to keep my spleen."

"Juice included?"

Angus laughed, and so did the students, though they hadn't been present for the joke.

"I worried when I couldn't get through."

"No, I'm alive. I slept all morning. I think one of the nurses put a Rune in my apple juice."

Deirdre shoved Angus's arm playfully. "That's sexist."

"Really? Guess what? You flunk." Angus smiled wearily. "Deidre, why don't you take everybody to the vending machines and give me a few minutes with Professor Greco."

"Woot, woot!" hooted one of male students, triggering new laughter.

Deidre quickly masked a scowl. "We'll be right back," she said, as they shuffled out en masse, laughing and talking.

"Hey, you," Angus said softly. The room fell quiet, and the window behind him showed an evening sky the color of frozen blueberries.

"Hey back at you." Nat pulled over a chair, vaguely uneasy. It felt as if something had changed between them, but she figured it was her imagination.

"Love the boots."

Or not. "Now I see why you wear yours."

"Why?"

"Attitude."

"No, laziness. Attitude, I was born with." Angus cocked his head, eyeing her. "You look so happy. What's going on with you, girl?"

Damned if I know. "I had a couple of good classes today, and even my seminar went really well."

"Good for you! Making inroads, huh? I knew you would. They're coming around."

"Maybe." Nat felt happy inside. "It's just nice, is all. To connect that way."

"It's why we teach, isn't it?"

"Exactly." Nat hadn't realized it before today.

"What was the class about?" Angus shifted up on his pillow, interested.

"Gideon."

"Great case. Wonderful movie, too, with Henry Fonda."

"I believe it, because it's a great story."

"All cases are great stories, I think."

Nat nodded. It was fun to talk about work without having to explain everything.

"So what happened?"

"So when I told them the story of the case, we actually had a moment. I don't even really know what happened myself."

"They got it."

"Yes, right." Nat thought about it. "I taught it, and they understood it, and for a minute, we met somewhere in the space between us, between me on the stage and them in their seats. It was like the lecture had an academic hang time." She shrugged. "That's the only way I can describe it."

"How about love?"

Gulp? "What do you mean?"

"It's love. It's not that the students love us or that we love them. It's that we both love the same material-whatever principle you're trying to teach them-and in turn, it connects us." Angus made a full-circle movement with his hand. "We actually share that moment in time. It's a connection of human minds, and souls."

"Right." Nat felt caught up in his words, then stopped herself. Was she losing it? She had to get off the topic. "Well. Anyway, did you really mean it when you said that the car accident might not be an accident?"

"Yes. It's not a coincidence." Angus shook his head. "We were warned off, and the next day we almost got killed. If we put it together with what we think about Upchurch's murder, it makes sense. Some-body doesn't want us digging any deeper, somebody associated with Graf or the prison."

Nat thought of her meeting with McConnell. "Then here's another coincidence, one you won't like." She told Angus the news that he was banned from the prison, and his cheeks flushed as red as his bruises.