Ben put his arm on Beale’s shoulder, careful to act friendly and unafraid. Those potential jurors were probably watching; it was important that Ben indicate that Beale was someone he liked, not just someone for whom he worked. And the importance of seeming unafraid was obvious. Since everyone else in the hallway was acting just the opposite.

“Get any sleep?” Ben asked.

“Cot was a bit lumpy,” Beale replied. “Think you could get me one of those cushioned orthopedic numbers?”

“I’ll work on it.” Ben peered at his face. For a man who had been through everything he had endured in the last twelve hours, he didn’t look half bad. “Ready to go?”

“Would it change anything if I said no?”

“ ’Fraid not.”

Ben pushed open the double doors and stepped inside the courtroom. The room was packed; there wasn’t an empty seat in the house. Again, Ben was not surprised. The third murder had made this trial a major draw for fans of murder and mayhem. Ben saw some familiar faces, including many people from St. Benedict’s-Ruth, Ernestine, Alvin, and several others. He also spotted Andrea, in her reserved seat at the front, just behind the defense table. That was important-Ben wanted the jury reminded that Father Beale was married, and to see that she was here supporting him.

Ben and Father Beale walked down the aisle to the front of the courtroom. The marshals remained at the rear. Ben pulled out a chair at the defense table, but instead of sitting in it, Beale knelt beside it.

Ben leaned in close and whispered. “What are you doing?”

Beale’s eyes were closed. “I’m praying.”

“Well… stop it.”

“I always pray for God’s support and guidance before I do anything important.”

Ben’s forehead creased. “But people are looking at you.”

“And? You think they’ll be surprised to see a priest praying?”

“They’ll think you’re putting on a show. For the prospective jurors.”

“I can’t help what people think.”

“I can. It’s my job.” He tugged at Beale’s arm. “C’mon. If you have to pray, at least do it sitting in a chair.”

“It’s not the Episcopal way.”

“Consider it an order.”

“But-”

“Remember our discussion last night? As soon as we stepped through those double doors, I became the boss. So do what I tell you.”

Beale reluctantly allowed Ben to pull him into the chair. He continued to pray, head down, hands folded, like Ben had done as a child saying grace at the dinner table.

What a great job this was, Ben mused. The life-enriching work of a defense attorney. Today, for instance, his first act had been to tell someone to stop praying. And if he was trying to lead people away from prayer, that would make him…

Never mind. Too many people thought that about lawyers already.

Assistant DA Canelli strolled over from his side of the courtroom, towering over Ben with his stratospheric height. “Look, I talked to my boss. I think we’ve got a slam dunk, but he’s worried about negative publicity fallout from nailing a priest, even if we win. So I’m willing to give you life.”

“Life?”

“Right. But it has to be on three counts.”

“Three? You haven’t even charged him on the first and third-”

“We have now.”

Ben ground his teeth. “When were you planning to tell me?”

“I gave the papers to your partner-the redhead.”

“Right before trial?”

“Sorry, but everything has happened so fast. I didn’t plan a new murder the night before trial, but I had to deal with it.”

Ben supposed that was probably true. “Give me second degree and I’ll take it to my client.”

“No deal. I’m saving you from the death penalty, and I think that’s gift enough for a three-time serial killer. Take it or leave it. Personally, I want to go to trial.”

Ben glanced down at Beale, who was shaking his head vigorously.

“No deal,” Ben answered.

Canelli did not appear surprised or disappointed. “See you in the funny papers,” he said, flashing his uncommonly handsome smile.

Christina appeared, her arms loaded down with paper. “Got the drivers’ licenses.” Which was her way of saying she’d obtained a copy of the rolls of prospective jurors-who were selected at random from drivers’ license records.

“Good. Keep an eye on them. You’re my people person.”

She beamed. “Because of my sunny personality?”

“Because… I’m not.”

Judge Pitcock entered the courtroom from chambers. He couldn’t possibly be unaware of the enormous number of reporters in the courtroom, but Ben thought he was doing a fair job of not playing to them, at least not obviously.

“This court is now in session,” he said, rapping his gavel. “First on our docket today is the State of Oklahoma versus Beale, Case CJ-02-78945P. Murder in the first degree. Are all the parties ready?”

Both Ben and Canelli indicated that they were.

“Very well. Let the trial begin.”

As Ben well knew, an old trial lawyer bromide held that there are only two subjects on which you absolutely could not quiz jurors during voir dire. You could ask them about their personal lives, even their sex lives, if need be. You could ask what they watch on television, what they read, what they eat, where they work, how they like their steak cooked, how often they go to the bathroom, whether they have an innie or an outie. But there were two subjects you could not touch, two areas so sacrosanct the judge would shut you down in a heartbeat if you even tried to address them: politics and religion.

Unfortunately, this voir dire necessarily involved both.

“I’m sure most of you, like me, tend to automatically treat a religious man with a little more respect than the average joe,” Canelli said, addressing the first eighteen drivers’ licenses called to the jury box. “It’s kind of automatic. And that worries me, of course, because in this case, it’s important that you treat Daniel Beale no differently than you would any other defendant. No special privileges. Just fairly.”

But not too fairly, right? Ben thought.

“Do you think you can do that?” Canelli asked. He polled some of the prospective jurors, starting with older men who were less likely to be traumatized by being called on individually. “Do you think you could treat the defendant just as you would anyone else charged with a capital crime?”

Well, honestly, Ben thought, what were they going to say? Ben scrutinized the men and women giving the answers, and he saw no indication that the defendant’s priestly status was going to give him any great advantage. In fact, he wondered if it might not be just the opposite.

An elderly Hispanic woman on the second row shifted her weight slightly. “Act’lly, sir, I do have a problem with that.”

Even Canelli seemed surprised. He was making a rhetorical point, not really expecting an affirmative answer. “How so, ma’am?”

“I just don’t think I could ever do anything that would hurt a priest.”

“Even if I proved that he had committed a horrible crime?”

“Well… maybe. But I think-he’s the strong right arm of God. He goes where God wants him to go.”

Including the state pen? Ben wondered.

“Ma’am, are you saying you couldn’t convict this defendant even if his guilt were proved beyond a reasonable doubt?”

Again she did not directly answer the question. “I’m not saying that. I just can’t see myself doing any harm to a man of God. A man who has devoted his whole life to Christ. I grew up in a Catholic school, and I was taught that a priest is special.”

“I understand,” Canelli said patiently. “I must ask you to answer-”

“I mean, doesn’t he deserve some extra consideration? We’re talking about a man who has agreed to give up everything. Money, worldly possessions, even women!”

Canelli cleared his throat. “Uh… actually, ma’am, Daniel Beale is an Episcopal priest. They don’t… uh… you know, swear an oath of chastity. He’s married.”