Sammie frowned. “I’m not good with that legal talk.”

“When you got arrested yet again a few days ago and were looking at the hard side of a mandatory twenty years, you needed to make a deal in a hurry, right? And with those pesky mandatory sentencing guidelines in place, the only way you could get your sentence reduced or eliminated was in exchange for ‘cooperation,’ right?”

“I already said we made a deal.”

“Yes, but what you didn’t say is that you concocted the whole story so you could make a deal!”

“That’s not true,” Sammie said angrily. “It isn’t-”

“I think you’re an expert in this field, Ms. Flynn. I think once you knew you were in trouble, you walked into the county jail like a shopper in a grocery store. You sized up all the tomatoes, then squeezed them a little to see what you could get out of them. You probably heard the DA’s case against my client was hurting, so you called some friends and read some newspapers and got enough information to offer the authorities a convincing lie. A lie that would condemn my client.”

“I heard what I heard.”

“And it’s just a coincidence that the district attorney wanted it so bad he offered you complete immunity, right? What a break for you when Father Beale started praying out loud.”

“Hey, I didn’t make the old man talk.”

“I wonder. I think you made up the whole story.”

Sammie didn’t blink. “You’re just saying that because your guy is a murderer and you want to get him off.”

“I think you took what little you know about the murder out of the newspaper.”

“That’s not true!”

“So you’re denying it?”

“Yes! I told you what I heard. From that man’s own lips.”

“Really. Because some of your testimony seemed a little unusual. Like when you talked about”-Ben glanced at his notes-“the ‘intense dissension.’ Big words for a down-to-earth girl like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you didn’t strike me as sesquipedalian.”

“Huh?”

Ben smiled. “Were those your words, Ms. Flynn?”

“No, they were his words. Beale’s.”

“Then I guess it’s just a coincidence”-Ben picked up the top newspaper Christina had brought him and flipped to the front page-“that the Tulsa World used the exact same phrase yesterday in its coverage of this case.”

She shrugged. “Huh. Maybe they’ve got a spy in the jailhouse.”

“And look,” Ben continued, “here’s another one of your key phrases. ‘Ringleader of a group of theological malcontents.’ ” He held the paper up so the jury could see. “And they weren’t quoting anyone; they were just being prosy. Another coincidence, Ms. Flynn?”

She was beginning to lose some of her sangfroid. “Must be.”

“The truth is, you didn’t hear Father Beale say a thing, did you? You just read about it in the paper.”

“That’s bull. You can’t prove that.”

“Can’t I?” Ben laid down the newspaper. “I noticed you described the murder weapon as a paperweight. I’m sure the jury noticed that, too. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So-it wasn’t. It wasn’t the murder weapon-because the victim died from strangulation-and it wasn’t a paperweight. It was an award. Father Beale’s St. Crispin’s Award.”

Sammie was beginning to look as if she could really use a smoke. “Well, whatever. I guess he made a mistake.”

“About his own award? I don’t think so. But the newspaper did. Right here.” He took another paper from the stack and pointed out the offending passage. “That’s where you got the mistake. Not from Father Beale. From the morning newspaper. Your so-called confession is nothing but a tissue of lies.”

Sammie’s face puffed up. “All I did was repeat what he said. I mean, maybe I didn’t get the exact words right. But what I said was what he told me.”

“I thought you said he was talking to God.”

“No, he-I mean, he was, but-” She was starting to lose it, which of course was exactly what Ben wanted. “You’re trying to confuse me!”

“And you’re trying to convict an innocent man to save your sorry little butt. The worst of it is-since you’ve already made your deal, you’ll still get off scot-free, even though your testimony was worthless.” He turned to face the prosecution table. “I don’t think you were put in that cell next to Father Beale by accident. I think the cops knew you were a career snitch, and that’s why they put you there and gave you access to the phone and newspapers and let you educate yourself. So you would be tempted to fabricate false testimony to shore up their failing case. Which, like the pathetic loser you are, you did.”

Sammie leaned forward, screaming. “Don’t let him tell these lies about me!”

Canelli hit the floor running. “Your honor, these accusations are unconscionable!”

Pitcock appeared unimpressed. “Are they, counsel?”

“Your honor, I can assure the court that we would never do anything improper or-”

Judge Pitcock waved him to silence. “Don’t waste your energy, sir. You called this witness to the stand knowing full well what she was and what she was going to do. I’ve watched these past years as the use of dubious snitch testimony has become increasingly common-even though it’s inherently unreliable.”

“Your honor,” Ben said, “I move that this woman’s entire testimony be stricken from the record and that the jury be instructed to disregard every word of it.”

Canelli was outraged. “The prosecution opposes this motion in the strongest possible terms.”

Judge Pitcock drew in his breath. “I suppose there are some instances in which informer testimony could be reliably presented. Where the witness has no prior history of snitching. Where the witness is not a recidivist. Where the testimony can be corroborated. Where the circumstances suggest reliability. Where the deals made with the prosecutor are written and all conversations pertaining thereto have been recorded. Where the scenario does not appear to have been engineered by the law enforcement officers involved.” He peered down harshly at Canelli. “But none of those circumstances are present here, are they?”

For once, Canelli was speechless.

Pitcock addressed the courtroom. “The defense motion is granted. This witness’s testimony will be stricken from the record. The jury is instructed-in fact, the jury is ordered-to disregard every word she has said.” He lowered his eyes to the man standing just before him. “And Mr. Canelli, if you ever bring another witness like this into my court, I will have your license.”

He banged his gavel with uncommon gravity. “We’re in recess. I’m going to lunch.”

“Champagne is on its way!” Christina announced as she bounced into the conference room. “Three cheers for Ben the Magnificent!”

Loving followed her lead. “High fives for the master!” he bellowed.

Ben slapped him back, but there was a scowl on his face. “This is way premature, guys.”

“Au contraire,” Christina countered. “You were brilliant in there today. Brilliant!”

Loving agreed. “You tore that snitch to shreds, Skipper. I almost felt sorry for her.”

“Is that why you asked for her phone number?” Christina inquired.

Loving’s face flushed. “Wuh… yeah… I mean… I wanted to ’spress my condolences.”

Christina hugged his shoulder. “You don’t have to pretend for me, Loving. I know you’re a crazy man for tattoos.”

Jones entered carrying an ice bucket and bottle. “Is this where the celebration is taking place?”

Ben held up his hands. “Just in case you didn’t hear me the first time, it’s too soon to be celebrating. Canelli still has at least a day’s worth of witnesses. Anything could happen.”

“We’re not celebrating winning the trial,” Christina informed him. “We’re celebrating the sheer joy of watching you dismember that witness. I mean, you’ve been on a roll this whole trial. But what you did to that snitch! That was like-unprecedented in the annals of legal history.”