Why? was all he could ask.

Perhaps it was the skeptical lawyer in him, or maybe it was just the anger of a boy who had lost his mother. But Jack couldn’t decide if all this sadness was simply the cruelty of fate…or if something suspicious was at work.

“I will leave you alone now,” said the groundskeeper.

“Thank you,” said Jack, but that word hung in the air. Alone. At that painful hour, it seemed to be right where Jack belonged.

Forever, alone.

It was the day before trial, and Jack was on the receiving end of a steely glare from Judge Garcia. If he didn’t say something soon, those two burning lasers might zap him into legal oblivion. For the moment, however, he could only sit quietly as the U.S. attorney spoke to the judge in the crowded old courtroom.

“This is utterly an outrage, Your Honor,” said Torres. “Brian Pintado is just ten years old. A very impressionable age. He has already suffered the untimely death of his father. Someday, he will have to come to terms with the fact that it was his own mother who took his father’s life. In the meantime, his grandparents are doing the very best they can to provide a normal, nurturing environment for him. And yet, these defense lawyers”-he gestured accusingly toward Jack and Sofia, his tone filled with disdain-“these so-called officers of the court persist in contacting the Pintado household in their undying effort to coerce this child into meeting with them.”

Jack rose and said, “Judge, if I may say something, please.”

“Sit down, Mr. Swyteck! You’ll have your turn.”

Jack sank into his seat. It was humiliating under any circumstances to be rebuked by the judge, but it was especially demeaning in a courtroom that was overflowing with spectators. Worse still, most of them were the media.

The prosecutor seemed to swell with confidence. “Thank you, Judge. As I was saying, Brian Pintado has no desire to talk to these lawyers. Before her arraignment, Lindsey Hart agreed that her son could stay with his grandparents during her incarceration, and it is completely against their wishes that Brian meet with these lawyers. The rules of criminal procedure give the defense no right to depose this child. Nor do the rules require Brian to meet with the defense lawyers on an informal basis. Frankly, Judge, someone needs to send a message to Mr. Swyteck and his cocounsel that enough is enough. The answer is no. Go away. Good-bye. Brian Pintado is not going to talk to them.”

The prosecutor cast one more disgusted look toward Jack, then returned to his seat.

The courtroom was silent, yet Jack had the distinct impression that if this had been the English House of Commons the backbenchers would have been shuffling their feet and muttering their approval with a resounding chorus of “Here, here!”

The judge said, “Mr. Swyteck, you’re on. For your sake, I hope you can explain yourself.”

Jack rose and stepped to the lectern. He didn’t have to glance over his shoulder at the rapt audience to know that all eyes were upon him. “Your Honor, contrary to Mr. Torres’s suggestion, we have not hounded Brian Pintado or his grandparents at every turn. We have made limited attempts to set up an interview, and we have been very discreet and polite in all our communications.”

The judge scoffed. “I don’t care if you hired Miss Manners to print up engraved invitations. If the boy doesn’t want to meet with you, then you’re just going to have to take no for an answer.”

“I understand that. But this is the first time I’ve heard anyone say that he doesn’t want to meet with us. Every time we’ve spoken to the Pintado family, the response has been along the lines of, ‘Yes, he will meet with you, but now is not a good time.’ Never did they say that it was Brian’s desire not to meet with us.”

Torres sprang from his chair. “Judge, I resent the implication that we have somehow led the defense to believe that an interview with the boy was forthcoming. If Mr. Swyteck got that impression, it was his own mistake.”

The judge removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes, as if tired of the bickering. “Fine,” he said from the bench. “Perhaps it was a misunderstanding. Or perhaps it was a case of the defense overstepping their bounds. As of this moment, however, I trust the air has been cleared. Has it not, Mr. Swyteck?”

Jack glanced at Sofia. It was a setback, to be sure, not to be able to interview Brian. But the judge was showing no sign of ruling that Lindsey’s lawyers had a right to force an interview with her son. “If that’s the way Brian feels,” said Jack, “then we’ll accept that.”

“Good. There will be no more phone calls to the Pintado household. No more attempts to contact Brian Pintado. Agreed?”

Again Jack hesitated. The blow to their trial preparation was one thing, but his disappointment ran deeper. As absurd as it had once seemed for Lindsey to try to limit Jack’s access to her son, it was even more bizarre that things were now playing out exactly as she had wished: Jack would never meet Brian-unless he won her acquittal.

“Mr. Swyteck,” said the judge, “do I have your agreement on that?”

“Yes,” he said without conviction. “Agreed.”

The judge looked across the courtroom and said, “Is that satisfactory to you, Mr. Torres?”

“That should be fine, Judge. I’ll simply hope against hope that Mr. Swyteck is as true to his word as his father is.”

Jack shot a look of annoyance. What a cheap shot, Torres.

“Is there anything further that the court needs to take up?” asked the judge.

Jack heard the members of the media shuffling in the press gallery behind him. They were poised to run for the exits the minute the judge adjourned the proceeding.

But the prosecutor had one last surprise.

“There is one more thing,” said Torres. “It has to do with that certain witness that is the subject of the court’s gag order.”

The judge practically rolled his eyes. “Consider the gag order lifted. I don’t think there’s a reporter in this courtroom who doesn’t already know more about that than I do.”

A light rumble of laughter rolled across the courtroom, then silence.

Torres said, “In accordance with the court’s pretrial order, the parties have already exchanged witness lists. Perhaps I missed it, but I did not see anywhere on the defense’s list of witnesses the name of a Cuban soldier.”

The judge flipped through the file and located the list of witnesses. Then he looked toward Jack and said, “Is he on your list or not, Mr. Swyteck?”

Jack hesitated. He wasn’t being dishonest, but one of the oldest tricks in the book was perhaps about to backfire on him. “We didn’t list him by name, Your Honor. But we did list our intention to call rebuttal witnesses.”

The judge snorted. “You didn’t really think you were going to slide a Cuban soldier in sideways over the transom by listing him generally under the category of ‘rebuttal witnesses,’ did you?”

“To be perfectly honest, Judge, we haven’t decided whether or not to call the soldier as a witness at trial.”

The prosecutor said, “In the interest of avoiding surprises, I would like the record to be very clear on this point. If Mr. Swyteck intends to call a Cuban soldier as witness, he should be required to disclose that fact here and now.”

“I won’t go that far,” said the judge. “Mr. Swyteck can decide at a later time whether or not to actually call him to the stand. But if there is a Cuban soldier out there who claims to know something about this crime, I want to hear his name. If I don’t hear it now, Mr. Swyteck, you’ve waived your right to call him.”

Jack glanced toward the crowd. Many of the onlookers had quite literally moved to the edge of their seats. “Judge, we’re in a public forum. I don’t know what consequences might be visited upon this soldier or his family if I were to reveal his name in open court.”