Today the courtroom is packed with spectators. An artist scribbles furiously to capture my face. I remain expressionless, but I know that the artist will sketch in faint lines around my mouth to connote sadness or guilt. We watch as the jury files in. None of them look at me. They never do. Monty sits beside me at the defense table. He leans and whispers into my ear, “Today I am my brother’s keeper.” His breath is warm, humid, and pleasant so close to me. Even now, I take comfort and delight in his closeness. He is golden.
Have I mentioned that I love him? I do, oh, I do.
Monty stands and addresses Judge Cray. “Your Honor, the defense would like to call as its last witness the defendant, Mr. Adam Lee.”
As the bailiff swears me in, my hand trembles. I concentrate to make it stop, lest one of the jurors interpret it as a sign of guilt and make a premature decision. Once I am seated, Monty stands before me. He gives me a wan smile and a slight nod of his head. This, of course, is for the benefit of the jury.
“Mr. Lee, after everything that’s gone on before this moment, there’s really only one question that matters. I’ll ask it point-blank. Adam Lee, did you murder your wife?”
“No,” I say, “No, I loved my wife.”