D R. B ROWN: What? No. He’s not my patient.
K ELLER: Oh? I’m sorry. You must have interviewed him, then?
D R. B ROWN: That’s right. I was able to meet with Jeremy Long this morning.
K ELLER: I see. For how many hours?
D R. B ROWN: Well… we had to be in court. I suppose I was with Jeremy under an hour.
K ELLER: Under an hour? And you were able to get him to tell you enough about himself to diagnose him? You must be quite an expert psychiatrist.
D R. B ROWN: He didn’t actually tell me about himself, per se, of course. By definition, selective mutes don’t answer questions. I was, however, able to observe the boy and-
K ELLER: Observe him? Like the jury is doing now? Only… for a much shorter length of time?
D R. B ROWN: Well, I wouldn’t say-
K ELLER: That’s all right, Doctor. I think I’ve gotten all the information you’re able to give. No more questions for the witness.
9
It’s afternoon before I’m called back up to the witness stand. I guess swearing must have lasted overnight because I don’t have to do it again. My palms are so sweaty they slip when I grab the wooden railing.
I try to get Jeremy to look at me as I take my seat. He’s wearing another suit I’ve never seen, and I figure Raymond must have bought it for him. It’s a nice suit, gray and brand-new. I’m grateful, but Jer looks like he’s playing dress-up in it. His hair is cut short and close, which looks neat and everything, but makes his ears stick out. He won’t look at me. And then I remember I promised him I’d see if I could get him an empty jar, and I didn’t even try.
“Good afternoon, Hope,” Raymond says.
“Afternoon.” My voice sounds thin, like a little girl’s. I clear my throat.
“I won’t take very long today, Hope. Just a few more questions for you. The court has heard expert testimony concerning Jeremy’s mental condition. I just want you to tell the court about your brother in your own words. Is that all right with you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Hope, can you tell us if Jeremy has had any hobbies like other boys his age?”
This is how we practiced getting into the glass-jar stories, so I tell the first one. Then I wait for Raymond to ask me about Jeremy dumping all the pickles on the kitchen floor so he could have the jar, and I tell that one, glad that Rita’s not allowed in the courtroom until after she testifies.
When I’m done, Raymond smiles at me. I think he winks, but it might be a twitch. “Thank you, Hope.” He turns to the judge. “That’s all, Your Honor.”
I’d like to get up and follow Raymond, but the prosecutor is already out of his chair and heading for me.
“Good day,” he says. He unbuttons his jacket and walks so close I think I smell the sweat that’s left dark circles around his armpits. It’s hot in the courtroom, even with the fans going. “My name is Mr. Keller. Can I call you Hope?”
“Okay.”
“Good. Thank you.” I keep thinking how Raymond called him a pit bull. And I guess he was kind of hard on the doctor. Still, I don’t see him as a pit bull. Not yet anyway. On the other hand, people who get bitten by pit bulls are always saying how the dogs were so sweet until that minute before the bite.
“I just have a few questions for you, Hope,” Mr. Keller begins. “Then we’ll let you get out of here and go home.”
I wish he could say that to my brother.
Raymond warned me to keep my answers short and not volunteer information not asked. So I wait to be asked. Only Keller is flipping through his notes. My knee starts bobbing all by itself, and my heart is pounding so loud I wonder if the prosecutor can hear it. I look past him to the crowd of reporters in the back row, to the jurors on my left, to Jeremy on my right. T.J., wearing a red T-shirt with a gold dragon on it, is sitting as close to the front as he could get. Then my gaze passes over the gallery in the little balcony, and I see him. Chase. He’s sitting in the front row, leaning forward, his hands on the rail.
And instantly, I feel better.
I don’t know why Chase shows up every day, but T.J. says he’s been here for the whole trial. A lot of Grain citizens have. Maybe they come for the same reason rubberneckers gawk at highway accidents.
“Hope,” Mr. Keller says, turning his side to me so he can smile at the jury, “what was your brother’s relationship with Mr. Johnson like?”
Raymond jumps up. “Objection! The witness isn’t qualified to answer. She isn’t an expert in relationships.”
Raymond’s right about that.
But the judge disagrees. “Overruled. Proceed, Mr. Keller.”
He turns to me this time. “Why don’t you just tell us from your own observations how your brother got along with the deceased?”
“They got along fine.”
“Could you explain your answer for the court, please?”
I’m trying to keep my answers short, like Raymond said, but I can’t see how it would hurt for the jury to know how much Jeremy liked Coach. “Coach Johnson gave Jeremy a real good job at the stable. Jer mucked the stalls and all, but he got to ride and brush the horses too. He loved his job. And the pay was great.”
“Did they see one another outside the stable?”
“On the ball field,” I answer quickly, eager to make the jury understand how much Coach meant to Jeremy. “Coach let Jeremy be his assistant for the summer games. Jeremy was the first one to show up on the ball diamond and the last to leave. He was in charge of the bats and balls, the game equipment.”
Keller looks like he wants to ask another question, but I’m not done yet. “Plus,” I add quickly, “Coach gave Jeremy a Panther uniform. Jeremy loved that uniform. He would have worn it every day if I’d let him. And-” But I stop myself just in time because I was going to say how Jeremy carried his bat with him to the barn every single morning.
Mr. Keller nods, like he’s taking it all in. “Did Coach Johnson ever give Jeremy a bat?”
I bite my lip so hard it hurts. I try to glance at Raymond because we didn’t practice for this question, but the prosecutor’s standing in my way.
“Do you need me to repeat the question?” Keller asks.
“No. I mean, yes. Coach gave Jeremy his bat.”
“Thank you. Now, Hope, I’d like to go back to the day of the murder.”
I wouldn’t. It’s the last day I’d like to go back to.
“I’m hoping you can help us fill in a few time gaps,” Prosecutor Keller says. “Where were you on the morning of June eleventh?”
“Asleep. In my bed.”
He nods, like he knew this already. “Did you see your brother that morning? Before the police knocked on your door, that is?”
“No.” I add quickly, “But I saw Jeremy when I went to bed the night before. He was in his bed sound asleep.”
“Okay. Let’s talk about the next day. What woke you that morning?”
“Pounding on the door. The front door. It woke Rita and me both up.”
“But not Jeremy?”
I shrug, then remember I’m supposed to use words. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Of course,” he says, like he agrees with me. “So what did you do when you heard this pounding on the door?”
“I answered it.”
“Go on, please, Hope.”
The facts. Just the facts. Raymond’s coaching throbs in my head, along with a headache that better not turn into a migraine. “Sheriff Wells was standing there, with a couple of others behind him. He asked me where Jeremy was, and I told him Jeremy was asleep.”
Keller nods for me to continue, waving one arm while he takes a couple of steps toward the jury.
“Sheriff Wells started to come in, but that’s when Rita took over.”
“That would be your mother and the defendant’s mother, yes?”
“Yes. Rita shoved in front of me and stood in the doorway so they couldn’t get in. ‘What do you want with Jeremy?’ she shouted.” I figure it’s okay to leave out some of the four-letter words Rita used. “ ‘We need to talk with him. There’s been an accident, Rita,’ Sheriff said.