He looked at Carroway, but his attorney was staring at the table.

“I didn’t do it,” Grant whispered, though the words lacked conviction.

“The evidence says otherwise,” Sarah said, turning back to her table.

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

Grant sat on the stand, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

I could see the sweat beads forming on his forehead.

The silence in the courtroom was absolute.

Judge Harlan looked down at the documents, then at Grant.

“Mr. Carroway,” the judge said. “Do you wish to redirect?”

Carroway stood up slowly, looking defeated.

“No, Your Honor,” Carroway said.

“You may step down, Mr. Bellamy,” Judge Harlan said.

Grant stood up, stumbling slightly as he left the stand.

He walked back to his table, his head bowed.

As he passed me, I could hear his heavy, ragged breathing.

He sat down and buried his face in his hands.

Renee Whitaker stood up from the gallery.

“Your Honor,” Renee said. “If I may.”

“Go ahead, Ms. Whitaker,” the judge said.

“I have interviewed Nolan Bellamy,” Renee said.

“He told me his father gave him the blue shirt.”