Sinner Read Free

seated one hundred, and every seat was filled. Media, well-wishers from both sides, and entertainment seekers who followed this sort of thing for a living.
    â€œYou are late, Counselor,” the judge snapped. “Again.”
    â€œI am, and I regret it deeply. From the bottom of my soul. Unavoidable, I’m afraid. I called your office. Did you get my message? I was, shall we say, held up. It won’t happen again.”
    She eyed him with the same gleam that had lit her eyes over the last six days. The Honorable Mary Brighton was known as a hard judge, but Billy thought she might have a soft spot for him. At the very least she found his methods interesting. Not that any of that mattered in this case.
    â€œNo, it won’t,” she said. “I expect we’ll wrap up arguments today.”
    â€œYes. I understand, Your Honor.” He slipped behind the defendant’s table on the left and dipped his head once more.
    â€œThis is the last of my leniency with your tardiness, Counselor. I will find you in contempt if it happens again, and I suggest you take me seriously.”
    â€œOf course. My sincere apologies, Your Honor.”
    Anthony Sacks sat to his left, sweating like a pig, true to form. The Greek weighed a good three hundred pounds at six feet tall and was dressed in a black pinstripe suit that failed to hide any of his bulk.He glared past bushy black brows.
    â€œYou’re late!” he whispered.
    â€œI know.” Billy opened the latches to his briefcase, withdrew the Sacks file, a legal pad and pen, then eased into his seat.
    â€œThis is ridiculous!”
    â€œI concur,” Billy whispered.
    â€œDon’t screw this up.”
    â€œNo, Tony, I won’t screw this up.”
    But Billy wasn’t sure he wouldn’t screw this up. Muness had tossed them a last-minute witness . . . last night. A man who was deposed to testify in court that the victim, Imam Mohammed Ilah, had been murdered by an extremist from his own mosque. Despite the court’s rigid adherence to the rules of discovery, Her Honor could allow the defense to produce the witness on the grounds that the witness was inherently material to the case, the testimony was to be given in court rather than in deposition, and the witness had volunteered to undergo vigorous cross-examination. A lucky break. A defense attorney’s gift, all things considered.
    But the man would be a liar. Had to be a plant. Muness couldn’t produce an honest witness any more than he could join the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. His testimony would be perjury, and Billy knew it as well as he knew he still had two arms. Producing a fraudulent witness would get Billy dis-barred, and he would do time for subornation of perjury. A legal term from prelaw filtered into the front of his mind: the miscarriage of justice . . .
    And here it was, right in front of him. The miscarriage of justice.
    The judge cleared her throat.“Would you like your breakfast served first, Counselor? Or are you ready to call your next witness?”
    Billy stood. “Yes. No, no breakfast,Your Honor. Defense calls Musa bin Salman.”
    The DA was on his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. The prosecution doesn’t have a Musa bin Salman listed. The defense cannot produce a witness without our knowledge unless . . .” The prosecutor, Dean Coulter, looked genuinely surprised, but trailed off. An associate attorney from his team was rifling through some papers.
    â€œCounsel, approach the bench. Now. ”
    Billy got there first. “I sent it over last night, Your Honor. The witness is material to the case, is willing to testify before the court—”
    â€œPlease tell me you’re not just posturing, Counselor,” the judge said. “I am not going to take another deposition, and if you’re stalling for time . . .”
    â€œOf course he is,” Coulter whispered. “Your Honor—nobody calls a material witness in