the next morning. As I had guessed, Alan’s wife, Janelle, was the stressed-out woman who had rung up my purchases the night before at their resale shop. She recognized me, too, and we had a nice enough exchange, but really, how friendly can a woman be when she’s in court to say good-bye to her husband two days before Christmas as he heads to jail for a crime she doesn’t believe he committed? I didn’t want to be overly familiar with her, but I patted her arm, trying to transfer a little positive energy. Jack went over the morning’s schedule and strategy, and Alan didn’t say much, mostly just looked at the tabletop. When we were done, we exited into the foyer. “Do we have to go through another?” Janelle asked, pointing at an oddly placed metal detector against the wall. “Nope.” Jack held open the courtroom door. “This way.” He led us to the front row of the gallery behind the wooden bar that separated the public seating from the courtroom proper. We squeezed down the row and took seats.
