Drobcek opened the batting. ‘My client wishes to say that he was mistaken in his previous statement about taking soccer practice last Friday. His state of emotional turmoil and grief left him confused. I’m sure you will understand that.’ Slider understood, all right. ‘So where were you on Friday evening, Mr Wiseman?’ Drobcek opened his mouth and Slider forestalled him. ‘I would like to hear it from Mr Wiseman himself.’ Legally it was no less valid if Drobcek said it on instruction, but Wiseman was a self-proclaimed virtuous man and a churchgoer, and if another lie was coming Slider knew instinctively it would make a difference to him. He wanted to make him say the words and face the shame. Wiseman gave him a look that could have charred a-thousand-acre forest, but he seemed to have himself under control. His arms were folded so tightly across his chest it was a wonder he could breathe, and his face was rigid, but he said in a calm voice that sounded almost normal, ‘I was doing individual coaching.
