Strout was by no means where the first day of testimony had ended. They’d been back from the lunch recess only twenty-five or so minutes by the time Strout was done, and Braden hadn’t wasted any time trying to get away from that fiasco by calling Eric Waverly and walking him through the visit to Anlya’s apartment, finding the photo, and the interview with Greg Treadway. It had been a slow process, almost as long in the telling as it was in the living, and the court had adjourned for the evening just after Waverly’s description of visiting Anlya’s group home on the day after her death. And now here it was, day two of the trial proper. Hardy and a bleary-eyed and somewhat spacy Rebecca were getting set up at their table, the client in the holding cell behind the courtroom, when Hardy nudged her, directing her attention to the prosecutor, who was limping up the center aisle in the gallery. As he was pushing open the gate, letting himself into the bullpen, Braden kept his eyes straight ahead, all business.
