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Tollson glared down from the bench to both attorneys' tables, back over the small bullpen partition, and across the packed gallery. He looked in no way amiable. He straightened his back and pushed his glasses up to the ridge of his nose. "Mr. Washburn," he began. "Ms. Miille. Are you ready to begin?"

Both intoned, "Yes, Your Honor."

"All right, then, before we get down to it, let's spend a few moments in my chambers." And with that, he was up again, off the bench, and through the side door. To Mills, there was an absurd quality to the judge's formal entrance minutes before, followed by his near-immediate retreat back to his private office, but it was far from the only absurd moment she'd spent in and around courtrooms.

By the time she'd gathered her papers, Everett Washburn had come over to her table and, like the cultured gentleman that he was, waited for her to come around. She almost expected him to hold out his arm as a courtier might, for her to take it. But he merely bowed and let her precede him across the courtroom and to the back door, where the bailiff was waiting.

***

IN TOLLSON'S CHAMBERS, a faded green-and-gold pennant from the University of San Francisco took pride of place on the wall behind the large oak desk. A trophy case held more than a dozen ancient baseball and football trophies. A golf bag sat up against the bookshelf wall. A credenza sported a dozen or more framed photos of family members. Someone had arranged his diplomas, honors, and ceremonial pictures in a large rectangular pattern that covered the last empty wall.

The bailiff stayed until they were seated, then disappeared, leaving only the two lawyers and the judge. Tollson, in his robe and glasses behind his desk, nevertheless was his casual, out-of-the-courtroom self as he began. "So, I take it you two haven't reached a last-minute settlement, Mr. Washburn?"

The old lawyer sat back with his legs crossed-bemused, tolerant, good-natured. "That's correct, Your Honor."

"So what are we looking at for time?"

The question was asked of both of them, but Mills spoke up first. "The People's case, Your Honor, maybe four weeks, depending on cross. I've never worked with Mr. Washburn before, so I don't know how long he takes. I'll let him give you the estimate for the defense. I don't know about rebuttal." She paused, decided to hedge her estimate. "A lot will depend," she said, "on what you let in."

"We'll be getting to that here," Tollson said. "Jury selection?"

"Probably a couple of weeks, Your Honor. I would suggest a week of hardship, based on the length." She was suggesting that they first screen prospective jurors to see who could be with them, basically without pay, for what looked like a couple of months. The idea was that it was wise to eliminate the vast majority of prospective jurors whose employers would not pay for that length of jury service, or who could not otherwise handle the commitment. Only those who survived the initial screening would undergo the more complex and time-consuming questioning that would decide who would sit on the jury.

She went on, "So we've got twenty peremptory challenges each, and some hot-button issues such as the Iraq War and maybe some psych stuff, depending on your rulings. We use questionnaires, we should get our hardships done in three days or so, and the regular jury picked a couple days after that, give or take."

Tollson nodded. "Mr. Washburn? Sound about right to you?"

"Pretty close," he intoned. "I agree we should hardship first, and have the jury fill out questionnaires." He reached into his inside pocket and extracted a handful of paper, folded the long way. "And I just happen to have a proposed questionnaire for this case with me." Handing a copy to Mills and the judge, he added, "I'll need about a week for the defense, Your Honor."

Tollson, perusing the questionnaire, didn't look up, but said, "Motions?"

This time Washburn went first. "Limit the use of autopsy photos, Your Honor. They don't need a bunch of gory photos to prove this guy is dead."

"Your Honor," Mills said. "This guy, the victim, was in superb health. Somebody beat him to a bloody pulp. Not a robber or a burglar, but someone who hated him. The jury will need to see the savagery of the attack to appreciate that this was a personal killing."

Washburn shot back, "Too many autopsy photos might unduly prejudice the jury."

Tollson held up a hand. "Show me the photos you want to have admitted. I'll let you know which ones you can use before we start jury selection. Anything else?"

This was the moment. Mills produced copies of her 402 motion for Washburn and Tollson and said, "Mr. Washburn has discovered some stuff on PTSD, Your Honor, and has expert witnesses on his list. We would like a full-blown hearing on what you're going to admit before we get near a jury."