The Lincoln Lawyer

protection four years ago. Almost exactly.”
    “Protection from what, Mrs. Windsor?”
    “In our business we often show homes to complete strangers. Sometimes we are the only ones in the home with these strangers. There has been more than one incident of a realtor being robbed or hurt… or even murdered or raped.”
    “As far as you know, was Louis ever the victim of such a crime?”
    “Not personally, no. But he knew someone who had gone into a home and that happened to them…”
    “What happened?”
    “She got raped and robbed by a man with a knife. Louis was the one who found her after it was over. The first thing he did was go out and get a knife for protection after that.”
    “Why a knife? Why not a gun?”
    “He told me that at first he was going to get a gun but he wanted something he could always carry and not be noticeable with. So he got a knife and he got me one, too. That’s how I know it was almost exactly four years ago that he got this.”
    She held the bag up containing the knife.
    “Mine’s exactly the same, only the initials are different. We both have been carrying them ever since.”
    “So would it seem to you that if your son was carrying that knife on the night of March sixth, then that would be perfectly normal behavior from him?”
    Minton objected, saying I had not built the proper foundation for Windsor to answer the question and the judge sustained it. Mary Windsor, being unschooled in criminal law, assumed that the judge was allowing her to answer.
    “He carried it every day,” she said. “March sixth would have been no dif -”
    “Mrs. Windsor,” the judge boomed. “I sustained the objection. That means you do not answer. The jury will disregard her answer.”
    “I’m sorry,” Windsor said in a weak voice.
    “Next question, Mr. Haller,” the judge ordered.
    “That’s all I have, Your Honor. Thank you, Mrs. Windsor.”
    Mary Windsor started to get up but the judge admonished her again, telling her to stay seated. I returned to my seat as Minton got up from his. I scanned the gallery and saw no recognizable faces save that of C. C. Dobbs. He gave me an encouraging smile, which I ignored.
    Mary Windsor’s direct testimony had been perfect in terms of her adhering to the choreography we had worked up at lunch. She had succinctly delivered to the jury the explanation for the knife, yet she had also left in her testimony a minefield that Minton would have to cross. Her direct testimony had covered no more than I had provided Minton in a discovery summary. If he strayed from it he would quickly hear the deadly
click
under his foot.
    “This incident that inspired your son to start carrying around a five-inch folding knife, when exactly was that?”
    “It happened on June ninth in two thousand and one.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Absolutely.”
    I turned in my seat so I could more fully see Minton’s face. I was reading him. He thought he had something. Windsor ’s exact memory of a date was obvious indication of planted testimony. He was excited. I could tell.
    “Was there a newspaper story about this supposed attack on a fellow realtor?”
    “No, there wasn’t.”
    “Was there a police investigation?”
    “No, there wasn’t.”
    “And yet you know the exact date. How is that, Mrs. Windsor? Were you given this date before testifying here?”
    “No, I know the date because I will never forget the day I was attacked.”
    She waited a moment. I saw at least three of the jurors open their mouths silently. Minton did the same. I could almost hear the
click
.
    “My son will never forget it, either,” Windsor continued. “When he came looking for me and found me in that house, I was tied up, naked. There was blood. It was traumatic for him to see me that way. I think that was one of the reasons he took to carrying a knife. I think in some ways he wished he had gotten there earlier and been able to stop it.”
    “I see,” Minton said, staring down at his notes.
    He froze, unsure how to proceed. He didn’t want to raise his foot for fear that the mine would detonate and blow it off.
    “Mr. Minton, anything else?” the judge asked, a not so well disguised note of sarcasm in her voice.
    “One moment, Your Honor,” Minton said.
    Minton gathered himself, reviewed his notes and tried to salvage something.
    “Mrs. Windsor, did you or your son call the police after he found you?”
    “No, we didn’t. Louis wanted to but I did not. I thought that it would