The courtroom itself looks as though it was constructed by a humorless carpenter. The colors are dull and lifeless, the angles harsh and demanding. Portraits of judges, both dead and alive, adorn the walls behind the bench. There’s an awkward sense of formality among the lawyers, bailiffs, clerks, and the judge. Everyone is disgustingly polite. The behavior is required by the institution, but beneath the veneer of civility runs a deep current of hostility borne of petty jealousy, resentment, and familiarity. I’m never comfortable in a courtroom. There are enemies everywhere.
Sitting next to me is Tanner Jarrett, a twenty-five-year-old rookie prosecutor fresh out of law school. He’s a political hire, the son of a billionaire state senator who will no doubt soon be a United States senator. Tanner looks out of place with his fresh face and boyish demeanor. He’s handsome, with well-defined jaws that angle sharply to a dimpled chin beneath inquisitive brown eyes and a thick mop of black hair. He’s bright, capable, and extremely likable. It seems he’s always smiling. Tanner will handle forty-seven of the forty-eight cases on today’s docket. He’ll resolve a few of them by plea agreement and agree to continue the rest. I’m here only to receive a date for an aggravated rape case that’s going to trial.