“I’m really sorry about Mr. Ting. I know what a shock it must have been to you.”

I look at Connie, who is leaning back against the dishwasher by the

stove. Like an umpire who has heard one too many players complain after taking a called third strike down the middle, she folds her arms tightly against her chest. One false move and I am out of here. Her mother says bluntly, “Willie didn’t trust lawyers.” It sounds as if she has said, “… Trust rawyers.” I’m glad I don’t have to speak Chinese.

Though I assume Tommy has said to her what I’m about to say, I tell her, “I can understand that, but I want you to know that though I represent the man accused of taking Mr. Ting’s life, I’m interested in knowing the truth, and though I can’t prove it yet, I strongly suspect someone else may have murdered your husband and has framed Class.”

Mrs. Ting looks at me blankly, while Connie interjects, “I thought a defense attorney’s job was to defend his client and let the judge and jury worry about the truth.”

I wish Connie would go shopping or something.

“The way the system works,” I say, repeating what I learned in law school, “is the truth emerges if everyone does their job well.”

Connie rolls her eyes at me.

“Gideon, do you actually think my mother believes that? Look at the O.J. trial. He got away with murder. If you get this Class Bledsoe off, it doesn’t mean you know what the truth is. It means you’ve manipulated the system. We’re not idiots.”

“The system didn’t work in the O.J. trial!” I say with more urgency than conviction.

“The police and forensics work in that case was terrible.”

“Well, what do you think happened here?” Connie asks, hugging her arms tightly. She is full of anger, but I don’t know why. As far as I could tell. Tommy wasn’t.

“I don’t know yet, but I think Paul Taylor could have been part of a plot to frame my client,” I say candidly, and repeat what I told Tommy, though I’ve no doubt he has already given her that part of our conversation, too.