One of the prosecution was already on his feet. He opened his mouth hesitantly, but thought better, and sat down. Heads went together in conference as he did. Samuels was watching the Court with one eye, and the courtroom with the other.
“If the Court pleases, we will need a cleared space. If the bailiff will… thank you, sir.” The long tables were moved back, with a raw scraping. He stood there, with every eye in the courtroom glued on him. For two long breaths he stood there, then he spun and went to his table. “Mr. Lefko,” and he bowed formally. He sat.
The eyes swung to me, to Mike, as he moved to his machine and stood there silently. I cleared my throat and spoke to the Bench as though I did not see the directional microphones trained at my lips.
“Justice Bronson.”
He looked steadily at me and then glanced at Mike. “Yes, Mr. Lefko?”
“Your freedom from bias is well known.” The corners of his mouth went down as he frowned. “Will you be willing to be used as proof that there can be no trickery?” He thought that over, then nodded slowly. The prosecution objected, and was waved down.
“Will you tell me exactly where you were at any given time? Any place where you are absolutely certain and can verify that there were no concealed cameras or observers?”
He thought. Seconds. Minutes. The tension twanged, and I swallowed dust. He spoke quietly. “1918. November 11th.”
Mike whispered to me. I said, “Any particular time?”
Justice Bronson looked at Mike. “Exactly eleven. Armistice time.” He paused, then went on. “Niagara Falls. Niagara Falls New York.”