Chapter 18 - The Little Liar

They’ve arrived early, as they did on the first day. Lisa looks better. She hands Alice a small parcel wrapped with a ribbon and a letter.

“You can read it afterward, when it’s all over.”

Laurent and Bénédicte Charvet are back sitting in their same seats, in the second row. They look both older and calmer. Lisa’s mother has moved closer to her ex-husband. Lavoine is here too. He gives Alice an encouraging wave. The five retirees who spend their days listening to trials have already taken their seats. Alice is fond of the latest addition to the group, a diminutive woman with orange hair who brings her packed lunch in her bag and always gives cookies to the others. She puffs up her cushion and slips it quickly beneath her. It’s true, the benches are uncomfortable, in fact it’s something of a specialty in courtrooms, the people who design these places should be forced to sit in them for hours on end. Lange has changed his shirt. It must have stayed folded in his closet a long time, every fold line shows. He’s standing good and tall in the dock, his hair is combed back tightly, exaggerating the bulge of his forehead. The police officers on either side of him are relaxed. In a few hours they’ll be leaving without him.

The district attorney has put about twenty sheets of paper on his desk. He picks them up and taps them on the desk, clack, clack, clack, then turns them ninety degrees and does the same again, clack, clack, clack, to get them all square. He will give his summing-up after Alice has spoken, and it clearly won’t be very long. The court clerk has been to the hairdressers, and they’ve been a bit heavy-handed with the color for the time of year. Théry is wearing a fancy necktie, but he’s coughing a lot. He ensures his breath smells okay by popping a mentholated pastille from a packet before greeting fellow attorneys one by one as they make their way onto the public benches.

The clock at the back of the courtroom says two. Alice has taken her robe from its bag. It’s her third. One for each decade. The first had just a satin lining, this one is in silk, she thought she’d more than earned it. She’ll be ordering a new one soon. She puts it on and buttons it up, smoothing down the jabot with her hand. She’s always liked the expression “robing up.” She sets out her cardboard folders and papers in front of her and checks one last time the classification system she may need to use. Purple for Lisa, green for Lange, red for the boys, turquoise for the teachers, yellow for the Charvet parents.

The court officials and jury come in a few minutes late. Shyboy takes off his jacket before sitting down. Alice notices that he, too, has tattoos on his arms. Pignol is clutching his notebook tightly. Mrs. Ramrod straightens her glasses and joins her hands under her chin. Lizzo has tied her braided hair into a tight bun. In her saffron-colored dress with its pleats over her bust, she looks more regal than ever. Droopy almost trips as he moves his chair. He blushes.

The hubbub in court falls silent. Alice turns around, mentally going over her opening sentences. She glances toward the public benches. At the very back, on the right-hand side, she spots Romain and Louise.

Maud Vigier separates her files into two equal piles, one on either side of her desk, leaving just one sheet of paper in front of her.

“You have the floor, Ms. Keridreux.”

I’m going to defend the little whore. The little liar.

Yes, defend.