The mistrial hearing was in Courtroom 2A, on the second floor. It was smaller than 4B and older. The wood was darker and the windows were taller. Somebody had painted the ceiling a shade of cream nobody had chosen since 1971.
I walked in carrying four sketchbooks in a canvas bag, and I didn't know where to sit.
That sounds like nothing. But for nine years I had walked into every courtroom knowing exactly where I belonged. Today Seat One had a man from the Courier in it.
Leon was beside him with his sketchbook open. He gave me a small wave and then, apologetically, started drawing me.
"Don't make me look like a coin," I whispered as I passed.
"I make no promises," he whispered back.
Deb was on duty. She stood by the door with her crossword tucked under her arm. She didn't say a clue when she saw me. She just nodded once, and that was somehow worse.
The gallery was full. The polka dots were back, and the pineapples. I saw the hot dog again, with a new companion sock covered in tiny mustard bottles.
Dolores sat at the front with Priscilla and her easels. Gil sat with Teddy, who had brought five pens today and was holding all of them.
Judge Achterberg sat in the front row of the gallery, in a gray suit, with no robe. Without the bench in front of him, he looked smaller. He did not look at me.
I tried very hard not to look at his shoes, and failed. Plain black.
Then Chief Judge Lindqvist came in. She was small, white-haired, and quick. Her robe looked like it had been issued to her that morning and would be returned in better condition.
"Sit," she said, before Deb could finish saying "All rise." Everyone sat.
Priscilla called me first. I took the oath and sat in the witness chair. It was higher than I expected and faced the whole room. For a second I felt dizzy, the way you feel when you catch yourself on a security camera.
"Ms. Sutter," Priscilla said. "You are a professional courtroom artist?"
"Yes."
"For nine years?"
"Yes."
"And in those nine years, have you ever before drawn a judge's socks?"
"No," I said. "I'd never seen any worth drawing."
A few people in the gallery made small noises. Lindqvist looked at them, and the noises stopped.
Priscilla walked to her easel and uncovered an enlargement of my taco sketch. It was four feet tall. The orange was even more wrong at that size.
"You drew this," she said, "knowing it would be broadcast?"
"I knew it would be broadcast. I didn't know what would happen after that."
"And is it accurate?"
"No," I said.
Priscilla blinked. She had clearly expected a yes, and had a follow-up ready for it. "No?"
"The base color is wrong. It should be tangerine. I went closer to a traffic cone." I looked at the front row of the gallery. "I've been told."
In the front row, Judge Achterberg gave the smallest nod I have ever seen a human being give. Deb wrote something in her crossword.
"Let the record reflect," said Lindqvist dryly, "that the witness is a stickler."
"And what did happen, Ms. Sutter?" She gestured at the gallery, the hems, the polka dots. "Would you describe this courtroom as calm?"
"I'd describe it as well-dressed."
That got a real laugh. Lindqvist let it go this time. Priscilla's mouth went thin.
"My client," Priscilla said, "came to this court seeking justice for a tulip bed. Instead she got a circus. Isn't it true, Ms. Sutter, that your drawing turned this trial into a joke?"
I looked at Dolores. Dolores was looking at her hands.
I thought about Leon at the vending machine, saying there was a picture somewhere between an embarrassed man and a laughing city. I still didn't know how to draw it. But I had a canvas bag full of sketchbooks, and Priscilla had asked to see everything.
"Ms. Vandermeer," I said. "Could I show the court my sketches?"
Priscilla hesitated. She had asked for them in writing. She could hardly object now.
"Go ahead," said Lindqvist.
There was a document camera on a cart by the clerk's desk. Deb rolled it over without a word. I opened the first sketchbook under it, and day one appeared on the big screen.
"This is the opening," I said. "Day one, before anything aired. You can see the judge, very still. Ms. Vandermeer at her easels. Mr. Okonkwo, who has just dropped his pen."
The gallery laughed. Teddy put down two of his pens.
"I do quick sketches all day, not just the big one," I said. I turned the pages. "Mrs. Pemberton. Mr. Halloran. Mrs. Pemberton. Mr. Halloran."
"I drew them maybe thirty times on day one," I said. "You'll notice they never look at each other. Not once."
I turned to day two. Plain black socks. Then day three, and Teddy's empty hand.
Then day four. Barnaby in the robe, and the judge saying "Sustained" without looking at him. Dolores looking at the ceiling. Gil looking at the floor.
"I draw what's in the room," I said. "That's my only rule."
I closed the book. "And for three days, this room was full of people trying not to laugh. Nobody wanted anyone to think they were laughing at somebody else."
Then I took out a fifth sketchbook. It was small, the kind I keep in my coat for hallways and elevators. Priscilla's eyebrows went up.
"You asked for everything," I said.
"I did," she admitted.
I opened it to a page from the morning of day two. I had drawn it in the hallway outside 4B, at about 8:50, after leaving Chambers 4. I had forgotten it until last night.
It showed the button man's table. A woman was buying a TACO LEFT, DUCK RIGHT button. Behind her, two older people stood about six feet apart, both looking at the tray.
Both laughing.
It was Dolores and Gil. Not at each other. Not even facing each other. Just two people who had seen the same silly button at the same moment and couldn't help it.
Gil had a hand over his mouth. Dolores had her eyes shut.
"That's the only drawing I have from four days," I said, "where they're both in the same frame and both happy."
The courtroom was very quiet.
Dolores stood up.
Priscilla put a hand on her arm. Dolores removed it, gently, the way a librarian removes a book from someone who isn't allowed to have it yet.
"Your Honor," she said to Lindqvist. "May I say something?"
"You're the plaintiff, Mrs. Pemberton," said Lindqvist. "It would be unusual if I didn't let you."
"I don't want a mistrial," Dolores said. "I never asked for one."
She lifted her chin. "I would like the record to reflect that I laughed at that drawing on my kitchen floor for twenty minutes."
Then she turned, very slightly, toward the defense table. "And I would like to know if Gil did."
Gil stood up. Teddy dropped all five pens.
"Twenty-five," Gil said. "My cousin thought I was choking."
Dolores looked at him for a long moment. Then the corner of her mouth moved, the way a burner clicks before it lights.
Lindqvist let the silence run exactly as long as it needed to. Then she picked up her pen.
"The motion for mistrial is denied," she said. "Ms. Sutter's press credential is restored, effective immediately. The trial will resume Monday in 4B."
She looked at Priscilla. "Counsel, I suggest you spend the weekend talking to your client. She seems to have a lot to say."
She looked at the gallery, at the polka dots and pineapples. Then she looked down at the front row, where Judge Achterberg sat in his gray suit and plain black socks.
"Raymond," she said. "My chambers. Ten minutes."
I was packing up the sketchbooks when Deb came over. She was holding a folded piece of paper, not her crossword.
"He asked me to give you this," she said.
It was a page from the small pad I'd seen on his desk. The handwriting was small and very neat.
Ms. Sutter. Chambers 4. Monday, 8:00 a.m. There is a box on my desk with your name on it.
Please don't open it until I'm there. —R.A.
I looked at Deb. Deb looked at her shoes. Then, deliberately, she lifted one trouser cuff by about an inch.
One sock had a lighthouse on it. The other had a crossword grid.
Up next: Drawn As Seen
Continue to Part 6 →