I got a bad feeling again. “Who could possibly testify?”
McTruthowitz pointed to the courtroom doors. “Waldo Bettendorf, take the stand.”
The courtroom doors opened, but no one entered; and just when the court began to murmur, an old man poked his head through the doorway and, reluctantly, he limped down the aisle—he was the old man who had almost been hit by a car after I had taken Barbara’s soul. He walked slowly, looking at all the angels and demons with fear, shrinking further into himself with every step. Ladouche met him halfway down the aisle—some gentleman he was today—and with a few words of encouragement, he took the old man’s elbow and guided him to the stand.
“Mr. Bettendorf, it’s an honor to have a human in my court,” McTruthowitz said, shaking the old man’s hand.
“You did
