"All rise," comes the command as Judge Roberts walks in.
"Well, I haven't read it," says Mr. Hammond, "but they came out of Junior's mouth, didn't they? So no."
Lucinda's got her notes with her. "So," she says, "you're saying you deny the contents of the documentation - such as the incident of this past November, which put Laney in the hospital. What is your explanation for how his ribs were broken, Mr. Hammond?"
"I don't want to know," he says contemptuously. "Wouldn't put it past him to have done it to himself."
"It is the opinion of the medical expert we've just heard from that some other party would have had to inflict the injuries, Mr. Hammond. Are you yourself an expert in medicine?" Lucinda asks sweetly.
"So, with that ruled out, can you think of any means other than an assault by you that could have produced that particular injury?"
"Have you met the boy?" he asks incredulously. "He hasn't gone a month without brawling in God knows how long."
"If that were the case, why would he name you as the perpetrator?" Lucinda asks with an expression of polite interest.
"Because he's a liar and a troublemaker. If he's ever had another reason for doing something, I don't know about it."
"So in his entire life, those are the only motivations he's ever had for doing anything," Lucinda says, raising an eyebrow, "as far as his own father is aware? Don't you think you might be exaggerating?"
"He doesn't, for example, eat because he is hungry, or sleep because he is tired, or testify honestly because he's under oath?" Lucinda suggests.
"The first two, sure," he acknowledges. "I don't know about the last. If he takes that oath as seriously as he takes every other rule he's met, not a chance."
"One more question," Lucinda says, looking deeply skeptical. "Do you claim to never have hit your son at all?"
"I think I've mentioned several times that corporal punishment of any kind is illegal in the states of New York and in Washington," Lucinda says. "So: Have you ever hit your son, Mr. Hammond?"
"Mr. Hammond, the law has already taken an interest, or you would not be sitting here," Judge Roberts says. "Have you or have you not hit your son?"
"I dare say that boy's never met someone who didn't want to hit him," Mr. Hammond growls.
"Well, we could call up his mother, and his friend Bella, and so on, but I've met him and I don't want to hit him," Lucinda says. "But please just answer the question, Mr. Hammond, or we'll be here all day."
Meanwhile, Mr. Hammond is looking increasingly likely to do something along those lines.
"This whole trial's been a waste of my time; I might as well waste some of yours," he says, at perhaps an unnecessary volume. "But if you must know, yes, I have hit my lying, thieving, whoring, insolent weasel of a son. I took no joy in it. Any decent father would do the same."
"Whoring?" blinks Lucinda, caught off guard.
Alice decides he doesn't even need to say anything. He just catches his father's eye and slouches in his chair, tipping it back on its rear legs for a moment.
Mr. Hammond rockets to his feet and slams his hands down on the surface in front of him.