16
Finney felt like a common criminal. The room was sparse and undignified, an ancillary space in the back of the Paradise Courthouse building. Because Finney had given his opening statement first, he was also the first contestant Javitts sent to the “cross-examination room.”
The room felt cramped and musty. A worn hardwood floor had so many layers of varnish on it that the wood appeared almost black, except in the middle of the room, where the harsh spotlight turned the floor a yellowish white. Three of the walls consisted of yellowed and blistered Sheetrock, with no windows. The fourth wall was a bank of mirrors, meaning that Finney had spectators on the other side. A fan rotated slowly overhead. The room seemed to be shut off from the building’s air-conditioning circulation.
Finney had been instructed to sit in the black wooden chair directly under the spotlight in the middle of the room. He removed his suit coat and hung it on the back of the chair. Between the spotlight and the heat, Finney wondered how long it would take before he sweat straight through his T-shirt and white dress shirt. He took a seat and rolled up his shirtsleeves, loosening his tie. He coughed. A man who introduced himself as Dr. Armond Zirconni, a polygraph expert, took his place next to Finney and hooked up the polygraph machine.
“There’s a reason they don’t allow these things in a court of law,” Finney said.
Zirconni saw no humor in the comment. He gave the usual instructions and started right in.
“Is your name Oliver Gradison Finney?”
“Yes.”
“Do you serve as a judge in Norfolk Circuit Court?”
“Yes.”
“Do you smoke cigars?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever had any impure thoughts toward your law clerk, Nikki Moreno?”
Finney hesitated. Zirconni glanced at Finney over the top of his glasses.
“I refuse to answer that question.”
Zirconni sighed and placed his pencil on the table. “You can’t refuse to answer questions.”
“I just did.”
“Look, Judge Finney. I’m just trying to get a baseline of responses. None of these questions will be shown on the air.”
“Choose another question,” Finney said. “Nikki’s like a daughter to me, not some kind of sex object. So the answer to your question is this: it’s none of your business.”
On the other side of the one-way mirror, Murphy chuckled. “Finney’s a little feisty today,” he said.
Bryce McCormack didn’t respond.
“I can’t wait to see how Kareem Hasaan reacts to the baseline questions we throw at him,” Murphy mused.
“Shh,” McCormack said, focusing intently on the scene before him.
Finney and Zirconni eventually worked through the baseline questions, though Finney held his ground on the question about Nikki. Just because he signed up for a reality show didn’t mean they could insult him.
“Did you just deliver an opening statement in the Paradise Courthouse defending the Christian faith?” Zirconni asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you familiar with the concept of proof beyond a reasonable doubt?”
“Yes.”
“Did you listen to the opening statements of the other faith advocates?”
“Yes.”
“Now, Judge Finney, I’m going to focus your attention on the opening statements of each of those other advocates. I want you to tell me whether listening to them created any reasonable doubt in your mind whatsoever, no matter how small, about whether your faith is the correct one. Do you understand what I’m asking?”
“Yes.” The spotlight glared in Finney’s eyes, causing him to squint. He could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead. His shirt undoubtedly had rings under the arms already.
“Did the opening statement of Skyler Hadji create any reasonable doubt in your mind?”
Hadji had surprised Finney with his acceptance of the Resurrection. And the statement about déjà vu made Finney think. The kid was sharper than he let on. But still, he hadn’t shaken Finney’s faith.
“No.”
Zirconni made a little check next to the answer. Had he done that before? Finney couldn’t remember.
“Did the opening statement of Kareem Hasaan create any reasonable doubt in your mind?”
“No.”
“Did the opening statement of Victoria Kline create any reasonable doubt in your mind?”
“No.”
“Did the opening statement of Hokoji Ando create any reasonable doubt in your mind?”
Finney licked his lips, suppressed a cough. “No.”
Out of the corner of his eyes, Finney saw Zirconni make another check.
“All right, now I want to change direction a little bit.”
“Hold up,” Finney said, turning his head to the side for a brief coughing spell. “Okay.”
“Do you believe that your God can perform miracles?”
Without hesitation, “Yes.”
“Do those miracles include healing people from physical diseases?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe that your God hears your prayers to Him?”
Finney paused for a moment, not because the question gave him any trouble, but because he didn’t like where this line of questioning was headed. It was an old courtroom trick: never ask the real question directly, just imply the condemning information through a series of tangential yes-or-no questions.
“Yes, and He always answers my prayers. But it’s not always the answer I want.”
This brought another over-the-glasses look. “Just answer yes or no, please. Do you believe that your God hears your prayers to Him?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Have you been diagnosed with lung cancer that has metastasized to your liver?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been told that there is nothing the doctors can do about liver cancer?”
“Yes.”
“Have you also been told that you have less than a year to live?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Judge Finney, that’s all I have.”