The Price of Justice by Marti Green Page A

innocence. No more men and women put away for years, maybe for the rest of their lives, maybe executed, even though they were innocent of any crime.
    “How’s the case coming along?” Doug asked.
    “No smoking gun yet, unfortunately.”
    “You don’t need one. Just piece by piece, create a compelling narrative. You have someone else’s confession. That’s a major starting block.”
    “The circuit court judge didn’t think so.”
    Doug stroked Dani’s hair, then squeezed his arms tighter around her. “You got stuck with a bad judge. It’ll go better at the appellate court.”
    Dani laughed. “My optimist husband. I suppose when your students dissect cases, everything goes as it should. Not so in the real world.”
    “Well, yes, I guess I am an optimist. But remember, the cases we examine in law school are all appellate decisions, not those of a trial judge. Unfortunately, politics often gets in the way of intellectual soundness when those judges are chosen.”
    They chatted some more before Dani headed up to bed. She didn’t want to think about Win Melton anymore. She didn’t want to think about incompetent judges, or corrupt prosecutors, or innocent prisoners. Instead, she wanted to dream about a world in which only good things happened, where poverty and crime and despair didn’t exist. And where a thirteen-year-old boy with an intellectual disability could compose a symphony that was performed by a professional orchestra.

    The next night, Dani, Doug, and Jonah sat in the Performing Arts Center at Purchase College, where the Westchester Philharmonic would perform Jonah’s symphony, A Summer Afternoon . As the orchestra tuned its instruments, Dani looked down at her hands, locked together tightly, then looked over at Doug. He, too, wore an expression of consternation. They knew little of classical music, having been exposed throughout the years only to the various rock and pop groups popular at any point in time. Now, a full audience would judge their son.
    Dani looked over at Jonah. He seemed relaxed in his seat, with a smile on his face. A moment later, the lights dimmed in the auditorium, and the murmured conversations in the room tapered off into silence. A slim, gray-haired man dressed in a tuxedo walked from behind the curtain onto the center of the stage, and the assemblage clapped. He was the conductor, Dani realized, when he faced the crowd and bowed. He turned to the music stand, picked up his baton, and began to wave it at the musicians.
    Sounds filled the room that made Dani’s skin tingle. The first movement was thunderous, and she felt her heart beat faster as she was caught up in its majesty. It reminded her of the crashing of giant waves when they vacationed at Montauk Point, and Jonah’s exuberance playing in the surf. The second movement was melancholic, heartbreakingly so. She wondered from where Jonah drew that emotion. He was so happy at home and at school with his friends. The third movement was playful, and once again, she pictured Jonah as he took pleasure in the simplest activities: playing with their cat, Gracie; helping her plant flowers each spring; watching a baseball game on TV with Doug.
    She was dazzled by the music, exhilarated that it was her son who’d created something so beautiful. Dani sneaked a look at Jonah and saw him looking intently at the musicians, his arm moving in time with the conductor’s baton. When the symphony ended almost thirty minutes later, the audience burst into enthusiastic applause. For the first time that evening, Dani felt her body relax. As the applause petered out, the conductor stepped forward and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re honored to have the composer with us tonight. Jonah, would you come up here?”
    As Jonah made his way to the stage, the applause picked up again, and by the time he arrived next to the conductor and took a bow, it was booming. Tears ran down Dani’s cheeks. She could not have been more proud of her