Mississippi Blood

  “No.”

  “Did you ever tell Viola’s second husband, the man whose legal name is Junius Jelks, about your suspicion?”

  “Not before thirty-some-odd years passed. Viola wanted me to lie about how Lincoln was fathered. She didn’t want her new husband in Chicago, Mr. Jelks, thinking that boy was fathered by klukkers from Mississippi. She told him Lincoln’s father was her first husband, James Turner. A dead war hero.”

  An audible murmur of many voices comes through the earpiece.

  “Did you support her story?”

  “I did. It troubled me, and I confessed it to the priest, but I stuck to that story for a long time. A mighty long time.”

  “When did you stop?”

  “In 1996, when our mother died. Vee had came down to help take care of Mama for the last month—being a nurse, you know—and Mr. Jelks came with her.”

  “Where was Lincoln at this time?”

  “Lincoln had just got out of law school the year before, so he was working in Chicago.”

  “How old was he then?”

  “Twenty-eight. He got a late start in law school.”

  “All right, Miss Cora. Why did you stop telling the lie about Lincoln’s birth?”

  “Well . . . the day Mama died, Vee and me was settin’ with her body, and Vee just started talking. About things, you know. The future, what was gonna happen to the family, like that. And she told me then that Dr. Tom Cage was Lincoln’s true father.”

  A low murmur swells, like hornets waking in the ground.

  “How did you feel about that?”

  “Oh, believed it the second I heard it. I was shocked, because I’d never suspected they were going together at the time. But I knew she was telling the truth. I knew she’d loved and admired Dr. Cage. I just didn’t think they would ever have crossed that line. Neither of them.”

  “Did your sister tell you anything else that day?”

  “She begged me not to tell her husband about Dr. Tom.”

  “You mean Junius Jelks?”

  “Yes, sir. Junius had a bad temper, and he was drinking pretty heavy at that time. He’d been in and out of prison, so he could be a hard man. Sweet, sometimes, but I knew why Vee was scared.”

  “Do you think Viola was afraid that Junius Jelks would hurt Lincoln, who was a full-grown man by then?”

  “Not physically. But he might say something to hurt him. Junius knew just how to hurt people with words. No, I think Vee was more afraid that Junius—or even Lincoln, if he found out about his real father—would do something to mess up Dr. Cage’s life back here. That was the last thing Viola wanted. She knew she’d sinned, having that affair. And even though Dr. Cage was the one married, Viola felt the guilt for it. She couldn’t have lived with destroying a family.”

  “I see. Well, on that day your mother died, did Viola also tell you whether or not Dr. Cage knew he was Lincoln’s father?”

  All this is patent hearsay, of course—not even admissible under exceptions—but without Quentin objecting, Cora’s story seems to carry the weight of a deathbed confession. After a seemingly endless pause, Shad says, “Miss Cora?”

  “Yes, sir. On that day, Viola told me that Dr. Cage had been sending her money every month since she left Natchez.”

  “Are you saying that Tom Cage had been sending your sister money for twenty-eight years?” Shad asks as though astounded.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cora’s reply hits me like a line drive in the solar plexus. I can only imagine the horror my mother must be feeling now, for if this is true, who can believe that Dad wasn’t sending that money to take care of an illegitimate child? A married man might send his old lover money for a few months, maybe even a year or two. But nearly thirty years? My God. Even with Mom’s iron constitution, how can she sit in that courtroom without staring at Dad in shock and fury? After what he told me about being ignorant of Lincoln’s existence until the night Viola died, I know I couldn’t.

  “There was many a month that Viola and that boy would have gone hungry without that money,” Cora goes on. “Later on, it helped with Lincoln’s schooling. Sometimes Junius drank up every cent Cora earned as a nurse. Or used it in some scam of his, some get-rich-quick scheme. That was probably the thing that made me keep the secret so long. I thought if it ever came out that Dr. Cage was Lincoln’s father, that money might stop coming. So I kept quiet.”

  “I understand, Miss Cora. Lord, Lord. Any sister would have done the same.”

  Shad’s attempt to emulate Quentin’s folksy manner is clumsy, but without the genuine article to compare him to, the jury might just be buying it. How the hell can Quentin sit quiet through all of this?

  “So when,” Shad asks, “did Junius Jelks learn that Lincoln was not the son of a Vietnam war hero, as he’d been told?”

  “Oh, that was a few years after Mama passed. About 2001, or the year after. Junius found an old newspaper notice of James’s death. Maybe somebody from Natchez sent him one, I don’t remember. Anyway, Junius knew right away that James Turner couldn’t have fathered that boy. James had been killed eighteen months before Lincoln was born.

  “What did Mr. Jelks do when he learned about this?”

  “First, he beat Viola, for lying to him.”

  “Did Viola tell him the truth at that point?”

  “No, sir. She tried to tell him that old story of a one-night stand, but Junius didn’t believe it. He just kep’ on beating her.”

  “What did she tell him then?”

  “She told him about the Klan rape back here in Natchez.”

  “And did Mr. Jelks believe that story?”

  “Yes, sir. He did.”

  “Did he come to you for confirmation?”

  “Sho’ did.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I stuck by my sister. I told Junius that Lincoln had been fathered by a black man in that one-night stand. And Lincoln was always pretty dark-skinned, so Junius couldn’t be sure. Vee was terrified of what he might do to Lincoln if he really thought he’d been tricked into raising a boy with Klan blood in him . . . Junius couldn’t abide that.” There’s a pause, then Cora says: “I wish now that I’d just told Junius the truth about Dr. Cage right off, because what he told Lincoln in the end caused him terrible pain. But Lincoln can tell you about that better than I can.”

  “And he will,” Shad promises the jury. “But before you step down, tell us this, if you will. Why would Viola fall back on the Klan rape rather than admit Lincoln had been fathered by a reputable white doctor? Did she do that only to protect Tom Cage?”

  “For God’s sake,” I mutter. Any prelaw student would know to object at this point. Cora Revels cannot read minds and consequently cannot testify to what her sister might have been thinking when she made any given decision. But the hissing silence of the cell connection tells me that Quentin Avery is sitting as mute and motionless as an Easter Island statue.

  “I’ve thought about that a lot,” Cora says. “Maybe you got to be a woman to understand this, but . . . as bad as that rape story was, one thing would have torn up Junius Jelks even more than that.”

  “What’s that, Miss Cora?”

  “Knowing there was a white man somewhere that Viola had loved in a way she could never love him. And if Viola had said Dr. Cage’s name out loud just once, Junius would have seen the truth in her eyes. He was quick that way. So she buried it down deep, deep as she could, and told a terrible lie that was partway true.”

  Several seconds of silence follow this. Then Shad speaks in a mournful tone. “That’s a hard story to listen to, Miss Cora. You look worn out. I’m going to let you go in just a minute. But first tell us this. Did Junius Jelks never hear that rape rumor himself?”

  “No, sir. He never spent much time in Natchez.”

  “Lots of black folks moved up to Chicago from here during those years.”

  “Yes, but they didn’t want to tell such a terrible tale on Vee, and nobody knew for sure
it had happened. The Klan might have spread that tale just to get Jimmy, which they did. No black folks wanted to help the Klan spread lies.”

  “Except maybe the person who sent Mr. Jelks the Killed in Action notice of James Turner?”

  “Yes, sir. Could be.”

  There’s a fairly long pause, during which I hear some throat clearing and the sound of heels on hardwood. Then Shad says, “Miss Cora, in all our talk about family and the past, I forgot to ask you one thing. We all saw the video recording that was accidentally made on the hard drive on Henry Sexton’s camera. But let’s talk about the camera that hard drive was attached to. When did Mr. Sexton put that into the house?”

  “About a week before Viola died. Just after his second interview with her.”

  “Did he tell you why he was leaving the camera there?”

  “Yes. He wanted Viola to be able to record her recollections about the old days, if the mood struck her. That’s why he gave her that remote control.”

  “Did she keep the remote control by her bed after Mr. Sexton left?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All that week?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And was there a tape in that camera?”

  “Yes. I saw Mr. Sexton put one in it.”

  “Do you know if your sister made any recordings prior to the day of her death?”

  “I didn’t see her do it. But I know she did. Sometimes when I’d come in, that remote would be laying on her blanket. I think she was recording whenever I wasn’t around. One time she even asked me to leave, and I saw her pick up that remote.”

  “I see. What about the day she died?”

  “Well . . . that day was different. Late in the afternoon, Viola asked me to go out for a while. And she gave me some instructions.”

  “Which were?”

  “She said I should make sure Mr. Henry came back and got his camera the next day.”

  “Is that all?”

  “No. She told me Dr. Cage would be coming by later, but I shouldn’t say anything about her making a tape for Mr. Henry.”

  “Did you do as she said?”

  “I was going to. But then she changed her mind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I got back—before Dr. Cage came that night—Vee told me she’d decided to ask Dr. Cage to give the tape to Mr. Henry.”

  “Viola was going to give this videotape to Tom Cage?”

  “That’s right. She said it was going to be like a test. That tape had things on it that would be painful for him, and she wanted to know if he’d do what she asked him—pass it on to Mr. Henry—in spite of that.”

  “I see.” There’s another pause, and I sense Shad is about to try to draw blood. “Miss Cora, did your sister tell you anything about what she had recorded on that tape?”

  The next sound I hear should be Quentin yelling “Objection!,” but all I hear is Cora Revels softly answering her coach’s question.

  “She told me a few things. Mr. Henry wanted to know everything she remembered about Jimmy and Luther, before they disappeared. Especially things they had done for the Movement. Viola told me she knew a lot she’d never told anybody, and she wanted Mr. Henry to know it. She also talked about Lincoln, and how she wanted Dr. Cage to acknowledge him. To give the boy his name. She wanted Lincoln to be able to tell the world that his father was Dr. Cage, not that no-good Junius Jelks. She told me that being pregnant with Lincoln was tied up in why she’d left Natchez in the first place—after Jimmy disappeared—and to understand it all, you had to understand some terrible things.”

  “Did she explain what she meant by that?”

  This time Cora Revels is the one who pauses. Maybe Quentin figures Judge Elder would allow all this under the “declarant unavailable because of death” exception to the hearsay rule, but he should at least object for the record.

  “Miss Cora?” Shad prompts.

  “It’s hard for me to say this. But Vee told me she had been troubled by something for a long time. Years and years. She said she’d committed a terrible sin a long time ago. Not just a sin, like adultery, but a crime. And the older she got, the more it weighed on her.”

  My heartbeat is picking up.

  “What did you think of that?” Shad asks gently.

  “Well, I couldn’t think of a crime Viola would commit. When we was little, we used to shoplift things on a dare sometimes. Chewing gum, fishin’ corks, little stuff like that. But Vee wouldn’t even do that. She said stealing was wrong, no matter how small a thing was. That was Vee.”

  “Did you believe that she’d committed this crime she spoke of?”

  “Oh, yes. ’Cause I could see how it was weighing on her.”

  “Was Viola the only one who knew about this crime?”

  “No. Whatever it was she’d done, Dr. Cage knew about it. She told me that much. But Doc hadn’t turned her in for it. And she said that made him as guilty as she was.”

  A slow accumulation of heat in my face tells me I’ve stopped breathing. Cora can only be describing one event: the murder of Frank Knox in my father’s medical office.

  “And did she speak about this crime on the videotape for Henry Sexton?”

  “Objection!” I snap, and Annie looks up sharply from the floor. “Contents of writings, recordings, and photographs,” I add, holding my finger to my lips to keep her from distracting me with questions.

  But Quentin does not object, and Cora Revels hammers another nail into Dad’s coffin.

  “She did. Viola was conflicted about how much to say, though. Whether she should tell the truth about Dr. Cage’s part.”

  “Did she tell you anything specific about this crime?”

  “No, sir.”

  “All right, then. Was the tape Viola made for Henry in the video camera when you went to your neighbor’s house to rest?”

  “No, it wasn’t. It was in the drawer of the bedside table, by Viola’s bed.”

  This answer takes my breath away. I’ve always assumed that this tape was the one removed from the camcorder on the night Viola died.

  “I see,” Shad says, obviously aware of every answer he’s leading her to.

  “Daddy, are you okay?” Annie whispers.

  Without a sound, I nod and mouth, Everything’s okay to my daughter.

  “After you got home and found your sister had passed away, did you think about the video camera at all?”

  “No, sir. It flew plumb out of my head.”

  “When did you next think about it?”

  “A little while later, when Lincoln asked me about it.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Why Henry Sexton had put it there on the tripod.”

  “And what did your nephew do then?”

  “He opened up the camera to see if there was a tape inside.”

  “And was there?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I see.” Shad pauses to let this sink in. “To the best of your knowledge, had there been a tape in it when you left for the neighbor’s house earlier that evening?”

  “I know there was. Because Viola asked me to put one in before I left.”

  My heart is hammering now.

  “Why did she do that?”

  “I don’t rightly know. But it took me about five minutes to load the thing. I’m no good with that kind of gadget. Cell phones and such.”

  “I’m not either, Miss Cora. So there was no tape in the camera when you returned?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And so far as you know, no one else but Dr. Cage visited your house in the interim?”

  “The what?”

  “The period in between the time you left, and then returned to find Viola dead.”

  “Right. That’s right.”

  “So, the tape had been removed from Henry Sexton’s camera, leaving only the hard drive, which was set to record if the tape ran out.”

  “Yes, sir. Whoever killed my sister stole that tape for
sure.”

  Now the courtroom sounds like a swarm of hornets taking flight. Judge Elder silences them with a single warning.

  “Miss Cora, I’m going to let you go now, but I may have to call you back up later. Is that all right?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you. I feel better gettin’ all that family business off my chest after all these years. It’s a sore trial, carrying those kinds of secrets alone.”

  “Tender the witness, Judge.”

  “Come on, Quentin,” I murmur, hoping against hope. “Get up, damn it.”

  “Daddy?” Annie whispers. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

  I signal yes and motion for Annie to stay where she is.

  My earpiece hisses as though transmitting from a deserted Arctic weather station; nothing gives me any clue as to what Quentin might be doing. By now the lack of cross-examination has become so routine that no one expects anything but a curt “no questions” from Quentin, followed by the district attorney calling his next witness.

  But by the odd acoustics of cell-phone microphones, I hear the high-pitched whir of Quentin’s wheelchair in the pine-floored courtroom, which for a moment confuses me as much as it must everyone else. Then a warm, southern-accented baritone that makes Shad Johnson’s sterile Chicago voice sound like a resentful little boy’s says, “Ms. Revels, I can’t tell you how my heart goes out to you and your family for all these tragedies. I just have one or two questions for you, and then I’ll let you go.”

  “Oh, thank God,” I breathe, making a fist with my right hand and pumping it in the air.

  Annie stares at me like I’ve gone crazy. “What happened?”

  “Rip Van Winkle just woke up.”

  Chapter 29

  “Do you believe that Dr. Tom Cage murdered your sister?”

  The first question of Quentin’s cross-examination of Cora Revels is spoken in a gentle voice, but it comes through my earpiece with electric effect. The collective intake of breath in the courtroom sounds like a rush of wind. I’ll bet in all his coaching, Shad never prepared Cora Revels for that one.

  After a long silence, Viola’s sister says, “I do believe Dr. Tom killed her. I don’t believe he wanted it to hurt like it did, like what we saw on that film. But sometimes even doctors don’t know what a drug will do. A nurse friend of mine told me that.”