Mississippi Blood

  “If you didn’t want anything from Dr. Cage—nothing but his acknowledgment, as you claim—then why do you think your mother hid his identity from you all those years?”

  Lincoln blinks slowly in the face of Quentin’s question. At length, he says, “I think she was more worried about protecting him than helping me. But I don’t know for sure. And thanks to Tom Cage, I never will.”

  Quentin smiles faintly, as though in appreciation of a fine line heard at a play. “No further questions, Judge.”

  “Redirect?”

  “No, Your Honor,” Shad replies.

  Quentin’s suddenly truncated cross-examination leaves everyone perplexed, including Lincoln Turner.

  Judge Elder recovers first, and says, “It’s past twelve o’clock. Let’s all have some lunch. We’ll resume at one fifteen.”

  Chapter 38

  Rusty and I are escorting my mother and sister out of the courthouse through the side door that leads to City Hall when my cell phone pings to alert me to a text message. Checking the screen, I see danforth washington on the LCD. Dan Washington is Jewel Washington’s son. I hate to be rude to my own mother, who is talking, but I can’t afford to ignore a message from the county coroner, a staunch ally of both me and my father.

  “Just a second, Mom. This is important.”

  Darting through the jostling people to the wall, I read Jewel’s text.

  Urgent we talk f2f. Mrs. Petros is out of town. I’ll be in the courtyard behind her house in five minutes. Can u get there?

  The antebellum home Jewel is referring to stands only two blocks from the courthouse. I type: On my way, then press send.

  “What is it, Penn?” Mom asks, reaching the wall at last. “Not trouble, I hope?”

  “No, I just need to talk to somebody. I’ll be home soon,” I promise. “Let Mia take some time for herself, if she will.”

  Mom nods, but she can’t manage a smile.

  Rusty looks back with an inquisitive arch of the eyebrows.

  “This is chaos,” I tell him. “Find Tim and his guys, and don’t leave Mom’s side until you do. Tell Tim I’m fine alone for a half hour.”

  “I’ve got her, buddy. Who you meeting?”

  “Jewel,” I whisper.

  Rusty’s eyes widen, but he says nothing, and I jog down the steps to Washington Street, ignoring the reporters and texting Serenity as I run.

  hav 2 meet somebody. tlk2 u soon as i can.

  At the corner of Washington and Wall stands a house that was built in 1735. When I was a boy, it was owned by a man who operated a rare bookstore out of it. My father would spend hours browsing through the dusty shelves or digging through boxes of the latest acquisitions while I toyed with more esoteric merchandise. The book dealer owned a gold-headed cane that had belonged to George Washington Cable when the writer lived in New Orleans. I often pretended that the cane had a sword tip concealed in it, and the dealer would play the role of villain for me. When he died, the old man left that cane to my father. Now it lies in a treasured place on one of the bookshelves in my father’s study.

  Jewel chose this house for its proximity to both the courthouse and her office. She had to walk only one block to reach it. Behind the two-story colonial is a courtyard bounded by a high, ivy-covered wall of crumbling brick. One gate opens onto the street, and it’s this that I slip through, into a fragrant, verdant world of flower beds and hanging plants.

  The county coroner sits at a wrought-iron table in the corner of the courtyard, smoking a cigarette with intense concentration. I walk over and sit far enough away that I don’t have to breathe the smoke as she exhales it.

  “Mrs. Petros would kill you if she saw you smoking out here.”

  “She’s on a bicycle trip in France. I don’t think her eyes are that good.”

  “What’s going on, Jewel?”

  “I’m not sure, but something’s rotten in the sheriff’s department. And you need to know about it.”

  “That’s not exactly news with Billy Byrd wearing the star.”

  “How about tampering with evidence?”

  “Talk to me.”

  Jewel takes one last drag, then stubs out the cigarette, stands, and throws the butt over the high wall behind her. “About an hour ago, I ran into a deputy down at the convenience store. A black deputy.”

  “Okay.”

  “He’s kind of been giving me the eye for a while, so when he pulled me aside, I figured he was trying to flirt with me. He wasn’t. He told me he had overheard two white deputies talking about your father’s case in the locker room. They were laughing about how slick they had done something.”

  “What?”

  “He didn’t hear enough to be sure. But they were joking about hair and fiber. He thinks they were joking about ‘losing’ some potential evidence. That, and maybe substituting random hair and fiber for some left by a potential perp.”

  “Shit. That’s serious, but pretty vague. Would the guy be willing to talk to me?”

  Jewel moves her head slowly from side to side. “He’s scared of losing his job already. And don’t tell me you can get him on at the police department, because the benefits over there suck.”

  “I hear you. Would he try to find out more than what he has already?”

  “I told him to. We might get lucky, but he’s not going to risk his career for me. I’m still hot for my age, but not that hot.”

  I take a good minute to think this over, and Jewel doesn’t interrupt me.

  “If they’re screwing with evidence,” I think aloud, “that means they know Dad’s innocent.”

  “Not necessarily. They may just be piling on, trying to make sure he doesn’t skate thanks to Quentin’s courtroom tricks.”

  “What tricks? I’m not sure he has any left.”

  Jewel gives me a sharp look. “Don’t be too quick to judge him. He’s a sly old fox, is Quentin.”

  When her smile turns wistful, my eyes widen. “Don’t tell me . . . you and Quentin?”

  She laughs softly. “Ol’ Q got around in the old days. When I was a nurse, I was a witness in a malpractice case he was handling. I caught his eye, just like every other pretty young thing. He took a couple of depositions from me. No assistants present.”

  I shake my head in wonder, amazed by the connections we go through life without seeing.

  “Jewel, Dad’s hair and fiber were all over Cora Revels’s house. From what you’ve said, those deputies must have destroyed evidence that would incriminate someone else—someone who stands a reasonable chance of being accused of the crime. Because otherwise, even if we had whatever hair and fiber they destroyed, we wouldn’t know whose hair to compare it to.”

  Jewel gives me a slow nod.

  “What kind of hair would stand out in that house?” I ask.

  “Caucasian, baby.”

  “Exactly. Apart from Henry Sexton and my father, how many white people visited that house in the past few weeks, or even months?”

  “Not many. And the most likely in my book would be Snake Knox and his buddies.”

  “Goddamn it,” I mutter, surprised to feel a blossom of hope in my heart. Despite all my anger and resentment at my father, some part of me still desperately longs for him to be innocent. “I think Cora Revels knows they were there, and she’s flat-out lying about it.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “But why should she lie about that?”

  Jewel shrugs. “Fear of the Knoxes?”

  “Maybe. Jewel, if your deputy would go on the record, I could—”

  “Forget it, Penn. He won’t do that unless he’s got harder evidence than he has now. A lot harder. So don’t be jumping the gun and telling anybody about this.”

  “Then what the hell can I do with it?”

  “Use your head. I figure maybe you’ve got some connections of your own inside that sheriff’s department. Somebody who owes you a favor. Or your daddy. He’s bound to have patients on Byrd’s payroll. Maybe they can fin
d out what went down with the evidence.”

  “Okay . . . I hear you.”

  Jewel stands and lays her hand on my shoulder. “There’s one other thing.”

  “What?”

  “My friend says Billy Byrd is better friends with Billy Knox than he ought to be.”

  “Billy Byrd and Billy Knox know each other?”

  “Are you kidding me? Byrd’s daddy worked at the Triton plant with Frank Knox back in the day. And the sheriff goes on vacations over to Billy Knox’s fishing camp in Texas. Strange bedfellows, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No, it makes sense.”

  The look in Jewel’s eyes tells me she hasn’t confided everything that’s worrying her.

  “Come on, Jewel, give me the rest. And don’t sugarcoat it.”

  “I’m worried about your daddy. He’s segregated in his own cell over there, but that don’t mean he doesn’t come into contact with other inmates at times. Or that the guards aren’t with him out of sight of the cameras now and then.”

  “Are you saying Billy Byrd might try to kill Dad while he’s in custody?”

  “I didn’t say that. But I am saying that if somebody wanted to hurt him, it might not be as hard as it should be.”

  If Jewel is worried about this, then the danger is real.

  “So whatever stroke the title of mayor gives you,” she goes on, “I’d use it to make sure your daddy’s under surveillance at all times in there.”

  “Being mayor of this town is like trying to run a company with Monopoly money.”

  She shakes her head sadly. “I can’t believe Quentin hasn’t found some way to spring Doc out of that jail anyway.”

  “That’s up to Judge Elder. And Quentin says he’s got something against either him or Dad, but he doesn’t know which, or what it could be. Even Dad claims not to know.”

  Jewel is clearly pondering this question. “I never heard much trash about Joe Elder, so I never looked at him too close. He’s from across the river, though, in Ferriday, same as those Double Eagles.”

  “But he’s . . .”

  “What?” The coroner gives me an expectant look. “B-L-A-C-K?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe he’s color-blind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe he only sees green.” Jewel gives me a wink. “I’ll ask around.”

  I give her a hug, then head for the courtyard gate. As I touch the rusted handle, she says, “I don’t know if you know, but Shad’s about to call an out-of-town witness.”

  I stop and turn back. “Who?”

  “I don’t know. But he’s an old guy, and he flew in from Ohio.”

  “Is he some kind of expert?”

  Jewel turns up her palms. “No idea. I’m just giving you what help I can.”

  “Thanks, Jewel.”

  She blows me a kiss, then picks up her cigarettes and lighter from the table. She won’t leave until I’ve been gone at least five minutes.

  After exiting the courtyard, I stand on the sidewalk of Washington and try to decide my next move. If I walk two blocks west, I’ll be at Edelweiss, and I can relate Jewel’s information to Quentin face-to-face. If I walk five blocks east, I can be home with Annie. After a few seconds’ deliberation, I turn east and dial Doris Avery’s cell phone. She answers on the second ring.

  “It’s Penn,” I hear her say.

  “Is he calling to congratulate me,” Quentin asks, “or to bitch at me some more?”

  “Did you hear that?” Doris asks.

  “Yep. But I’m not calling to either bury or praise him. This is kind of an emergency.”

  I hear a clatter as she hands the phone to Quentin. He protests a little, but at last he comes on the phone. “What is it?”

  “You know the county coroner, I believe? Better than most?”

  This kills Q’s attitude in a hurry. “I seem to recall that case, yeah.”

  “She just passed me some disturbing information, and I’m not talking about your cocksmanship.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  As quickly and obliquely as I can, I relate everything Jewel told me about what the deputy overheard, and the conclusions I have drawn. Quentin listens without interrupting, but when I finish, he says, “What do you want me to do with that?”

  “I just thought you should know.”

  “Well, now I know.”

  “Aren’t you pissed off about it?”

  “I’m not going to raise my blood pressure over something I expected from the start of this case. Billy Byrd’s the kind of throwback who’d beat a prisoner with a phone book, open his cell, then shoot him in the back and say he tried to escape. Tampering with evidence is nothing to that jackass. And we both know the DA’s not above holding back exculpatory evidence. So, what’s new about this?”

  “Well, this obviously means they’re trying to conceal someone’s involvement in the crime. And Jewel says Byrd is tight with Billy Knox.”

  “And?”

  “Well, that would mean Billy Byrd is up on the stand trying to convict Dad while privately trying to protect a wanted criminal who probably murdered Viola.”

  “You’re right. But you’ll never prove that. Whatever hair and fiber evidence supported that is obviously gone. Jewel’s deputy friend isn’t going to testify, so that’s the end of this discussion.”

  “But . . . you’re telling me Dad’s definitely innocent?”

  “Isn’t that the case I’m making in the courtroom?”

  “You haven’t done a goddamn thing in the courtroom!”

  “Be patient, my brother. The hardest part of anything is waiting. But my day’s coming.”

  Dealing with Quentin is beyond exasperating. “By the way, Shad’s about to call some old guy from Ohio to the stand. Any idea who that might be?”

  “Possibly.”

  That’s clearly all Quentin’s going to give me.

  “Are we through, Penn?”

  “No. Jewel’s afraid for Dad’s physical safety in Byrd’s jail. So am I.”

  “I’ve thought a lot about that, and I’ve discussed it with Tom. We feel like the isolation procedures are sufficient to protect him.”

  “You know that’s bullshit. I think we need to call the state attorney general and have him crawl up Billy Byrd’s ass.”

  “Don’t do that, Penn.”

  “Why not? At least Byrd would be too scared to let anything happen to Dad under that kind of microscope.”

  “Byrd’s already under a microscope. Penn, I’ll be frank with you: this case isn’t about any goddamn hair and fiber. You need to let that go.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You don’t know what I know, boy. Now, don’t talk to anybody about what Jewel said. All you’ll accomplish is to put her life at risk. I’ll talk to your father about the security issue, too.”

  “Get back to me after you do. I mean tonight, Quentin. If you don’t, I’m calling the AG.”

  “Good luck with that. I’m hanging up now.”

  And he does.

  Chapter 39

  By the time I reached home, I only had ten minutes to gobble down a sandwich and give Annie a hug before it was time to head back to the courthouse. Yet again she pleaded to be allowed to accompany us, and behind her I could see that Mia would give almost anything to attend the trial rather than sit in the house behind armed guards. But after Lincoln’s damning testimony about my father’s secret life, I don’t have to take the heat for refusing. My mother tells Annie she’s absolutely forbidden from attending court.

  “Ninety percent of what’s being said in that building is lies,” she declares, and neither Jenny nor I challenge her.

  Eight minutes later, Tim delivers us to the courthouse steps, where he turns the wheel over to one of his associates and escorts us through the milling throng to our seats inside.

  Serenity has reclaimed her seat in the first row of the balcony; or perhaps she didn’t leave during lunch. If she had, she’d n
ever have gotten that seat back. A pang of guilt hits me for not bringing her a sandwich. As I wave at her, she holds up a brown paper bag and gives me a quick grin.

  Of course. Leave it to an ex-soldier to come prepared.

  A sudden hubbub tells me Judge Elder is making his entrance. The tall robed figure looks neither right nor left as he makes his way to the bench. Once he’s settled and everyone takes their seats again, he says, “Call your next witness, Mr. Johnson.”

  Shad rises. “The State calls Major Matthew M. Powers, United States Air Force, Retired.”

  This time, when the back door of the courtroom opens, my father turns in his chair and rises to see over the crowd of spectators. The bloodless cast of his face looks like that of a man who has seen the dead walk.

  Powers must be the man from Ohio, I think.

  Though he must be over seventy, Major Powers strides to the witness box with the assured gait of a man ten years younger. He still has all his hair, close cropped and iron gray, and his eyes are clear and blue. He wears a gray suit over a white dress shirt and narrow black tie.

  As he’s sworn in, I sense that my father has been bowled over by his appearance. Twice Dad has bent his head and whispered something to Quentin, but Quentin just patted his arm in reassurance. I have a feeling that Quentin—along with my father—is about to pay the price for not requesting discovery.

  “Major Powers,” Shad begins, “do you know the defendant in this case, Dr. Tom Cage?”

  “I do. Or I did, long ago.”

  “When did you meet him?”

  “On one occasion. November thirtieth, 1950.”

  “And where was this?”

  “Beside a road in North Korea, southwest of the Chosin Reservoir.”

  Even before Major Powers finishes his answer, I know that nothing he could tell us about something that happened during the Korean War is admissible as evidence in this case. It must fall under the heading of “prior bad acts.” Yet Quentin shows no sign of preparing to object. It’s all I can do not to get to my feet and do it myself.