brush, and his frameless glasses giving him the appearance of a scholar. His fingers were long and clean as they pointed toward heaven while he repeated the oath. Collins was already firing questions as Kendall tugged at his trouser creases and took the witness chair.
'State your name and occupation, please.'
'Justin Ferris Kendall, medical doctor.'
'You practice medicine here in Calhoun, is that correct?'
'It is.'
'And did you recently examine the deceased, Lula Peak?'
'Yessir, on October twentieth last year.'
'And did you at the time confirm that she was approximately two months pregnant?'
'I did.'
'Two months after Will Parker was heard telling her that if she was in heat she should go yowl beneath somebody else’s window, you diagnosed her as two months pregnant?'
'Yessir.'
'And do you employ a registered nurse named Miriam Gaultier who also acts as your receptionist?'
'I do.'
'Thank you. Your witness.'
Slocum obviously couldn’t divine a reason for this line of questioning and glanced around, confused by the abrupt turnover of the defense’s witness.
He half-rose from his chair and replied, 'No questions, your honor.'
'Defense calls Miriam Gaultier to the stand.'
Heads turned as a thin gray wisp of a woman passed through the spindled gate, smiling hello to Dr. Kendall, who held it open for her.
'State your name and occupation, please.'
'Miriam Gaultier. I’m a nurse and receptionist for Dr. Justin Kendall.'
'You’ve just heard Dr. Kendall testify that he was visited by the deceased, Lula Peak, on October twentieth last year. Were you working at the doctor’s office that day?'
'Yes, I was.'
'And did you talk with Lula Peak?'
'Yes, I did.'
'And what was the gist of that conversation?'
'I asked Miss Peak for her mailing address for billing purposes.'
'Did she give it to you?'
'No, sir, she didn’t.'
'Why not?'
'Because she advised me to send the bill to Harley Overmire, of Whitney, Georgia.'
Nobody heard Collins turn the witness over to Solicitor General Slocum, but they could hear the sweat ooze from Harley Overmire’s pores as the prosecution cross-examined Miriam Gaultier in the silent room.
'Was Miss Peak’s bill ever paid, Mrs. Gaultier?'
'Yes, it was.'
'Can you, beyond a shadow of a doubt, state that it was not paid by Miss Peak herself?'
'Well…'
'Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Mrs. Gaultier,' Slocum reiterated, skewering her with his dark eyes.
'It was paid in cash.'
'In person?'
'No, it was mailed in.'
'Thank you, you may step down.'
'But it was sent in an envelope from-'
'You may step down, Mrs. Gaultier!'
'-the electric company, as if whoever sent it-'
Things were going even better than Collins had hoped for. He hurriedly called his next witness while the tide was rolling in the right direction.
'Defense recalls Leslie McCooms.'
The medical examiner was reminded that she was still under oath and Collins made his point without histrionics.
'When you examined the body of Lula Peak you found that her death had not been caused by the dustrag as first believed, but by human hands, probably a man’s. Is this true?'
'Yes.'
'Tell me, Miss McCooms, how many fingerprints were found on Lula Peak’s neck?'
'Nine.'
'And which fingerprint was missing?'
'The one from the index finger of the right hand.'
'Thank you-your witness.'
Will felt hope swell his chest, climb his arms and infuse his head. With one hand balled around the other, he pressed his thumb knuckles to his lips and warned himself, it’s not through yet. But he couldn’t resist turning to glimpse Elly over his shoulder. Her face was pink with excitement. She made a fist and thumped it against her heart, causing his own to bang with intensified hope.
Slocum took his turn, overtly agitated.
'Is it true, Miss McCooms, that it’s possible for a victim to be strangled by someone with ten good fingers, leaving less than ten fingerprints?'
'Yes, it is.'
'Thank you. You’re excused.'
Will’s brief hope extinguished but he had little time to grow despondent. The surprising Collins kept a brisk pace, recognizing the value of concentrated shock.
'Defense calls Harley Overmire.'
Overmire, looking like a scared, hairy ape, puffed up the center aisle, stuffed into a light blue suit with sleeves six inches too long for his stubby arms, sleeves that nearly concealed his hands.
The bailiff held out his Bible and ordered, 'Raise your right hand, please.'
Harley’s face was pale as a full moon. Beads of sweat stood out on his upper lip and two discs of dampness darkened the armpits of his suit.
'Raise your right hand, please,' the bailiff repeated.
Harley had no choice but to do as ordered. Haltingly he lifted his arm, and as he did so his sleeve slipped down. Every eye in the room fixed upon that meaty hand, silhouetted against the white plastered wall of the courtroom, with its index finger missing.
'Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?'
Harley’s voice sounded like the squeak of a mouse when the trap trips.
'I do.'
The bailiff droned his questions while Collins scanned the eyes of the jurors, finding every one fixed upon Overmire’s trembling, four-fingered hand.
'State your name and occupation, please.'
'Harley Overmire, superintendent at the Whitney Sawmill.'
'You may be seated.'
Collins pretended to read over his notes for a full thirty seconds while Harley quickly sat and hid his right hand at his side. The air felt electric, charged with opinion. Collins let the voltage build while glancing pointedly over the tops of his half-glasses at Harley’s hidden hand, the infamous hand that had already gained him a countywide reputation as a military shirker. Collins removed his glasses, stretched to his feet as if his rheumatism was acting up and approached the witness stand. Putting a finger to his chin, he paused thoughtfully, then turned back toward his table as if he’d forgotten something. Halfway there, he did an about-face and stood silently studying Overmire.
