Catfish took a sip of ginger tea and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. “I’ve defended you based on what you told me the truth was, but I think other witnesses have disproved your story. I’ve tried to prove someone else shot Georgia Gamble, but the evidence always comes back to you.”
Henry shook his head. “You’re wro—”
Catfish thrust a hand toward him. “Wait! You’ll have your say when I’m done.”
Cicero started breathing rapidly. “I—"
“Hear me out,” Catfish commanded. “When court reconvenes, Judge Goodrich will charge the jury. He’ll tell ’em that if they believe beyond a reasonable doubt you’re guilty of first-degree murder, they should convict you. He’ll tell ’em if you’re guilty of first-degree murder, they may punish you by death.”
He paused to let that sink in. Cicero stiffened, then began to tremble. His mother sobbed into her handkerchief, and Henry patted her back gently.
Catfish spoke with all the authority he could muster. “After the judge reads that charge to the jury, we’ll argue your case to the jury. Captain Blair will argue for first-degree murder, and I believe the jury will agree with him. Captain Blair will ask for death.”
He pushed his plate away and sat back. “What shall I argue, Cicero? I can’t tell ’em someone else killed her. The evidence foreclosed that defense. I could argue in good faith that the state failed to prove your guilt beyond a reasonable doubt—there’s still no eyewitness to the actual shooting, so the case is circumstantial—but I can’t in good faith argue that you’re innocent because I don’t believe that anymore. So what should I argue?”
“I don’t know, sir.” Cicero’s voice cracked.
“I believe there’s a way to save your life, but it’ll require you to take the witness stand again—and tell the truth.”
Cicero’s eyebrows shot up, and he nodded enthusiastically. “I did, Mr. Calloway, I did.”
He lit a cigar, leaned back on two legs of the chair, and blew smoke to the ceiling.
“I’m speaking as your lawyer, and in my opinion, the jury thinks you lied to them. I believe correcting the lie is the only way to save your life.”
Cicero’s facade dissolved, and he buried his face in his hands. His father put an arm around him, but he pushed it away.
Henry folded his arms and glared at Catfish. “Now look here, you can’t just abandon Cicero like this. Catfish, you owe me.”
He’d known this would be a bitter pill to swallow. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Henry, but I don’t have any choice. I’ve made some mistakes in this case, and I regret them. I should have pushed for a plea bargain in the beginning. Harley tried to get me to do that, but I was pigheaded. I think we could’ve gotten an agreement for a reasonable number of years in pri—”
“No, no prison,” Henry said.
“Yes, prison—but it’s too late for a deal now. Our only chance now is giving the jury the option to choose prison over death.”
Mrs. Sweet’s sobs intensified.
Henry leaned forward, sliding both palms forward on the table toward Catfish. “I haven’t testified. I could take the stand and say I overheard Peter admit he shot her. Put me up there, Catfish, and I’ll say that. You owe me, dam—”
Catfish shook his head and held up both hands. “No, sir, I’m not putting anybody on that witness stand to lie. Done that already, and that’s why we’re here. There are only two options. Either I argue to my best ability that there’s reasonable doubt and ask for an acquittal, or I argue that he’s guilty of manslaughter and try to save his life. Those are the only two options—and frankly, Henry, in my opinion there’s only one.”
Henry pulled back indignantly. “They can’t convict a decent boy for killing a whore. Tell them she was just a whore.”
“They’ll give him death if I say that. I know you’re scared, Henry. Believe me, I understand how helpless you feel right now. I’ve been in your shoes. As much as you want to do something to protect Cicero, there’s nothing you can do. But there is a way he can save his own life. It’s risky, but it’s his only chance.”
Henry’s face crumpled. He tried to touch his son again, but Cicero wouldn’t let him.
“The choice is yours, Cicero,” Catfish said, “nobody else’s. So I’ll ask you the question again. Do you actually remember what happened?”
Cicero threw himself forward onto the table, arms over his head, and sobbed uncontrollably. After a minute or so, he answered in a barely audible voice. “Yes.”
“You willing to testify to the truth?”
“Yes.” He sat up, red-faced. “I don’t want to die. I’ll do whatever I need to.”
Catfish finished his ginger tea and slid the cup out of the way. “I just want you to tell the truth. Let’s talk about what we’ll do.”
***
Not a single juror more than glanced at Cicero when he took the stand. Wade Morrison bent his head and crossed his arms; he’d even avoided eye contact with Catfish when the jury came in. Only a single juror watched Cicero now.
“Cicero, is there something you want to say to the court and the jury?” Catfish asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Go ahead.”
Cicero turned in the witness chair to face the jury. His eyes were red, but he didn’t cry. “I haven’t been exactly honest with you about what happened. I do remember some other things.”
Catfish peeked at the jury. Half were now more attentive. That’s progress.
“I remember being in bed with Miss Georgia. I don’t remember Peter DeGroote being there, but maybe he was at some point. Anyway, I was on the bed. I felt real dizzy and everything was blurry. She was poking me and yelling at me. She had that pistol and
