Judge Franklin. “May I stand during my testimony, Your Honor?”
“Do you have a physical malady that prevents you from sitting?”
“I was shot two nights ago. In the left buttock.”
Predictably, some spectators snicker in spite of Stone’s obvious pain.
“You may stand,” says Franklin, glaring at the crowd.
I move slowly toward the podium, running through memories of everything Stone told me two nights ago in Colorado. He lied to me then-by omission-leaving Ike Ransom completely out of his story. I need the truth today, the whole truth. Stone must be made aware that Ike the Spike no longer needs his protection. Instead of stopping at the podium, I adopt Livy’s tactic and continue right up to the witness box. In a voice barely above a whisper, I say:
“Ike Ransom was shot to death last night.”
As Judge Franklin orders me to speak at an audible level, Stone winks, and my heartbeat rushes ahead.
“Mr. Stone, were you ever an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation?”
“I was a field agent for sixteen years.”
“Did your duties ever bring you to Natchez, Mississippi?”
“Yes.”
“In what capacity?”
“In May of 1968, I was assigned to investigate the death of Delano Payton. I arrived here the day after he was murdered.”
“Who gave you that assignment?”
“J. Edgar Hoover.”
“Personally?”
“Yes.”
“Did you succeed in that assignment? Did you solve the murder?”
“I did.”
Even though Portman said the same thing during his testimony, the crowd buzzes in expectation. It’s plain that Dwight Stone does not intend to hold anything back.
“Could you briefly describe how you went about doing that?”
“Objection,” says Livy, rising to her feet. “Judge, this man is testifying to information that has been sealed to protect national security. His willingness to break the law or even to commit treason is no reason to allow him to divulge protected information in front of television cameras.”
I try not to let my anxiety show on my face, but Livy may have just stopped this trial dead, at least until government officials are brought in to decide what Stone may and may not say.
Judge Franklin looks at me. “Ms. Sutter raises a serious issue, Mr. Cage. You have argument on this point?”
I could argue for an hour, but I would probably lose. “Perhaps we should hear Mr. Stone on this point, Judge. He’s an attorney himself.”
Franklin gives Stone an inquisitive glance. “Mr. Stone?”
Stone shakes his head like a soldier pondering a heavily defended hill he has just been ordered to take. “Judge, the heart of my testimony goes to the justification of that national security classification. After sixteen years working for J. Edgar Hoover, I can tell you this. No man more readily abused such classifications for his own personal ends than Hoover. He sealed the Del Payton file solely to mask evidence of criminal activity. It had nothing to do with the national interest. If you allow my testimony, you’ll know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’ve done the right thing.” He looks Franklin square in the eye. “Have the courage of your office, Judge.”
She regards him thoughtfully. “My dilemma, Mr. Stone, is that once you’ve spoken, your words cannot be taken back.”
Stone sighs. “With all respect, Judge, I’m going to tell my story regardless of your decision. I’ve been silent too long. I can tell it here on the stand, or outside on the steps.”
Franklin tilts her head back, shocked by Stone’s frank threat. “I have a third choice. I can have you jailed for contempt.”
Stone doesn’t even blink. “You can jail me, Judge. But you can’t stop me from speaking. That is the one thing you cannot do.”
Eunice Franklin studies Stone for a long time. What does she see in him? He is ten years her senior, but from another era altogether. Is he a veteran cop with a conscience? Or an unstable and dangerous has-been, as John Portman would portray him? Livy opens her mouth to argue further, but Franklin stops her with an upraised hand.
“No additional argument, Ms. Sutter. If Mr. Stone has the courage to risk jail, I will risk censure. If he strays into what I feel is dangerous territory, I’ll stop him. Continue with your story, Mr. Stone.”
“Under protest,” Livy says in a cold voice.
“Noted. Mr. Cage?”
I turn to Stone with as much gratitude as I can bring to my eyes. “Mr. Stone, could you describe how you went about solving the Delano Payton murder?”
In clear and concise language, the former agent gives a chronological account of his investigation up to the point that he nailed Ray Presley. His story mirrors exactly the testimony given by my earlier witnesses, from Frank Jones to Lester Hinson, and he confirms that John Portman worked with him every step of the way. Their discovery that Lester Hinson had sold C-4 to Ray Presley, Stone says, prompted a “rather intense” meeting with Presley, during which Presley stated that he’d merely acted as a middleman in the deal, purchasing the plastic explosive for a young Natchez black man, an army veteran. This brings us just past the point at which Stone began lying to me in Colorado.
“What was that young black man’s name, Mr. Stone?”
“Ike Ransom.”
“Are you aware that a sheriff’s deputy by that name was murdered last night?”
“Yes.”
“Was he the same man you interviewed in 1968?”
“Yes.”
“John Portman stated that the FBI file on Del Payton was sealed because of the involvement of a certain Vietnam veteran. Was Ike Ransom that man?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do after Patrolman Ray Presley told you he’d bought the C-4 for Ike Ransom?”
“Portman and I interviewed Ransom at his apartment. Two minutes after we were inside, he confessed to the murder of Delano Payton.”
Livy jumps to her feet, but her objection is drowned by the explosive reaction of the crowd. Judge Franklin bangs her gavel, but it takes some time for order to be restored. Even the jury is gaping at Stone.
“Your Honor,” says Livy, “I object. This witness’s testimony is hearsay.”
Franklin nods and looks at me. Under the Mississippi rules of evidence, Livy is right. But all rules are proved by exceptions. As I come to my feet, I troll my memory for the details of exceptions under Mississippi law, which I scanned less than six hours ago in the office of the chancery judge, an old high school friend.
“Your Honor, this qualifies as a hearsay exception under Rule 804 (b)3. Deputy Ransom was on my witness list specifically to testify to this information. His murder last night has made that impossible. Since the declarant is unavailable due to death, Mr. Stone’s statement should be admitted.”
Franklin looks surprised by my knowledge of Mississippi law.
Livy says, “Your Honor, Mr. Cage’s exception is-”
“Sidebar,” Franklin cuts in. “Approach the bench.”
Livy and I meet before Franklin and lean toward her.
“Judge,” says Livy, “this is patent hearsay, and no exception should be made.”
“Judge, Ike Ransom’s confession was a statement made against interest. A murder confession so obviously subjected him to criminal liability that great weight must be accorded to it.”
Franklin taps her pen on a notepad as she considers my argument. “Given the totality of the circumstances, I’m going to allow it.”
