“Yes.”
“Did you blame my father for that?”
“Yes.”
“Did that lawsuit effectively end any chance of you and I getting married?”
“Yes.”
At last she turns to me, but her eyes look opaque, as though she has closed them against all my feeling for her, steeling herself against mercy. “Did you blame my father for that as well?”
Does she want me to tell the truth? Does she want me to say, No, I blame you? The whole goddamn thing happened because you got yourself pregnant by a stupid redneck murderer and couldn’t deal with it?
“For a long time, I did.”
“And did you conspire with former Special Agent Dwight Stone to destroy my father and John Portman?”
“I did not.”
She holds my eyes a moment longer, as though waiting for me to counterattack with everything I know about her.
I say nothing. What would it accomplish, besides convincing Livy that I’m willing to sink as low to destroy her father as she is to protect him? Would it convince the jury that Marston and Portman are guilty? If Stone’s testimony didn’t do that, the Marston family’s dirty laundry certainly won’t.
“No further questions,” Livy says, turning away at last.
Judge Franklin looks at me as though I have fulfilled the assertion she made on the day we met in her office. I have a fool for a client. “Mr. Cage,” she says, “I find myself in the curious position of asking if you would like to cross-examine yourself.”
I almost laugh out loud. Here it is, my chance to say anything I want. And curiously enough, I have no inclination to say anything. Without Ike Ransom or Ray Presley to confirm Stone’s story, I can add nothing that will sway the twelve people in the jury box.
“No questions, Your Honor.”
“You’re excused, Mr. Cage.”
Excused. My parents are watching me with agony in their faces. Althea Payton nods, her lips tight. Caitlin’s black veil of hair frames her porcelain face among all the others. She’s looking at me with something like pity in her eyes. She thinks I’m unable to turn Livy’s sword against her, not trapped in a situation where my conscience is forcing me to endure humiliation without fighting back. As I walk back to the defense table, I turn toward the jury. I do not give them my lawyer’s look-full of confidence, certain of victory-but a simple human look, an unstated question.
Their faces are hard to read. Stone’s testimony resonated with the black jurors, but even they cannot help but connect the simple dots Livy held up before them. I blamed Leo Marston for making my father ill and ruining my prospects with his daughter. Stone hated Portman for his dismissal from the FBI. Once the two of us were brought together, a conspiracy was almost inevitable. Factually, this theory has at least one major hole. But emotionally it makes sense. It plays. And some of the jury members are bound to buy into it.
As I reach the table, the door at the rear of the courtroom opens, and a young woman walks in. It’s Jenny Doe. She looks toward the judge’s bench, then pans her eyes until they settle on me. She waves at me.
I nod to her and take my seat just as Judge Franklin says: “Ms. Sutter? Does the plaintiff rest?”
Any lingering illusion that Blake Sims is leading Leo Marston’s legal team crumbles into dust.
Livy nods. “The plaintiff rests, Your Honor.”
As Franklin turns to me, someone pulls at my elbow. “Mr. Cage?”
It’s Jenny, crouching at the bar behind my table.
“Mr. Cage?” says Judge Franklin. “Does the defense rest?”
Jenny grabs my arm above the elbow and jabs her thumb into a nerve. I jerk my elbow away.
“Mr. Cage?” says Franklin. “Is that young lady bothering you?”
“May I have a moment, Your Honor?”
“If you must.”
I twist in my chair until I’m face to face with Jenny. “What the hell are you doing?”
Her eyes are glittering with excitement. “I have something for you,” she whispers. “I think I have what you need to win your case.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I tried to get in here this morning to watch the trial, but it was too crowded. And it’s a good thing for you. Because I went back to my apartment and watched it on TV. I didn’t realize what I had until I heard that Mr. Stone talking about J. Edgar Hoover. I ran-”
“Mr. Cage,” Judge Franklin presses. “I’m ready to give this case to the jury.”
I hold up my hand. “Jenny, for God’s sake, get to the point.”
“It’s the tapes.”
I blink in bewilderment. “Tapes?”
She reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out a black Maxell cassette tape. “This,” she says. “It’s one of the tapes I stole from Clayton Lacour’s office. Remember? The mobbed-up lawyer who handled my adoption? When I stole all the files relating to Marston, I stole his phone tapes too. Lacour’s conversations with Marston. Twelve tapes. And on this one he’s talking about your case. About Del Payton. He never actually says the name, so I never realized what I had. But when that poor Beckham woman started saying the name Ray Presley, something zinged in my mind. I couldn’t place it until Mr. Stone started talking about J. Edgar Hoover. I had to fast-forward through eight different tapes before I found it. I sprinted the three blocks over here.”
“Jenny, what is it? What do they say?”
She shakes her head, her eyes brimming with secret joy. “Just get the judge to play it. You won’t believe it.”
I close my eyes, thinking furiously.
“Mr. Cage, I’ve had enough,” says Judge Franklin. “Does the defense rest?”
I take the tape from Jenny, get to my feet, and lay my hands on the table. “No, Your Honor. I request a conference in chambers. Critical new evidence has just come to my attention. I believe it will be conclusive evidence, and-”
“Objection!” Livy cries, shaking her head. She has already seen the tape in my hand. She probably thinks it’s Dwight Stone’s recording of her father and Ray Presley talking in the gazebo of Tuscany. “No such evidence was disclosed to us!”
“Your Honor, I didn’t know about it myself until a moment ago. The young lady behind me just brought it to my attention.”
Livy looks at Jenny with dread in her face.
“Who is that person?” Franklin asks.
Livy closes her eyes.
“Her name is Jenny Doe, Judge. Who she is, is less important than what she has.”
“What does she have?”
“A tape of Leo Marston discussing the Payton murder with a New Orleans attorney named Clayton Lacour.”
Judge Franklin looks to Livy for an objection, but Livy is still standing with her eyes closed, as though she can no longer stand the schizophrenic nature of what she is being called upon to do today. Prodded by Leo, Blake Sims gets to his feet.
“Judge, I object to the introduction of this surprise evidence on the grounds of -”
Eunice Franklin stops him with an upraised hand. “I’ll hear argument in my chambers.” She stands in her black robe and looks down at me. “Mr. Cage, this had better not be desperation grandstanding.”
“The tape will speak for itself,” I assure her, praying that Jenny knows evidence when she hears it.
“Counsel in my chambers,” says Franklin. She points at Jenny. “You too, young lady.”
CHAPTER 41
