Judge Franklin switches off the machine.
The silence is total. I’m not sure anyone in the courtroom is breathing. The jury appears to be in shock, particularly the black jurors, who are staring at Leo Marston as they might at a dangerous wild animal. Blake Sims gets to his feet to start listing objections, but Franklin stops him with a gesture.
A chilling screech of chair legs rips through the courtroom. As all heads turn toward the source of the sound- the plaintiff’s table-Livy rises from her chair, puts her purse over her shoulder, and without looking at her father or anyone else walks around the table and down the aisle to the door at the back of the courtroom.
This act is probably more damning to her father than the tape. To me it suggests a chance for the possibility of redemption. At least she draws the line somewhere. I suppress the urge to go after her, even though I know that at this moment she might do something truly desperate. I must play my part in this grotesquerie to the end. As I turn back toward the bench, Austin Mackey stands and hurries after Livy. I’ll have to wait to find out what he’s up to.
“Mr. Sims,” Judge Franklin says from the bench. “I know what you’re going to say. First, that the voice on this tape is not Leo Marston’s. Second, that if the voice is Marston’s, it has been spliced together using some miracle of modern technology. Third, you want to request a continuance while your experts examine the tape.”
Franklin drums her fingers on her desk. “Mr. Sims, that is not going to happen. I am not going to recall this jury three weeks from now just to hear your experts denounce the tape and Mr. Cage’s experts argue that it’s genuine. I’ve known Leo Marston for twenty-five years, and I believe the tape is genuine. Mr. Sims, I am giving this case to the jury.”
Most of the heads in the jury box are nodding.
“Does the plaintiff rest?” Franklin asks.
“Under protest,” Sims says weakly.
“Noted.” Franklin turns to me. “Does the defense rest?”
“Your Honor, the defense rests.”
Franklin is about to begin instructing the jury when Leo Marston rises from his chair and walks toward the aisle as though to follow Livy out.
“Judge Marston?” Franklin says from the bench.
He gives the judge his broad back and starts down the aisle.
“Leo?” she calls.
Marston ignores her. He is nearly to the doors, his enormous shoulders rocking with purposeful motion.
“Bailiff,” says Franklin, her voice quavering with what sounds like fear. “Please restrain Mr. Marston.”
The bailiff, a middle-aged black man, stands in front of the door and lays a hand on the butt of his holstered gun. Leo looks prepared to make the poor man use it.
“You will stay to hear the verdict of this jury, Mr. Marston,” Franklin says in a firmer voice. “Unless you’re dismissing this suit.”
Leonidas Marston finally stops and turns back to Judge Franklin, his face a mask of contempt. “I’m entitled to a jury of my peers,” he says, his voice booming through the courtroom. “I won’t be judged by that rabble sitting up there.”
Franklin’s face reddens to the point that I fear she might stroke out. “Leo, I’m holding you-”
“I’m dismissing the suit,” he growls. Then he turns back to the door as though he could as easily dismiss the consequences of this proceeding from his life.
As the bailiff looks to Judge Franklin for guidance, the door behind him is yanked open and Austin Mackey walks through, followed by two large deputies. The deputies block the door while Mackey walks far enough up the aisle to make sure the TV cameras capture the full range of his limited charisma.
“Judge Franklin,” he says in the deepest voice he can muster. “Regardless of the verdict of this jury, I am ordering the arrest of Leo Marston for the crime of capital murder.”
Pandemonium erupts in the courtroom.
“Order!” Franklin shouts. “Quiet in this court!”
“The grand jury will be convened in two weeks,” Mackey goes on, “and I intend to bring the case before them at that time.”
Judge Franklin shakes her head and gives the district attorney a sarcastic smile. “Let me state for the record, Mr. Mackey, that you are a day late, and a dollar short. Since Mr. Cage has proved your case for you, I suggest you forward your salary for the month to him.”
Mackey blushes from his neck to the top of his head, but he recovers quickly and turns back to the deputies blocking the door. “Place Mr. Marston under arrest. The charge is capital murder.”
It must gall Mackey to have to get the deputies to make this arrest. But even with his overarching ambition, Mackey hasn’t the nerve to try to arrest Leo Marston. It would be like a rabbit confronting a Bengal tiger. I half expect Leo to fight the deputies to the floor, but he allows himself to be quietly handcuffed.
“Judge Franklin,” says Blake Sims. “I request that Judge Marston be taken out through a side door, to spare the embarrassment of a mob scene. He’s done great service to this city and this state, no matter what else he might have done.”
Technically, Leo is Mackey’s prisoner now, but this is Eunice Franklin’s court. He defers to her.
Franklin stares at Leo, who is looking indifferently ahead, as though bored by the events around him. His problem has become one for the criminal courts, and he knows that particular jungle better than most.
“Take him out the front door,” Franklin says.
As the deputies escort Marston out, Judge Franklin looks to the jury box. “Ladies and gentlemen, you have done your duty. I apologize for the incompleteness of the process. At least it only took one day. You are discharged.” She turns to the gallery. “This court is dismissed.”
A wild roar erupts from outside the building, undoubtedly prompted by the appearance of Leo Marston in handcuffs. I have no desire to be in that crowd of jubilant blacks and confused whites, people who still know nothing of the facts of this case, and who probably won’t fully absorb them for several days. As the spectators rise from the benches in a rush, I am surrounded by people slapping my back and trying to shake my hand.
The first hand I take is my father’s. His grip is firm and strong, his eyes filled with pride. “You did a fair job, son.” He breaks into a smile.
My mother is in tears beside him. She reaches out and hugs me, while behind her Charles Evers and Willie Pinder give me brief salutes, then turn and move toward the door. As I stare after them, Caitlin materializes out of the crowd, smiling with relief.
“Well, I guess we won,” she says. “Right?”
“You’re damn right,” Dad agrees.
“I’m thinking of Ruby,” my mother says quietly.
“Me too,” I tell her.
She takes my hand. “You had to do it. I see that now.”
Before I can say anything else, Caitlin steps up to me, stands on tiptoe, and kisses me on the cheek. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.” She turns to my parents. “I hope you don’t mind public displays of affection.”
My mother surprises the hell out of me by saying, “That’s quite all right.”
I punch Caitlin’s shoulder. “Can you win the Pulitzer if you’re personally involved in the story you’re covering?”
She waves her hand as though swatting a fly. “To hell with the Pulitzer. I’ll take it if they offer it, but I’m not chasing it anymore.”
My father grips my right shoulder and turns me in place. Judge Franklin is standing behind me in her black robe. She extends her hand and shakes mine. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a slander case hijacked into a murder trial,” she says.
“I couldn’t figure any other way to do it. I apologize.”
“Don’t. Sometimes you have to go the long way around to get justice.”
“I appreciate what you did. The hearsay exception… letting the tape in.”
A hint of a smile comes to her lips. “The truth will out. Good-bye, Mr. Cage.”
I nod thanks and turn back to Caitlin, who takes my hand, pulls it behind her back, and squeezes it tight.
Out of the swirl of my parents’ friends, Althea Payton steps forward wearing a dark blue dress. Behind her stands Del, looking very uncomfortable in a Sunday suit.
