I scratched a note onto my legal pad and shoved it toward Lee: Bar was your idea? Lee looked down, shook his head. But there was no time to confer; Cary was talking again.
“I’d printed out some paperwork that I’d emailed to Lee, thought I’d see if I had my ducks in a row, to file the articles of incorporation with the Mississippi Secretary of State’s office. Lord, I couldn’t hardly get ol’ Lee to look at it. He was on a roll. Wanted to get shitface drunk, just like back in college.”
With a sheepish face, Reynolds turned to the jury box. “Beg pardon, ladies. But it’s a quote.”
“How long did you stay at the bar?”
He tilted his head back as if trying to recall. “Two hours, maybe? He was doing some serious drinking. So I thought I’d best get some supper in him. I drove us to a barbeque place downtown. But I’ll be danged if Lee didn’t drink his dinner.”
I shot a look at Lee. He was livid; the cords in his neck were visible.
“Then what happened?” the DA asked.
“Well, I drove him back to his hotel. I had got a gift for him: a thank-you, for meeting with me.”
“What was the gift?”
“It was a bottle of Macallan. Twelve-year-old Scotch.” In a rueful voice, he added: “Lee likes it.”
Keet’s voice was quiet, deadly. “What happened when you arrived at the hotel?”
Reynolds uncrossed his foot and set it down. “I handed him the box with the Scotch in it, said thanks a lot. He wanted me to come on up for a drink. I tried to beg off; I’m a workingman, needed to be at the car lot early the next day. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“So you accompanied the defendant to his hotel room.”
“Yeah, I surely did. He was staying at the Magnolia. Nice place. I thought I’d best hustle him up to his room, see to it he didn’t make a big commotion. I didn’t want him to get kicked out.”
I shifted my eyes to Isaac Keet. His face was stony. “And on that evening, y’all also obtained the services of a sex worker? A young woman named Monae Prince?”
Cary Reynolds laughed. It made a jarring noise in the quiet courtroom. “No, sir, Mr. Keet; that wasn’t me. That was all Lee’s idea. Not me, no siree.” He edged forward on his seat and placed his elbows on his knees, like he was about to tell a secret. But his voice rang out loud and clear.
“Lee made that plan at the bar, didn’t need any help from me. He spotted that little ol’ gal outside Roxy’s, made an appointment with her. He was thinking she looked ‘barely legal.’ He even said to me: you think that girl is underage? He said it like the idea gave him a thrill.”
Reynolds paused. The courtroom was silent but for the sound of choking behind me. It was Mrs. Greene.
Cary Reynolds looked away from Isaac Keet. His eyes connected with mine. Cary pulled a rueful face and said, “Ruby, you know how Lee is.”
Then I heard a rustle of fabric and a shout of alarm, as Lee’s mother slid to the floor in a dead faint.
Chapter 61
LEE’S MOTHER WAS puddled on the floor of the courtroom gallery. Lee jumped to his feet and bent over the railing. In an urgent whisper, he said, “Mama.”
Her departure from the courtroom was swift. Mr. Greene hauled her to her feet and she stumbled out, with her husband supporting her on one side and the bailiff on the other. I pulled Lee back into his seat, but his eyes were glued to his mother’s back as she made her way up the aisle with uncertain steps.
Judge Ashley cleared his throat. “Counsel? Do you require a recess at this time?”
Isaac Keet glanced my way. “I have no further questions of this witness.”
I turned toward the witness stand and caught Cary Reynolds looking at me with a glint in his eye.
I snatched my legal pad off the counsel table and advanced on him. Reynolds leaned forward in his chair, crossing his arms against his chest like a man bent on destruction.
Looking at the tension straining his jaw, I was reminded of a pit bull. A pit bull could be a dangerous creature.
But he was no match for a junkyard dog.
“No recess, Your Honor,” I said.
The judge nodded. “You may cross-examine.”
“Mr. Reynolds, we have discussed your meeting with Lee Greene before, haven’t we?”
“Yes, ma’am, Ruby.” His body was tense, but his tone was friendly, familiar. “Couple of times.”
“In fact, you gave me a statement over the phone on two separate occasions, and I discussed the case with you at your car lot in Vicksburg on Tuesday of this week, isn’t that correct?”
“Sounds right. Probably so.”
I raised my voice. “Was I or was I not at your office in Vicksburg on Tuesday?”
“You was—were. Yes, ma’am.”
“And when we discussed the night in question, you never mentioned that my client was—and I quote—‘shitface drunk.’ Isn’t that true?”
“Well, I said we went to a bar.”
“Did you or did you not relate to me the extent of his intoxication?”
He leaned back in the seat on the witness stand and stretched out his legs. “Well, you’re his lawyer. I figured you knew.”
I heard a snicker behind me in the courtroom and had to restrain myself from turning to give the gallery a Medusa glare.
“You told me, in fact, that you conducted important business with my client. That Lee Greene gave you valuable legal advice, for which you were most grateful. Isn’t that correct?”
He shrugged, apologetic. “I might have said something like that. I was trying to be polite.”
I turned to the jury with a look of disbelief, then focused back on Reynolds. “Were you deliberately trying to mislead me on Tuesday night?”
“No! No, ma’am.”
“Has your recollection of events changed or altered in forty-eight hours?”
“No, don’t think so.”
“Then you’re misleading us now.”
He gaped at me, shaking his head. “No, ma’am. Swear to God.”
“Mr. Reynolds, you never told me that my client hired a prostitute, did you?”
“What?”
I walked up to the witness stand and gripped it with my right hand.
“You never said my client hired a prostitute. You said you did it.”
“I don’t think—” he began, but I cut him off.
“You hired Monae Prince. It was your idea, you brought her to the hotel as a gift for my client.”
Reynolds didn’t answer. Isaac Keet jumped to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. The counsel for the defendant is badgering the witness, is not permitting him to answer.”
The judge fiddled with his ear. “Sustained.”
I stayed rooted to the spot; for an extended moment, Cary Reynolds and I engaged in a staring war. He blinked first.
In a calmer tone, I said, “Let me repeat the question, Mr. Reynolds. Did you tell me that you hired Monae Prince to come to Lee’s room at the Magnolia Inn?”
“Never.” The pit bull had disappeared; his voice oozed sincerity.
“May I remind you, sir, that you are under oath?”
As I asked the question, I heard a buzzing sound. At first, I thought it was coming from inside my head, but it grew louder, intensifying into an excruciating squeal. Three of the jurors clapped their hands over their ears.
Isaac Keet rose to his feet. “Judge Ashley.”
Making an apologetic face, the judge pulled out the hearing aid and tinkered with it until the whine subsided and the room fell silent.
The judge looked at me. “Where were we? Do you need the court reporter to repeat the last question?”
Cary Reynolds spoke up. “No sir, Your Honor. I remember.”
“You may answer.”
Reynolds turned his face to me. I read the challenge in his eyes before he spoke.
“Yes, ma’am, I know I’m under oath. I swore I’d tell the truth, about that night in Vicksburg with Lee. And about the other night when we had our little chat. I’m under oath.”
He coughed into his fist, then added. “But you ain’t. Surely do wish you’d got it down in writing.”
Reynolds’s statement was accompanied by a smirk. The sight of his face caused a ball of fury to wedge in the center of my chest.
As I struggled for control of my anger, Judge Ashley said, “Ms. Bozarth? Any further questions of this witness?”
My voice sounded hoarse when I answered. “Not at this time, Your Honor.”
“Redirect, Mr. Keet?”
“No, sir,” the DA said.