Quentin rolls his chair closer to the witness box, testing the invisible boundary that exists in the judge’s mind. “Mr. Jelks, did your wife ever talk to you about any crime that she might have committed back in Natchez, Mississippi?”
This question obviously strikes Junius Jelks as absurd. “A crime? Viola? She was the most proper woman you ever met, except for her drinking. And she always drank at home. Butter wouldn’t melt on that woman’s tongue, brother. Not unless she wanted it to.”
“So, your answer is no?”
“My answer is hell no. She never mentioned committing any crime.” Jelks smiles crookedly. “I was the criminal in our marriage.”
“In your earlier testimony, you said you told Lincoln Turner just last year that he’d been fathered by Ku Klux Klan rapists. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did you and he have any contact after that?”
“Not really. I was in prison, and he stopped coming to see me.”
“What about phone calls?”
“Coupla angry ones the first couple of weeks, but then nothing.”
“How did Viola react to you telling Lincoln the Klan rape story?”
“She told Lincoln that as far as she was concerned, I was dead. She never wanted to hear my name again. He told me that during one of those calls.”
“Did you ever again hear from your wife prior to her death?”
“Just once.”
“What was the nature of the contact? A prison visit? A call?”
“She sent me a letter.”
“To the prison?”
“That’s right.”
“What did the letter say?”
“Well . . . I brought it with—”
“Objection!” Shad barks. “We’ve had no notice of this letter. Contents of writings, recordings, and photographs.”
“Your Honor,” says Quentin, “we enter this letter as Defense Exhibit Five subject to verification of Viola Turner’s handwriting by the State’s expert, which our own expert has already done to our satisfaction.”
“Your Honor,” Shad goes on, “this witness is a known confidence man and convicted felon. How can the court give any weight to anything he might bring before us?”
“That’s up to the jury to decide,” Judge Elder says calmly. “Denied. I’ll allow it, subject to authentication. Please continue, Mr. Avery.”
“Exception,” Shad says testily.
“Noted.”
“Please read the letter, Mr. Jelks,” Quentin says.
“Junius. I am writing to inform you that I am cutting you out of my will.”
A sharp babble of conversation erupts in the gallery.
“Order,” demands Judge Elder.
“You will probably think I am doing this because your actions got Lincoln disbarred, and possibly ruined his career, but that is not the reason. I would have divorced you for that, but since I am dying, there’s not much point in going through all that. I don’t have the strength for it, anyway. You may also recall that I didn’t cut Cora out of my will, not even after she committed adultery with you.
“I am disinheriting you because I have finally found a cause for which I would give anything, even my life. There is a reporter down here working on Jimmy’s and Luther’s disappearance, still working after all these years. A white man named Henry Sexton. He and a producer are trying to make a movie about the case, and they need money to finish it. I have looked into this man’s eyes, and I trust him in a way I have never trusted anyone but my brother. So I am taking what little money I’ve managed to save and giving it to Mr. Sexton, in the hope that Jimmy’s killers will finally be brought to justice, and the truth brought to light at last. I am still giving Cora and Lincoln small bequests, but less than half of what they were going to get before. You, on the other hand, have no need of money since you are in prison and may well die there. Bribing judges and buying drugs do not count as legitimate needs.
“Cora and I have finally reconciled after all the years of silence since what happened around Mama’s death. I have secured a new will, and I am trusting Cora to make sure my wishes are followed. I believe she’ll do it, but just in case, I have taken one further step to be sure you can’t twist her to your own ends once more. But that’s my business. It’s already done, so don’t try to talk me out of it. My mind is made up. Jimmy was the only one who stayed true to me, and to Mama and Daddy.
“As for us, I thought you broke my son’s heart when you told him that story about the rape, but I understand now that you broke him long before that. I only wish I’d known then, so I could have left you in time to help him. You have so much charm, but there’s something in you that brings out the worst in people. You tempted my sister into adultery, and you even turned my own son against me. I know Cora was at fault also, but she was weak, and you took advantage. That’s what you do, Junius, you exploit human weakness. I know better than to hope that prison will change you any more than it did before, but I pray that you will someday find faith, or at least peace, behind those walls.
“I know I am not without blame in what happened to us. My heart was broken before you and I ever met, and that may be what doomed us. I don’t know. When you think of me, try not to be angry. We shared some joy in those early years. I still remember my first winter of snow, how magical it was to a Mississippi girl. I only learned to dread it later, much as I did with you. I suppose everything has both good and bad qualities. In spite of all, I thank you for the comfort you gave to me and my boy during the hard times in the beginning, and I forgive you for your weakness.
“May you find peace before you go to where I am going soon.
“Vee.”
“I don’t suppose that was a very easy letter to read,” Quentin says softly.
“No, sir.”
“And why did he read it?” Shad cries. “No man would read that without getting something in return. Especially a convicted con man!”
“I didn’t hear an objection, Your Honor,” Quentin says gently.
“Nor did I,” says Judge Elder. “Take your seat, Mr. Johnson.”
As I watch Shad sit, I realize that Lincoln, rather than trying to disappear into his seat, like Cora, is sitting ramrod straight and staring at Junius Jelks as though he means to kill him with his eyes. The ramifications of Jelks’s testimony—and Viola’s letter, if authentic—are just beginning to sink into my brain. Before I can reflect upon them further, Quentin drives the knife home.
“Mr. Jelks, did you inherit any money from your wife upon her death?”
A small, strange smile lights the old con man’s face. “I did.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand, eight hundred dollars.”
“Did that surprise you?”
“You could say that.”
“Did you inquire of anyone why this apparent mistake had been made?”
Jelks’s only response is a low laugh.
“Answer the question,” orders Judge Elder.
“No, I did not.”
“Given what your wife’s letter had said about disinheriting you, what did you think had happened? Did you think she’d had a change of heart?”
“Objection,” says Shad. “Leading.”
“Sustained.”
“What did you think had happened, Mr. Jelks?”
“Objection!” Shad shouts. “Vague.”
“Overruled.”