“Did you know Dad was Lincoln’s father at that point?”
“No. No one had ever told me that. But I’d always feared it, of course, down deep. That’s why . . .”
“What?”
“Tom wasn’t the only one who sent Viola money all those years.”
“Tell me, Mom.”
“Didn’t you wonder where all that money they kept talking about came from? The money in Viola’s will? If you listened early on, you know that Junius Jelks spent everything she earned. But then all of a sudden she had seventy-two thousand dollars to leave to Henry Sexton and her family?”
“You sent that?”
Mom nods on the pillow. “Over the past thirty-seven years. And Viola never spent a dime of it. She cashed the checks, all right, but she put the money in a secret account to save for her son. Tom was right when he talked about Viola’s dignity. She was too proud to ever use that money for herself. She saved it for Lincoln, praying the day would come when she could trust him with it, or trust Jelks not to steal it from him some way.”
“Dad never knew you were sending that?”
“Lord, no. I took it out of the money he gave me to run the house. You and Jenny and I had to do without some things, but that was a small price to pay to keep Viola and her baby in Chicago.”
The thought that for more than three decades my mother operated in this dual reality is hard to fathom. “Good God, Mom.”
She shrugs under the sheet. “We do what we have to do. Anyway . . . Viola was well aware that my money hadn’t paid the debt I owed her. Because that night, she called in her marker.”
“What do you mean?”
“She told me that she’d stayed away all those years, even though she was miserable a lot of the time, and now she needed my help.”
My heart flutters. “What did she want?”
Mom’s eyes harden. “She wanted me to do what your father couldn’t.”
“You didn’t inject her with adrenaline—”
“No. Morphine. There was a nearly full bottle there, just out of her reach. Tom had given her enough to sedate her, but he’d diluted it with saline.”
“On the stand he said Viola would have caught him if he tried that.”
Mom shakes her head. “He was just trying to protect me when he said that. He injected her in a deep vein, in the inner thigh. She couldn’t see down there. Her muscular control was very poor by then. That’s why she couldn’t inject herself.”
“I thought it was because she was a devout Catholic.”
“Well . . . that, too, I suppose. Are you ashamed of me? For doing that?”
“I’m just surprised. I don’t know why, though.”
“Penn, if you had been there . . .” With great effort, Mom lifts her left hand and touches my cheek. “Do you remember when Sarah was suffering like that?”
If I truly open myself to that period of my life, horror and pain flood in like a black tide. “I remember.”
“Viola’s physical pain wasn’t as bad as Sarah’s, but her emotional state was worse. Far worse. Sarah was taken from a happy life, a beautiful family. But Viola died believing she had failed her only child. That’s almost unendurable for a mother.”
Mom is in the grip of confession now, willing herself forward. “That’s why I agreed to do it. Your father loved her too much, but I could put myself in her place. I realized how lucky I’d been to have the life I’d had with you and Jenny, and I owed all that to Viola’s sacrifice. We all owed her, Penn.” My mother’s eyes shine with unshakable conviction. “Because she could have taken your father from us, if she’d wanted to.”
“Mom, you’re wrong.”
She forces a smile and nods, making a show of believing me, but the truth is in her eyes.
“So, it was you who botched the morphine at her antecubital vein?”
“Of course it was. Viola’s veins were in terrible shape, especially the big one at the elbow, which was the only one I had any chance of hitting. I pushed straight through the vessel. But I didn’t know that at the time. I have no medical experience. I left that house believing I had euthanized her.”
“Was that the only injection you gave her?”
“Yes.”
“And you drew the morphine out of the bottle yourself?”
“Yes.”
“How long after that did you leave the house?”
“As soon as Viola fell unconscious. I felt I should stay with her, but she’d told me I should leave. And once she was asleep, I felt so alone. Alone and afraid. I didn’t think there was any chance she would wake up.”
“And you never realized there was a tape in the camera?”
“God, no. I never even considered that.”
I blink in disbelief as the sequence of events comes clear in my mind. “So you couldn’t have killed her.”
My mother swallows audibly. “No. Sometimes I wake up wondering if the pharmacy somehow mislabeled the bottle, but Tom assured me they didn’t. The murder investigation would have uncovered that.”
“He’s right. Plus, if you’d injected that adrenaline, you would have known instantly. It would have hit Viola’s system before you got out of the room. She’d never have passed out. No, someone injected that adrenaline after you left.”
Relief fills her eyes, lessens some of the tightness in her face.
“The question is, who?”
“You don’t think it was Cora, do you?” she asks. “Or Lincoln? After all that business about the will? My God, it’s too horrible to think about.”
“I don’t think Cora could do that. Lincoln . . . I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“I don’t believe he did it,” she says. “It had to be Snake Knox. And he’s still out there somewhere. That’s the hell of all this. The absurdity. Tom is in jail, and that monster is walking free, still killing people—”
“Take it easy, now.” I suddenly have the feeling she’s trying to distract me from something. “Mom, look at me. And answer one question. Did Dad go back to Cora’s house after you left?”
Her eyes widen, but her mouth remains still.
My pulse is picking up, and my face feels hot. “Did Dad do it, Mom? Did he inject that adrenaline?”
“No, Penn. He told me he didn’t.”
“What did he say happened?”
My mother looks like a trapped animal; I’ve seen thousands of witnesses and defendants look that way.
“Did you and Dad talk on the morning Viola died?”
“Penn, I don’t want to keep anything from you. But if you want to know more, you’re going to have to speak to your father. I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing. And I don’t ever want to put you in a position where you’d have to lie. During this whole trial, I’ve been terrified that Shad Johnson would call me to the stand. Spousal privilege isn’t absolute, you know. I didn’t know that until I started researching it, but it’s true. I’ve been close to breaking every day of this accursed business.”