This time Cora pauses, and my lawyer’s instinct tells me it’s the pause of a deceptive witness trying to be sure her lies dovetail before she answers.
“I can’t rightly say. Whatever it was, Dr. Cage had been involved somehow, but more in the way of covering up what Viola had done.”
“Your Honor, may I approach the witness?”
“You’re fine where you are, Counselor.”
Quentin’s brake clicks and his wheels squeak, as though he’s stopped suddenly or made a sharp turn.
“Cora, you testified to being shocked at the idea that your sister could be guilty of a serious crime, yes?”
“Of course I was.”
“Because she didn’t steal, not even candy as a child?”
“That’s right.”
“And she was most assuredly not the type to cheat, counterfeit, assault, forge, or kidnap?”
After a few seconds of what must be shocked silence, Quentin says, “I need you to answer out loud, Cora.”
“Vee wouldn’t do nothing like that.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Shad says angrily. “These questions are patently absurd. Irrelevant. Insulting. Take your pick.”
“Judge,” says Quentin in a folksy voice, “I’ve given opposing counsel a remarkable amount of latitude during his examinations, and I’m afraid I must note that he has not returned the courtesy. He’s as jumpy as a puppy who needs a newspaper.”
“Mr. Avery,” Judge Elder says sharply, “just because you’ve been lazy with your objections doesn’t mean the district attorney should hold himself to the same standard.”
“Ouch,” I say aloud, wishing I could see Quentin’s face.
“Miss Cora,” Quentin resumes, “do you realize that we are now left with only one crime on which the statute of limitations has not run out?”
“I don’t know much about the law, sir.”
“My point, Cora, was that after six or seven years, the only crime your sister, as we know her, would have had to fear being punished for was murder.”
I can sense the shock of the spectators even through the phone.
“Oh, Lord. That can’t be right.”
“I’m afraid it is. Can you think of anyone whom your sister might have had reason to kill in 1968?”
“No, sir! Good Lord. I can’t even imagine such a thing!”
“But you’re sure that Viola had been raped by Ku Klux Klansmen that year. 1968?”
“Yes, sir. I do know that.”
“Cora, have you ever heard the name Frank Knox?”
I feel light-headed enough to pass out. If Quentin establishes that Dad and Viola shared complicity in a secret murder, that gives Dad more motive to have killed Viola, not less. On the other hand . . . it would also give Snake Knox and the Double Eagles an even more personal motive: revenge.
The silence after the Knox question lasts so long that I wonder whether my phone battery has gone dead, but then Quentin’s grandfatherly voice says, “Miss Cora? Frank Knox?”
Even the hiss from the earpiece sounds brittle with expectation. Nearly everyone in that courtroom has heard of Frank Knox.
“The name sounds familiar,” she says finally, “like from a long way back.”
“Objection,” Shad says. “Irrelevant.”
“Your Honor,” Quentin responds, “I am going to be delving very deeply into the history of the Double Eagle group during this trial. This is only the beginning.”
After a long delay, Joe Elder says, “I’m going to allow it, but this line of questioning had better lead somewhere quick.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Cora, Frank Knox was a former Ku Klux Klansman who founded a terrorist group called the Double Eagles. They were the leading FBI suspects in the rape of your sister in 1968.”
“Lord Jesus.”
“Did Viola ever mention that name to you?”
“I don’t recollect that. Like I said, that was a long time ago.”
“But you seem to remember everything else very clearly. I was hoping that name might not have escaped you. Do you remember a man dying in Dr. Cage’s office that year?”
My hands are quivering the way they used to before I went into court to cross-examine a critical witness.
“I don’t . . . know,” Cora says almost inaudibly.
“He was a factory worker, badly injured at the Triton Battery plant. He was taken to Dr. Cage’s office, where your sister was helping to stabilize him for transport to the emergency room. But he died in Dr. Cage’s surgery room. Viola was treating him when it happened.”
“You know, it seems like I do remember somethin’ ’bout that. Vee must have told me about it.”
“That man was Frank Knox, Cora. The founder of the Klan offshoot group that specialized in terrorizing and murdering African-Americans in this area. They burned buildings, beat black people, killed black people. They also raped black women.”
“Mm.”
“And you remember Viola telling you that she was haunted by a terrible crime? One that had happened before she left Natchez?”
The pause is almost painful. “Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, Cora. No further questions at this time, Your Honor.”
Out of the empty hiss, I hear Rusty Duncan whisper, “Holy shit. Did you hear all that?”
Unmuting my phone, I whisper, “I heard it.”
“Did you know about any of it?”
“Some.”
“Am I wrong, or is Babe Ruth back and swinging for the fence?”
“I don’t know,” I confess. “I don’t know what the hell he’s doing. I think my blood pressure’s about two hundred over one hundred.”
“I’m hanging up. I’ll text you in a minute.”
The phone goes dead in my ear.
“What happened?” Annie asks from the floor. “You look happy.”
“I’m not sure. But things might look a little better than they did before. I think.”
“Did Mr. Quentin do something right?”
My cell phone pings in my hand. “I sure hope so.”
Rusty’s text reads:
3:12 p.m. Shad just recalled Billy Byrd. Elder asked if questioning would take long. Shad said no. Elder taking 15 minute break. Bathroom, probably. You should feel the vibe in here, man. Feels like 1965. It’s like the Klan’s in here with us.
Billy Byrd? I say to myself. What can Bill Byrd testify about beyond the forensics?
“What, Daddy? What did Mr. Quentin do?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, still dazed by Quentin’s cross. “But I know what he didn’t do.”
“What?”
“He didn’t ask about the videotape.”
“What videotape?”
“The one in Henry’s camera.”
“Daddy, I don’t understand.”
Annie is trying hard to help me, despite being confused.
Fifteen minutes, I think, my heart kicking in my chest.
“What was on the tape, Daddy?”
“Annie,” I say, sitting up and taking one of her hands in mine, “there’s one more witness against Papa today, and Mr. Rusty says Quentin needs my help to handle him.”
Her eyes widen.
“Do you think you can do without me for an hour?”
She bites her lip for about three seconds, then nods.
“Mia must still be around, right?”
“She is. She probably just wanted us to have some time together.” Annie smiles with conscious bravery and gets to her feet. “Miiiaaaa?”
Quick footsteps sound on the staircase, then Mia’s head pops through the door. “What’s up, kid?”
“Daddy’s got to run to court for one more witness.”