by Greg Iles
9:34 a.m. Less obvious than txting. U may not be able to hear tho. Let’s test it in a bit. Still text 4 now
I hear Drew’s heavy tread descending the stairs. I meet him in the hall, and I can see instantly that the news isn’t good.
“Well?” I prompt him.
“Mrs. St. Denis is going to need a psychiatric consult. She’s been living with a repressed trauma for decades, as I’m sure you know. The assault on her mother-in-law has triggered an unbearable level of terror and guilt. I think she’s a suicide risk, Penn. I sedated her. She doesn’t seem to have any family she feels comfortable having handle this. I met Serenity, and Dolores seems to trust her, but that’s no long-term solution. Do you have any sort of plan?”
“I’ll do whatever you advise, Drew. But I’m going to have to bring the FBI into this. There’s the question of her personal safety. That woman up there can put Snake Knox on death row in Angola.”
Drew nods, but I see more than a trace of judgment in his eyes. “If you’re waiting for her to sit in a courtroom with Snake Knox and tell a jury that he raped her and murdered her husband, you’re going to be waiting a long time. That’s my feeling, anyway. But you’re right to call the FBI. We’ve had enough innocent people hurt lately.”
“Speaking of that, how’s Keisha doing?”
He shakes his head. “I shipped her up to UMC in an ambulance this morning.”
The weight of this news, on top of Cleotha Booker, is almost too much.
“One more thing,” says my old friend. “Annie is having a significant anxiety reaction. She’s trying to cope, but down deep I think she’s regressing to the state she was in after Caitlin was killed. I think death is the trigger, Penn. She simply can’t deal with loss, not even the aura of it. Which shouldn’t surprise us, given how she lost her mother, and others in her life.”
“Drew . . . goddamn it. Tell me what to do.”
He lays a hand on my shoulder and looks into my eyes. “Forget about going back to the courthouse. Annie needs you here, within reach. You understand? Mia alone is not enough.”
“I understand. I’ll stay.”
“And you’ll call the FBI?”
“The second you leave.”
“Okay. I’ll check back in about three hours.”
When Tim pulls the door shut after Drew, I take out my cell phone and, ignoring the latest texts from Rusty Duncan, speed-dial John Kaiser.
“Penn,” he answers. “What’s up?”
“John, listen. Are you in Natchez right now?”
“Yeah. What’s going on? I heard you left the courtroom.”
“Buddy . . . I’ve got an eyewitness who can testify to Snake Knox committing rape and murder. The victim was her husband.”
First there’s only silence. Then Kaiser says, “Who the hell are you talking about?”
“I can’t tell you that unless you promise to go very easy with this woman. She does not want me to call the Bureau. In fact, she’s told me she would recant everything if I did.”
“Are you sure she’s on the level?”
“John, if she ever decides to testify, she’ll be God’s gift to whatever prosecutor gets Snake’s case.”
“If she didn’t want you to call me, why did you?”
“Her life’s in danger. I think her mother-in-law was assaulted last night. She’s probably close to death now, if not dead already.”
“Good God. Where’s this woman now?”
I hesitate, then decide to trust him. “At my Washington Street house. But you may not be able to talk to her for a while. Drew just sedated her. This is the witness you’ve been looking for from the beginning, John. Don’t blow it by rushing her, okay? If you come, come alone.”
“Message received. I can be there in . . . is an hour okay?”
“Two might be better. I told you, she’s out for now. And I need to figure out how to explain you showing up.”
“I’ll see you around lunch, then. Just me.”
I hit end, then text Serenity: Are you okay? She’s only upstairs, but something tells me that Dolores St. Denis might not want me barging into her room.
The reply comes in twenty seconds: D finally sleeping for real. I’m going to stay with her for now. Worried she might harm herself if she wakes alone.
I type: I just talked to FBI. They’re going to have to be involved. If only for protection, not testimony. John Kaiser will come alone. Will not pressure D. Think about how we can convince D she’ll be safe with them.
This time there’s a delay. Then Serenity types: You mean how we can lie?
NO, I answer.
We killed Cleotha Booker, Penn. We led them to her.
Serenity is obviously overcome with guilt.
She’s not dead yet, I type. I’ll talk to you in a while. Let me know if I can bring anything up.
I wait for an answer, but my phone remains quiet.
Walking back to the kitchen, I take out a cold Tab, drink half the can in one fizzy rush, then sit down and scan Rusty’s most recent messages. They seem like missives from some faraway proceeding to which I’m only incidentally connected. I suddenly realize that I’m using them to escape the guilt I feel at what’s happened to the Cat Lady.
9:37 a.m. When Cora found Viola dead, she panicked. Felt like “man walking in space.” She called Lincoln, not Tom, and then told Linc about suicide pact. Linc furious. Almost in Natz by then. Told Cora call 911, ask for paramedics and ACSO.
9:39 a.m. Lincoln arrived on scene just after Sheriff’s Department.
9:45 a.m. Shad tenders witness, reserves right to recall Cora.
Shad is reserving the right to recall Cora because he wants to stay focused on the forensic case and not disturb the timeline he’s engraving in the minds of the jury. But she will be back, and her testimony will likely be the stuff of daytime melodrama.
9:46 a.m. Holy shit! Quentin said “No questions” AGAIN! Not going to cross! WTF?
Now my pulse is picking up. I can’t imagine any possible reason that Quentin would let Cora Revels leave the stand without cross-examining her.
9:48 a.m. Shad looks like the cat who ate canary. He can’t believe his luck. I can’t either. Why is Q lying down? Alzheimers for real???
9:53 a.m. Shad called Sheriff’s Detective Joiner to stand.
10:06 a.m. Joiner says deputies assumed they working asst suicide case. Found morphine vial, syringe, hairs and fibers, yadda yadda. Bagged and tagged all. Found camcorder on tripod, no tape.
10:19 a.m. Shad tenders witness and . . . NO FUCKING CROSS! You gotta get down here man. You have 2 fire Quentin. Obvs malpractice! Shad dragging your dad to Parchman with nobody pulling the other way on the rope.
In less than an hour, my bewilderment has escalated to anxiety, frustration, and now outright anger.
10:24 a.m. Sheriff Byrd on stand now.
10:32 a.m. Byrd testifies Shad showed him the tape of V’s death at 1:07 p.m. Monday 12-12 and said he was first person other than Shad to see it. Shad explained Henry Sexton provided camera, recording made accidentally. Sexton pointed out existence of recording. Shad, Byrd put tape into evidence, later had copy made by pro.
10:44 a.m. Shad tendered Byrd, reserved right to recall. No cross from Quentin. No surprise. I need some f’ing Xanax.
Rusty doesn’t even bother to raise hell this time. Every lawyer in the courtroom must be about to burst, but of course no one can say anything.
10:49 a.m. Fingerprint expert on stand. Prints on syringe and vial your dad’s. Immediate AFIS match based on your dad’s gun carry permit. Yawn.
11:01 a.m. Shad tenders witness. No cross. u surprised?
11:08 a.m. Hair and fiber xpert. Your dad’s hair all over the scene. DNA match. Carpet fibers from your dad’s house all over. Shad tenders . . . no cross. Too depressing to watch, man. This is going to be a conviction in world record time. Q’s lost it. I’ll take over if u want. It’s that bad.
I’m definitely panicked now. My heart is h
eaded into tachycardia, and it’s all I can do to keep Annie from realizing how upset I am.
11:10 a.m. More hearsay now. Judge unfazed. Shad says his office contacted by Lincoln Turner and told about suicide pact. He called the mayor and asked him to speak to his father about what happened.
It’s improper for the DA himself to read something like this into the record, but Judge Elder seems to be proceeding on the premise that Quentin’s failure to object waives Dad’s right to keep it from the jury.
11:14 a.m. Later same morning, Henry Sexton informed DA that a camera he left in decedent’s room had a hard drive on it. They checked said drive and found the tape you watched, showing the death of VT 5:38 a.m. Monday, December 12th. Dr Cage refused to answer questions on any of those events.
11:18 a.m. Judge mentions lunch, but Shad calls one more witness. Leo Watts, asks to treat him as hostile. Elder grants.
Leo Watts is a local pharmacist and longtime friend of my father’s. By asking to treat Leo as a hostile witness, Shad will be allowed to ask him leading questions on the stand. Furthermore, the jury will know that they are hearing testimony from someone predisposed to view my father in a favorable light.
11:23 a.m. Leo says your dad prescribed morphine for V ever since she got back. Lethal amounts. Big whoop. Most terminal cancer patients have that. Q must bring this out on cross! Shad asking about adrenaline. Leo admits your dad has written adrenaline scrips for himself. Not in long time though. Says many docs with heart disease keep adrenaline vials around house, in car, but Shad cuts him off.
11:34 a.m. Leo reluctantly admits Tom prescribed potentially lethal amnts drugs to people w endstage cancer, AIDS, etc. if patient were to take overdose. Says not uncommon, but Shad cuts him off again. Pray Shad doesn’t have disgruntled patient family ready to testify to asst suicide in past. Tho I guess would b better than murder 1.
I type: If he doesn’t, it’s not for lack of looking.
11:37 a.m. Shad just let Leo go. Quentin HAS to cross here, let Leo say what he wants, undo damage.
11:39 a.m. No questions from Q! I’m in shock. Lawyers in crowd freaking out. This is an emergency.
11:44 a.m. Recessing for lunch. On my way 2 your house. We gotta stop this circus!
“Daddy?” Annie asks, and her voice startles me so badly that I shove the kitchen table forward with a screech.
“I’m sorry,” she says from just inside the kitchen door. “I just wanted to let you know I’m okay. For real.”
Mia stands in the hall behind her, looking far from certain of that.
I reach out and pull Annie to me for a hug. “I’m glad, Boo.” I glance up at Mia over her shoulder. “How’s Dolores doing?”
“Serenity’s still in her bedroom with her.”
After a few seconds, Annie pulls back and looks into my eyes. “Daddy, you look almost like you did when you heard Caitlin’s phone message at the church.”
Can I tell my eleven-year-old daughter the truth? That I feel as though my father is dying of some terrible disease, and I’ve turned him over to a renowned surgeon who seems to have forgotten basic anatomy and whatever surgical technique he ever possessed.
“It’s just the trial, Annie. From what Rusty tells me, Mr. Quentin’s not doing what he should be doing in the courtroom. He’s not doing what I would do, anyway.”
Annie sticks out her lower lip. “I told you in the beginning you should be defending Papa.”
“I’m afraid that’s not really an option. But Mr. Rusty’s on his way here. He and I are going to talk about what to do. I may need to go down to my study with him for a while.”
She nods quickly. “It’s okay.”
“And John Kaiser’s going to be coming over as well. To try to help Mrs. Dolores.”
“Good. I’m really okay, Dad. You do what you have to do.”
Chapter 25
Taking advantage of Annie’s temporary calm, I climb the stairs to meet Serenity outside Dolores’s guest room. I wait for half a minute, and then Serenity slips through the door and leaves it cracked enough so that she can monitor her charge. Through the opening I see a woman lying on her side beneath white bedclothes, her arms clenched around a pillow. Even from this distance I get the sense that she is twitching and jerking in her drug-induced sleep.
“How is she?” I ask.
Tee just looks back at me with sadness and anger in her eyes.
“Has she been conscious at all since we talked?”
“Twice. I mentioned the FBI to her. I didn’t want to, but we obviously need some help. Somebody tried to kill that old woman, Penn. All I can see when I’m sitting in there is that shack full of cats waiting for a woman that’ll never come home.”
“I know.”
“That’s on us, Penn.”
“I know it is.” After a few moments of silence, I say, “What do I tell Kaiser when he gets here?”
Serenity bites her lip. “Send him up and tell him to knock very softly. I’ll handle it from there.”
“Okay.”
I hear a rustle from the bedroom.
“Later,” Tee says, and the door shuts in my face.
Back in the kitchen, I speed-dial Quentin’s cell phone, but it kicks me straight to voice mail. He’s probably piloting his wheelchair through a gauntlet of cameras waiting outside the courthouse, with Doris walking point for him. I know better than to worry that he’ll reveal his strategy to reporters, but since he’s doing almost nothing in the courtroom, maybe he plans to try the case in the media?
Our house phone rings, startling me. The caller ID shows my mother’s cell phone.
“Mom?” I answer.
“No, it’s Rusty! We’re stuck in traffic near the courthouse. It’s insane. I’ve got everybody in my Town Car. Tim’s guys are behind us in the Yukon. We won’t have much time when we get there, so I’m going to play you what I recorded of the pathologist’s testimony over your mother’s phone. Then you’ll be on the same page with us.”
“Okay, go.”
“It’s on my little Sony microcassette. Forgive the crap sound.”
After a high-pitched howl of feedback, two voices begin speaking through a digital hiss. One belongs to Shad Johnson, leading the witness so egregiously that I can’t believe Quentin is not objecting; the other to a Dr. Adam Phillips, the state medical examiner.
“Could an elderly physician with severely restricted hand mobility make such a mistake with a simple injection, Dr. Phillips?”
“Of course. Even young physicians with healthy hands miss veins, or punch through them. Especially veins that have been worn out by toxic chemotherapy agents.”
“Do physicians under great stress tend to make more mistakes than those who are not?”
“The statistics support that. But physicians are trained to operate under stressful conditions. That’s the nature of the job.”
“What if the stress were psychological and deeply personal? Unrelated to the job?”
“Severe stress of that type would increase the odds of making a mistake for any physician, as it would for any professional attempting to do his job.”
“But Dr. Cage would have seen that the morphine was not killing his patient, would he not?”
“If he stayed at the scene. Did he stay at the scene?”
“Let me ask the questions, Dr. Phillips. Would it have been to Dr. Cage’s advantage to stay at the scene? If his goal was to murder the patient and not be found out?”
“Well, of course. If he had stayed at the scene, then Mrs. Turner would have died under a doctor’s care. No autopsy would have been required. If he wanted to kill her, or murder her, he’d have been home free. Unless the family raised a stink.”
The question of whether or not Dad was present at Viola’s house during her death comprises the central hole in Shad’s case, and to my knowledge, no evidence proves that he was. The idea that Quentin would let this kind of leading questioning proceed without objecting is simply beyond me.
�
��How long after the botched morphine injection would it have taken for a doctor at the scene to realize the drug was not killing his patient?”
“That’s hard to say. It depends on a lot of factors, and a patient’s morphine tolerance can’t be determined after death.”
“Can you make an educated guess?”
“Between ten and thirty minutes. With as little morphine as got into her bloodstream, Mrs. Turner might have remained conscious the whole time, or she might have awakened after only a few minutes of sedation.”
“All right. Why would a doctor administer adrenaline after seeing that the morphine was not having its intended effect? Would he do it to resuscitate her? To try to bring her back to life?”
This question is improper on so many grounds that I wouldn’t know where to begin to object. Shad is obviously implying to the jury that Dad injected the adrenaline, when he has presented no evidence that he did so. Yet Quentin does not object!
“A knowledgeable physician would not use adrenaline in that situation, no. He would know that adrenaline does not counteract the effects of an intravenous morphine overdose. For that he would need naloxone. I suppose that if he were desperately trying to save the patient, he might hope it would help keep her alive until paramedics arrived to take her to the hospital. But the evidence shows that a lethal dose of morphine never reached Mrs. Turner’s brain, so why would he try to resuscitate her? She could not have been dying from the morphine.”
What if she were dying of something else? I make a note to ask on cross, as if I will actually get the chance to question this witness.
“Precisely,” says Shad. “And in this case, no paramedics were called, Doctor. Furthermore, we know from the hard drive recording that the doctor was not performing chest compressions on the patient subsequent to the adrenaline injection. What does that suggest to you?”
“Object, Quentin,” I mutter, “you son of a bitch.”
“Medically, I can’t make sense of it. Not if his objective was to save the patient. But then, why would he be trying to save her at all if she had signed a DNR directive? Adrenaline is used to yank patients back from the precipice of death. A DNR order is signed for the specific purpose of preventing the use of such drugs.”