Mind Change

by T'Gracie Reese

  “At almost exactly nine o’clock, Lucinda opened the door.”

  “Then you went in, and had your meal.”

  “Yes.”

  “Alone.”

  “Yes.”

  “No one served you?”

  “No, Lucinda said she had dismissed the staff for the night. Everything was ready for us.”

  “How long were you with President Herndon?”

  “I don’t know. We sat by the fire and had cognac, then went into the kitchen and ate oysters. We had a nice time. I guess it took an hour.”

  “Then you left.”

  “Yes.”

  “And did what?”

  “Like I said earlier. I walked to the wine bar.”

  “Which one?”

  “I think it was on Hacker Street.”

  “And there you had drinks with Mr. Barnes.”

  “A drink. We had one drink a piece.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “I don’t remember,” Nina lied (because she did remember).

  But it was none of these people’s business.

  “What did Mr. Barnes talk about?”

  “It’s like I say, I don’t remember.”

  “Did he tell you what he’d been doing between the time you left him at the stadium and you met him at the wine bar?”

  “No.”

  “He said nothing at all about that period of time?”

  “Well, he…”

  “Well, he what?”

  “He said he’d been walking.”

  “Walking where?”

  She paused, knowing how her answer was going to sound.

  Then she answered, anyway, because there was nothing else she could do.

  “He said he couldn’t remember.”

  “He couldn’t remember?”

  “No.”

  “Had he been drinking? Before the wine bar, I mean?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I would know if he’d been drinking.”

  “So what you’re telling me is, you ate with the president, just the two of you. Then, around ten o’clock, you walked to a wine bar on Hacker Street, where you met Mr. Barnes. Mr. Barnes had attacked the provost earlier in the evening, because the provost had made a reference to you, Mr. Barnes’ girlfriend. You can be seen on camera embracing Mr. Barnes.”

  “I was just trying to hold him back.”

  “You can be seen on camera holding Mr. Barnes’ hand, even before the altercation had begun. Were you holding him back then?”

  “No.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “Holding hands. People hold hands sometime.”

  “But you were not having a romantic relationship with him?”

  “No.”

  “And during the time you had a glass of wine together at the wine bar, he could not remember where he’d been, or what he’d been doing, the hour and a half before the two of you met.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Didn’t that strike you as odd?”

  “Well, he had a good many things on his mind. He was thinking about…”

  “About luring the provost to his house under some pretense, and shooting him?”

  “No, that’s not what he was thinking about.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he was thinking about––”

  Going to bed with me going to bed with me going to bed with me––

  “He was thinking about––”

  “What? What, Ms. Bannister?”

  “He was thinking about––”

  The door to the room burst open and another officer burst in, saying:

  “Ms. Bannister’s attorney is here.”

  And Adam Marsh walked through the door.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: MEMORIES OF PERRY MASON

  She remembered the full white beard, the athletic build, and even the pronounced limp. But she had not remembered the sparkle in his blue eyes as he looked at her, and that turned colder as he addressed the others in the room.

  “Have you attempted an interrogation of my client without my being there?”

  Thompson:

  “We didn’t know she was your client.”

  “Well, whatever she said is not going to be admissible in any court, I hope you know that.”

  Thompson merely nodded and said, curtly:

  “She hasn’t said all that much, if you want to know the truth.”

  “Maybe because she doesn’t know all that much.”

  “She knows something, and we need to hear it.”

  “She needs to go home. She’s had a shock.”

  “At least she’s alive. That’s more than anyone can say for the provost. And as for her going anywhere, I’d forget that.”

  “Is she under arrest?”

  “She will be as soon as she tries to leave the building, with or without a lawyer. For God’s sakes, Marsh, a man was murdered not less than two hours ago. The body was found in Rick Barnes’ house. The victim had been attacked by Barnes—clearly with this woman urging Barnes on—on national television. Arriving officers found these two standing in the middle of the room, staring down at the body. And you want to do what? Walk out and take her to the nearest Holiday Inn?”

  Adam Marsh stepped forward and said, more softly now:

  “She’s a schoolteacher, not a Mafia hit man.”

  “I appreciate her profession; I’m sure she’s done a lot of good in her life.”

  “Let me just take her to her house, where she can spend the night. I’ll vouch for her. You can even surround the place with cops.”

  “She’s already in a place that’s surrounded by cops, and that’s where she’s going to stay. Think about it, do you really want to take her out of here? Why, man, the whole town is crawling with news media! There were a thousand here just to report on Herndon’s revolution, or whatever she’s calling it. Now the second most important official at the university gets his chest blown open with a twenty-gauge shotgun. You think you’re going to be able to drive her away from here and not be noticed? The provost’s wife, Amy? She’s grief-stricken and may have to be hospitalized. She’s shouting that Ms. Bannister and Mr. Barnes should be hanged immediately. And that she wants to tear both of them to pieces! Your client ought to be thankful we’re not turning her over to the press.”

  Adam Marsh was silent for a time; then he said:

  “All right. At least let me talk with her. Alone.”

  “That’s your right. Are you sure she’s really your client?”

  Marsh looked at her:

  “Nina, do you want me for a lawyer?”

  “Of course I do! Jackson Bennett is coming, but I don’t know when he’s going to get here.”

  “Jackson’s a good man; I know him. But for right now––” He then looked back at the circle of people surrounding them:

  “I’m her lawyer.”

  “All right. Take her down the hall, the officers will show you to a room.”

  “It would be nice if the officers could show us a couple of cups of coffee too.”

  “Okay, but don’t push your luck. You’ve got her for half an hour. Then she has to be processed.”

  That sounded ominous to Nina, but she tried to block it from her mind and think of only Marsh’s kind face, and the prospect of coffee.

  Within a matter of some minutes, she was looking at the one and sipping the other.

  They had been taken to a room that, if not exactly comfortable, was at least better than the way she imagined Auschwitz. It had on the wall the kind of pictures that could be purchased in supermarkets, and it was at least as cozy and welcoming as a doctor’s waiting room.

  The coffee was wretched, but there was Splenda to mask the taste.

  “How are you holding up to this ordeal, Nina?”

  She shrugged:

  “Not very well. I keep expecting to break out in tears.
I’m not sure why that hasn’t happened already.”

  “It hasn’t happened because you’re tough. I’ve just been talking to Rick about some of the things you’ve been through.”

  “Funny. I’ve been through a lot in the last year or so, but this is the first time I’ve been arrested for murder.”

  Marsh shrugged.

  “A retired high school English teacher living in a little Mississippi town. It had to happen eventually.”

  “I guess. Adam, where is Rick?”

  “Down the hall.”

  “Being questioned?”

  A shake of the head:

  “No, Rick called me immediately, even before he got here. I was able to stop them from interrogating him. Sorry I was too late in your case.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s like you, as well as can be expected.”

  “I’d like to see him.”

  “They’re not going to allow that, Nina.”

  “Why not?”

  He paused for a time, then breathed deeply and said:

  “Nina, they think the two of you killed this man.”

  “I know that, but––”

  “They want to keep you separated so that you can’t agree on your story.”

  “Our alibi.”

  “If you want to call it that. But you’ve got to believe me: Rick’s all right.”

  The air conditioner came on, went off, came on.

  She, possibly coming out of a state of shock, started remembering things.

  The way the wine had tasted; the way Rick’s eyes looked; the way it felt, the two of them, walking back from the wine bar––

  ––the body of the provost, staring up at her.

  And all the things that had happened since then.

  It was Adam Marsh’s voice that called her back to reality.

  “After we finish here, Nina, they’re going to process you.”

  “I know. I heard.”

  “That means they will fingerprint you. Have you ever been fingerprinted?”

  “No, but I’ve seen it done on TV. I think I’ll be able to manage.”

  “They’ll keep you here overnight. I think I can manage to get you away from the general population. It will be a spare room, but you’ll be alone.”

  “Well,” she said, “heaven for comfort, hell for society.”

  “That’s one way to look at it.”

  Silence for a time, then from Marsh:

  “I was able to talk with Rick. I don’t want to belabor all this now and burden you with details. Just let me be sure I’ve got this right: the two of you heard Herndon’s speech at the stadium. After that, Rick went walking, and you went to have a late dinner with the president. You met around ten o’clock at the wine bar. You each had one glass of wine, then walked together to his place. When you went inside, you found the provost’s body.”

  “Yes, that’s all true.”

  The door opened and a young policewoman stepped in.

  “Mr. Marsh?”

  “We have,” said Marsh, “at least another fifteen minutes.”

  “No, that’s not it, sir. It’s just that Officer Thompson wanted me to give you this.”

  She handed Marsh a sheet of paper and then left.

  Marsh regarded the paper for a time.

  “What is it?” asked Nina.

  “Report.”

  “Stating?”

  He shook his head.

  “We’ll go into it in a minute. But for now, Nina, I’ve got to ask you something. You can tell me the absolute truth, or you can just tell me to go to hell. But I’ve got to remind you, that there are two people it’s deadly to lie to: your doctor and your lawyer.”

  “Did you learn that in law school?”

  “No, I saw it on Perry Mason.”

  “Well, it’s good that you still have a sense of humor, Mr. Marsh.”

  “I’m not trying to be funny. And it’s Adam.”

  “All right, Adam. I understand what you’re saying. Ask away.”

  “Were you and Rick––”

  “We were going back to his place to go to bed together.”

  He looked down at the carpet as though embarrassed, then asked:

  “You hadn’t gone to bed together before?”

  “No.”

  “You had not been lovers?”

  “No. Am I going to have to go into this?”

  “I don’t know. But you were seen holding hands together, you had a glass of wine together, you walked around ten o’clock back to his place—if you deny at least some romantic interest, the prosecution is going to make you look like liars, and they’re going on to say that you must think the public consists of a bunch of imbeciles.”

  “I understand.”

  “So you’ll have to make that decision.”

  “All right. But now, Mr.—Adam, I have to ask some questions of my own.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “The story Rick and I told you is true. Down to the smallest detail. I didn’t add the part about my own personal feelings a few minutes ago with Officer Thompson because—well, I didn’t think that was any of his business.”

  “Okay.”

  “But now my question to you is: how did this happen? We were in Rick’s house earlier in the afternoon, about, say, nine o’clock. But not since then. And the provost was at the stadium at seven o’clock. At ten, he was lying dead on Rick’s sofa. What happened? How did he get there? Who shot him? And with what?”

  Marsh simply shook his head and said:

  “I don’t know how he came to be there, Nina. I don’t know who shot him. But I do know one thing, because it’s here in the report I just was handed.”

  “What?”

  “I know what he was shot with. He was shot with the twenty gauge shotgun that Rick and I always took with us when we went out to our cabin to shoot doves.”

  She sat for a time, stunned.

  The air conditioner went on and off.

  The next half hour was somewhat unreal. It was as though she were being tested for her driver’s license, given the number of questions asked and forms filled out. Adam Marsh came and went, pleading, always unsuccessfully, to have her released.

  These attempts culminated at precisely eleven thirty—she could remember glancing up at a circular clock above the door of whatever room she was in—when Penn Robinson walked in.

  He crossed the room hurriedly and embraced her. She took some comfort in the muscular upper body that was almost breaking her ribs.

  “Nina, I’m so sorry for all this. I just found out what happened a little over an hour ago. I’ve been with Rick.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He’s fine. He’s a tough guy. His main worry is about you.”

  “I’ll survive.”

  “We’re trying to get you out, so that you don’t have to sleep here tonight.”

  “I know.”

  “Rick told me the story. I’m writing it up myself. Clearly neither one of you has the slightest idea of how the man was shot, or who did it.”

  “No, we don’t. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “The main thing is that––”

  Roger Thompson entered the room then and walked straight to Nina. Looking down at her, he said:

  “Ms. Bannister?”

  “Yes?”

  “We need to take you into fingerprinting now.”

  She breathed deeply:

  “All right. If it has to be done––”

  “It has to be done. Then we have to get something for you to wear.”

  Robinson:

  “Roger, surely you can’t be serious about keeping her here.”

  “Of course, I’m serious. She’s our prime murder suspect.”

  “Look, what if I vouch for her!”

  “I don’t care who vouches for her. There is no way the woman leaves this building. If I let her do so, the district attorney would have my hide.”

  “The Gazette will be happy
to post bond.”

  “If there is bond. We’ll let a judge decide that tomorrow.”

  “But Roger, think! Does this look like a woman who pointed a twenty-gauge shotgun at a man and pulled the trigger?”

  “No, it looks like the girlfriend of a man who did that.”

  “If I and Adam Marsh––”

  “You and Adam Marsh can both go home.”

  “Is there no way at all that––”

  “There is no way at all, now stop wasting my time!”

  “There is no person who can help here?”

  “I’m telling you, there’s no one. No please let me do my job!”

  The door burst open at that point, and Peter Stockton entered.

  He glared for an instant at everyone in the room.

  Then he took a cell phone from his pants pocket, popped it open, and shouted into it:

  “All right, he’s here. Talk to him.”

  He handed the phone to Roger Thompson, who put it to his ear and said:

  “This is Roger Thompson.”

  Then silence, except for a few nods.

  Finally, Thompson clamped the phone shut and handed it back to Peter Stockton, who said, softly, to Nina:

  “Let’s go, Ms. Bannister.”

  Together, with no one making a move to stop them, they left the building.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: SANCTUARY

  A limousine, black and shiny and absurdly long, was waiting for them in a back alley.

  “Residence,” Stockton growled to the driver, who pulled slowly around the building and out into traffic.

  Nina settled back into the leather seat, said “Thank God,” to God, and “Who was on the cell phone?” to Peter Stockton.

  God answered by allowing her to stay in the limousine which was taking her away from jail; Peter Stockton answered by saying:

  “District Attorney.”

  “You know him?”

  “I made him. Without me, he’d still be dog catcher. And not very good at that damned job either. They’re all a bunch of idiots. Keep a lady like you in a jail overnight.”

  “Mr. Stockton––”

  “Pete.”

  “Pete, how did you learn about this mess?”

  “Hell, everybody knows about it. I heard on the evening news. Then I called Lucinda. I knew I could get you out, but I wasn’t too sure what I was going to do with you. Wouldn’t look too good, you staying at my place. She said what I hoped she would, that I could bring you over to the residence. You’ll get a good night’s sleep there; she and I will see to that.”