Mississippi Blood

by Greg Iles

  “I doubt it. The whole technology is classified.”

  “Then what the hell are we talking about it for? We might as well be discussing using a laser defense system.”

  “You’re wrong,” I tell Quentin. “At this point, the bureaucrats in D.C. will do just about anything to atone for the mess they’ve made of the Double Eagle investigation. Forty years of chasing somebody is too long. If the FBI can’t nail Snake Knox, how the hell can anyone believe they’ll ever apprehend top foreign terrorists?”

  Kaiser nods grimly. “As per instructions, I went to Shad and told him we’d like to take a look at those tapes in our crime lab.”

  “Nothing more?” I ask. “No hint that the Bureau might succeed where Sony failed?”

  “Shad wouldn’t need anything more,” Quentin says dejectedly.

  Kaiser looks down at his hands, then wipes them as though trying to remove some invisible residue. “I was prepared to wait until Dr. Cage’s trial was over to request the tapes. But it’s out of my hands now. Shad called one of his Harvard Law classmates, who happens to work for the attorney general. Those tapes are going to D.C. today on an FBI plane.”

  “Goddamn it!” Quentin bellows. “I thought those tapes were behind us.”

  “You can’t outrun the past,” I mutter.

  “It’s far from certain that the lab can restore those tapes,” Kaiser says, trying to offer us hope. “They might get only a partial restoration, or even none at all.”

  “How long does the process take?” Quentin asks.

  “That can vary. We’re talking about supercomputer time, plus bleeding-edge chemical and mechanical processes. It could take five hours, five days, or five months. There’s no way to know until they start.”

  Turning away from Kaiser, I kneel in front of Quentin’s chair. “How bad is this? I mean, if they succeed in restoring the tapes. I need to know.”

  Quentin shakes his head. Even if he knows, he’s not about to answer in Kaiser’s presence.

  “We’re already late,” Kaiser says. “I told Judge Elder I’d get you there on time. Let’s move.”

  After a last look into Quentin’s unreadable eyes, I stand, move behind his chair, and follow as he rolls quickly toward the door, which Kaiser holds open for him.

  Chapter 58

  Shad and Judge Elder are waiting when we arrive in Shad’s conference room. As we take our seats around the table, I find myself thinking about Joe Elder being the son of Claude Devereux, and how impossible that seems. It must seem even stranger to him. Does he hate Devereux the way Lincoln hates my father? If Quentin’s assessment can be trusted, he does.

  “Gentlemen,” the judge begins, “what happened today was not only a violation of the sanctity of my courtroom, but of the American judicial system. Agent Kaiser has determined that this poisoned needle contraption was triggered by someone in the courtroom using a radio detonator. I’m hopeful that the FBI and ATF will identify the killer in a very short time, and that you, Mr. Johnson, will seek the death penalty for him.” Elder nods at Kaiser. “I’m sure there will be federal charges as well, but I want whoever killed that witness to spend his last living hours in Mississippi.”

  “Absolutely, Your Honor,” Shad says unctuously.

  Our DA has periodically made noises about being against the death penalty, but never with much conviction, and whatever principle he may have believed he had, he throws to the wind before the judge’s anger.

  “What about this trial, Your Honor?” Quentin asks.

  Joe Elder gives Quentin a penetrating stare. “Are you hoping for a mistrial, Mr. Avery?”

  “Never entered my mind, Your Honor.”

  Shad looks at Quentin with ill-concealed shock.

  “I’m surprised, Mr. Avery,” Judge Elder says in his bass voice. “And gratified. For it is my intention to continue this trial.”

  “When?” Shad interjects.

  “Tomorrow, if possible, Mr. Johnson.”

  “What about security?” Quentin asks.

  “We have ATF bomb techs searching the courthouse now, and more on the way. They’ll have the building secured well before midnight. Federal agents will search and clear City Hall as well. The jail has just been designated a secure area, so Dr. Cage can be returned there.”

  “Judge,” I cut in, “I’m still concerned about my father’s safety.”

  “Your father will still be held in his own private cell,” Judge Elder assures me. “I’m well aware of the danger, Mayor Cage. I’ve also made the sheriff aware that I am aware.”

  “Thank you, Judge.”

  “What about the death of my star witness?” Quentin asks.

  Judge Elder’s lips draw tight before he speaks. “That was a regrettable tragedy, Mr. Avery. I suspect Mr. Devine’s murder dealt a serious blow to your case. However, unless you can bring Mr. Devine back from the grave, there’s nothing to be done. Not unless you want to move for a mistrial.”

  “I’ve resurrected a few dead cases in my time,” Quentin says, “but never a dead man.”

  The hint of a smile touches Judge Elder’s lips. “You’re being modest. I know of two men, at least, who were within hours of execution when you saved them from the gas chamber.”

  “In my prime,” Quentin says wearily, but not without pride. “But I’m willing to continue in this case, in spite of Mr. Devine’s murder. As I’ve told the mayor several times during this trial: I don’t want a mistrial, I want a fair trial.”

  Judge Elder sits up straight and smiles with relief. “Excellent. And I’m going to do everything within my power to ensure that your client gets that.”

  A little late, isn’t it? I want to say, but I stifle myself.

  “Now,” Judge Elder says, “let’s discuss the matter of these videotapes.”

  Quentin settles into watchful stillness in his wheelchair.

  “This opportunity to restore this type of media is unprecedented in my experience, and I want us all to be on the same page. Mr. Kaiser?”

  “It’s unprecedented in my experience as well, Judge. We’re talking about highly classified technology.”

  Joe Elder cocks his head to the side. “That certainly begs the question of why the FBI is willing to rush a forensic process on a tape for a state murder case.”

  Kaiser clears his throat. “I think it’s because this case has connections to civil rights murders involving the Double Eagle group, both past and present. Depending on what those erased tapes contain, they could have direct bearing on major federal cases. Obviously, we were involved in the plea negotiations that allowed Will Devine to testify today—or to attempt to. After his murder, my superiors instructed me to speak to the district attorney about getting those tapes to our crime lab for special processing. When I did, Mr. Johnson made a good guess about my intentions. Then he made some calls to an old Harvard classmate, and now we find ourselves here.”

  “That’s interesting,” says Judge Elder. “But we’re pretty late in these proceedings. Is it remotely possible that these tapes could be processed and restored in a reasonable time frame?”

  “Your Honor, I’m told that it might be,” Shad answers.

  Elder’s eyes move from Shad to Kaiser. “Agent Kaiser?”

  “I’ve been informed that we can transport the tapes on a Bureau plane. My agents can maintain an airtight chain of custody.”

  A sort of hiccup escapes Quentin’s throat, but to his credit he’s wise enough not to object to the proposed restoration of the tapes.

  “Mr. Avery?” says Judge Elder, turning to Quentin. “What’s your feeling about this?”

  “We’re open to anything that can shed more light on the events in Mrs. Turner’s house on the night of her death.”

  The judge’s gaze lingers on Quentin’s face. “Well, then. Agent Kaiser, make it so.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Shad freezes for a second, then tries to look natural. “Judge, we may have a small problem with that arrangement.”r />
  “What problem could that be, Mr. Johnson? Do you not trust the FBI?”

  “It’s not me, Your Honor,” Shad says quickly. “I have the highest respect for the Bureau. But I suspect that Sheriff Byrd might be reluctant to simply hand over the tapes to Agent Kaiser.”

  “Why would that be?”

  “He feels that Agent Kaiser has been shielding Dr. Cage from the beginning. Also Mr. Garrity, to a certain extent. The sheriff raised the question of why Agent Kaiser didn’t offer to restore the tapes when we learned that the manufacturer couldn’t do it.”

  “Is that so?” Judge Elder appears amused by this. “Well, I’ll sign a judicial order compelling the sheriff to turn over the tapes to Mr. Kaiser, so that he can sleep tonight without that dilemma weighing on him.”

  Shad takes his medicine with humility. “Thank you, Your Honor. I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

  Elder gives him a wry smile. “Outstanding. If there’s nothing else, I’ll see you all at nine a.m. With a little luck, we can give this case to the jury tomorrow.”

  “Ah, one more thing, Your Honor,” Shad says quickly, emboldened by his success with the tape restoration gambit. “During his opening remarks, Mr. Avery promised the jury that Dr. Cage would take the stand. Should we look forward to seeing that happen tomorrow?”

  Joe Elder looks as curious about this prospect as Shad. He inclines his head toward Quentin and raises one eyebrow.

  “Given today’s events, Your Honor,” Quentin says, “we haven’t made a final decision on that yet.”

  Elder’s eyes twinkle. “A little suspense, Mr. Johnson. I guess we’ll both find out tomorrow.”

  Shad nods slowly. “Your Honor, with all due respect, I have some concerns about scheduling going forward.”

  Joe Elder doesn’t like the sound of this. “Elaborate.”

  “First, I’m concerned that Mr. Avery will try to rush forward and close his case before the restored tapes can be delivered.”

  “Mr. Johnson, we’re not going to hold up this trial for a week waiting for tapes that might never come.”

  “Of course not, Your Honor. But if it’s a matter of one day or even two—”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Counselor.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. But that coin has another side. If Mr. Avery’s next witness is Dr. Cage, and the courtroom is ready tomorrow, I assume you will expect Mr. Avery to proceed with direct examination?”

  Judge Elder looks irritated for a moment, but then his eyes narrow in anger. “Mr. Johnson, don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining. You want Dr. Cage to have to testify before he has any idea whether those restored tapes will be played in the courtroom.”

  “That seems like the fairest thing all around, Your Honor.”

  “Except you want it both ways! You want him to testify first thing in the morning, but you don’t want Mr. Avery to be able to rest his case and give it to the jury if your precious tapes aren’t ready. Correct?”

  Shad gives the judge a wide-eyed look of innocence.

  “Mr. Avery hasn’t begged me for a recess until we know the outcome of the FBI’s efforts. He’s behaving like a professional.”

  “It’s a difficult situation, Judge.”

  Joe Elder nods slowly, the scowl still on his face. “I’ll reflect on all this tonight, but I’ll tell you one thing now. I’m inclined to move forward at our usual pace. If the Bureau can get those tapes here in time for them to play a part in this trial, so be it. But if they can’t, we will give the case to the jury.”

  Shad gulps audibly, then looks at Kaiser.

  “The ball’s in your court, Agent Kaiser,” Joe Elder says, getting to his feet. The former basketball player towers above us. “Please keep me apprised of any developments regarding today’s murder.”

  “Of course, Your Honor.”

  Elder makes his way to the door, then slips out.

  As soon as he disappears, Shad looks down at Quentin with triumph in his eyes. Quentin rolls himself to the door without looking back, like a tribal chief on a chariot, certain that I’ll follow like a loyal spear carrier.

  As I pass Shad, he catches my arm and whispers, “It’s over, Penn. Quentin had it won, but he’s lost it now. You should have defended your father. You know that.”

  “I guess that depends on what’s on those tapes, doesn’t it?”

  I don’t look left as I jerk my arm free, but I can feel Shad’s smile on my skin like a coat of oil.

  On the ground floor I find Quentin waiting with two of my bodyguards. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the old lawyer look as adrift as he does in this moment.

  “Guys, can we have a little space?” I ask.

  The guards turn their backs and move twenty feet away.

  “Quentin, you’ve got to ask Elder for a recess until we know whether those tapes are coming in. You should have asked him as soon as he made it clear he would allow the tapes in if they can be restored.”

  “He’s not going to look favorably on that.”

  “I know. But you can’t put Dad on the stand when there’s a chance the tapes could come in. If he denies knowing about either one, and then the content proves him a liar . . . that’s it. He’s going to Parchman.”

  “You heard your father earlier. He’s not going to do what I tell him to do.”

  “Would he actually get up there while that chance exists?”

  “He might.”

  “I want to see his face when you tell him about this. If he panics, then we’ll know something we didn’t know before. At least I will.”

  “Tom won’t panic. I’ve never seen him panic. But you’re not going to be there for that conversation.”

  “Why not?”

  “Penn . . . I’m too tired to have this argument again.”

  Anger rises in me with frightening force, but there’s nothing to be gained from yelling at Quentin. “Just tell me this, then. That tape they found in the hospital Dumpster. Did Dad put it there or not?”

  Quentin looks up at me with a far more convincing portrayal of ignorance than Shad Johnson could ever muster. “I don’t know.”

  I hear myself sigh. “That hospital serves a lot of doctors. Plenty of them probably have mini-DV cameras. I’m sure some even use them in their practices.”

  “Maybe,” Quentin allows, but his eyes tell me what he really believes.

  “If Dad did take both tapes . . . why would he erase one tape one way, and another a different way?” The question spins through my head for a few seconds. “And why would he ditch one immediately but hang on to the other for a week?”

  Quentin only shrugs, but the answer comes to me. “Oh, no.”

  “What?”

  “Dad felt like he owed it to Viola to hang on to the tape she made for Henry. He only erased it when he felt he had no choice. But the other—the one that was in the camera while the murder was committed—that one he erased the morning of the murder, by putting it through an MRI machine.”

  Quentin is shaking his head. “You don’t know that.”

  “No?”

  Before we can go any farther, John Kaiser steps out of the stairwell and into the lobby. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Shad pulled an end run, and I’ve got no way to stop him.”

  I wave him on.

  Kaiser ignores my gesture and walks up to us. “Look, there’s another angle to this that could help you guys out. There’ll be some powerful factions in the Bureau who’ll fight letting this capability become public in this way. Even if the tapes are successfully restored, the director, the attorney general, or even the president might refuse to authorize their release for use in a public trial. The precedent could have a lot of unintended consequences.”

  I consider the politics for a few seconds, then go with my instinct. “John . . . I have a feeling we’ve passed the tipping point. Those tapes are coming back to us, like a karmic punishment.”

  Kaiser looks like he’s genuinely torn between his
duty and his personal desires. “I have to be frank with you. I want Tom to be acquitted. But if those tapes are restored and authorized for release tomorrow, there’s no way I can slow them down. Too many people involved.”

  “We know that.” My voice is tight with frustration. “If you get any kind of progress report tonight, please give me a call.”

  He gives me an empathetic nod.

  “Thank you,” Quentin says. “Now you’d better get moving. I have a feeling your own people are watching you.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right. Thanks to Shadrach Johnson.”

  Kaiser pushes through the door and trots across the street to the brick monolith that houses the sheriff’s department and jail.

  “Quentin,” I say, watching Kaiser enter the ACSO building, “when I was eighteen, Dad was sued for malpractice. The case dragged on forever. He was finally exonerated, but the months of tension almost killed him. It was the cross-examination that did it.”

  “I know about that.” Quentin reaches out and squeezes my wrist. “Go home, Penn. Take care of Peggy and Annie. They shouldn’t have seen what they did today.”

  As I go through the door, I look back and focus on the white shock of hair, the shelled-pecan skin, the owl’s eyes. “Quentin, do you know what really happened in that house that night?”

  This time, when he looks back at me, I know that he doesn’t. Not any more than Walt Garrity did when he called his wife one lonely night three months ago.

  “My God, you’re flying blind. You can’t let Shad get at him, Quentin, no matter what. Shad will tear him to pieces.”

  Quentin nods with something near to anguish. “Tell me this, brother. How am I supposed to stop him?”

  Chapter 59

  The irrevocable events of our lives happen in seconds, sometimes fractions of seconds. A teenager leaps from the wrong rock and breaks his neck in shallow water. A single cell mutates, evades immune surveillance, races down the road to cancer. You pull distractedly into an intersection and wind up paralyzed. A young girl forgets to text a bodyguard and gets acid thrown in her face. A man settles into a witness chair . . .