Michael Lister - Power in the Blood

“I just think that the damage has already been done. Words are something that can never be taken back. Never. I just wonder what my inmates are thinking. How can they ever trust me again?”

“From what I’ve heard, they know what’s going on. They probably all know about Skipper, and it sounds like most of them are discovering what a wonderful man you are. They’re probably a lot more forgiving and believing than someone on the street.”

“The vast majority of them are guilty and have no difficulty believing that everybody is guilty. They probably aren’t surprised by what they’ve heard about me, but they probably do believe it.”

“So what are you going to do?” she asked.

“I am going to testify tomorrow in Skipper’s probable-cause hearing and see what happens, but I can’t imagine ever going back to Potter Correctional Institution.”

“Well, you obviously don’t have much of an imagination,” she said and then smiled warmly enough to melt some of the ice of my isolation.

There were really only two questions that Skipper’s lawyer had for me. They had already established an alibi for Skipper during the time in which Johnson was killed. Skipper’s lawyer, Gilbert Hamilton, was a short, round man from Alabama with a Southern gentleman’s exterior and a predator’s interior.

He was overweight by at least a hundred pounds, and he carried it all at the center of his body. His hair, what little of it there was, he wore closely shaven in a partial crew cut. He was wearing a light blue pinstriped suit with a white shirt roughly the size of a two-man tent, a burgundy tie with navy blue stripes, and matching suspenders. He reminded me of Boss Hog.

“Now, Mr. Jordan, I have only two questions for you, which if answered honestly will prove that the state does not have a case against my client, Captain Matthew Skipper.”

He pronounced it “Skippa.”

“First, in the matter of attempted murder, did Captain Skipper, at any time . . . Let me rephrase the question. Has Captain Skipper at any time ever laid a hand on you?”

I started to answer, but he continued to talk.

“Has he,” he continued, enjoying listening to the sound of his voice reverberate off the wooden walls of the small courtroom, “ever so much as laid a finger on you?” He pronounced it “finga.”

I looked at him to see if he was through.

“You may answer the question, son,” he said.

“No, sir. He has never laid so much as one finger on me,” I said, being careful to enunciate properly. I did not wish to sound anything like the man questioning me.

“Thank you, sir, for your candor and honesty. I have always found it to be the best policy, haven’t you?”

I started to respond, but he continued talking.

“Now,” he said, “think long and hard about this next question before you answer, and I remind you that you, sir, are still under oath. On Saturday night a week ago, were you following Captain Skipper between the hours of twelve thirty and one thirty A.M.?”

I started to answer, but he continued. “All I am looking for here is a yes or no answer. Were you following him during the time that the county medical examiner says Russ Maddox was murdered?”

“Yes, sir, I was,” I said, followed by an audible gasp from the courtroom.

“So you are saying that you are his alibi then, sir?”

“Yes, sir, I guess that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Nothing further, Your Honor,” Hamilton said, and it sounded like “Nuthin’ futha, ya hona.”

I was Skipper’s alibi. That was the kicker. I looked over at Skipper, seated with Hamilton at the defendant’s table. When he caught my eye, he winked and smiled widely, showing me all of his yellow tobacco stains. He looked happier than I had ever seen him look. He was now more convinced than ever of the myth of his invulnerability. But I knew better.

My entire appearance in court had taken less than fifteen minutes. I was exhausted. I went home to rest-but not for long. I had to figure out whodunit, so I went in search of clues. The only problem was I couldn’t find them because of the vigor with which Laura and Anna had cleaned my trailer.

I looked high and low. I searched every room, every cabinet, every closet, and every nook and cranny. Still I couldn’t find them. I called Anna at the institution.

“How did your day in court go?” she asked immediately. I told her, but she knew already. After all, this was Pottersville.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” I said, “but I’m feeling felinely and trying not to get killed.”

She thought for a minute, “So, what are you so curious about?”

“Very good. I didn’t think you were going to get that.”

“Scary, isn’t it? So, how can I help with your feline pursuits?”

“You can tell me where you put the videos that were on top of my TV.”

“The Disney tapes?” she asked immediately.

“Yes.”

“I took them to watch. I’ve heard how good Aladdin and The Lion King are. I wanted to watch them. You don’t mind, do you?”

I laughed. “Those are the tapes from Maddox’s private collection.”

“What? He hid them in Disney cases? That’s sacrilege! You don’t think there could be children on them do you?”

“I hadn’t considered that, but considering what he hid them in, it is a possibility. I need to watch them.”

“I’ll bring them over this afternoon. I want to watch them too. Does that make me a pervert?” she asked sincerely.

“No, a voyeur or very curious.”

“Either one of those sins?”

“Not that I’m aware of. But like most things, they can be. It all has to do with the circumstances and what’s going on in your heart.”

“So what you’re saying is that as long as I don’t lust after Russ Maddox’s fat, hairy ass, I’m probably safe.”

“In which case, you’re very safe,” I said.

“Very,” she said and then hung up the phone.

When Anna arrived, she found me asleep on the couch. When I opened my eyes, she was standing over me saying, “Ricky. Ricky. Wake up.”

“Ricky?” I asked. “Who’s Ricky?”

“Ricky Raccoon,” she said and started laughing.

“Cute,” I said. “Very cute. Did you bring the tapes?”

“You mean the wonderful world of Maddox’s Magic Kingdom?”

“The very same.”

I put the tapes in a stack on top of the television, which was an old, thirteen-inch number on an old-fashioned TV stand with a VCR on the uneven shelf below it.

The first tape was the one I had already seen. It showed Maddox and Johnson together again. We didn’t watch very much of it-I had seen it, and Anna wanted to see as little as possible of it. I couldn’t blame her. We watched roughly two minutes of it. They were the last two minutes though, and when I ejected the tape, I noticed that there was at least three quarters of the tape unused.

I put the tape back in and began to fast forward it. The snow on the screen looked no different in the fast forward mode than it did in the normal play mode, with the exception of the lines at the top and bottom of the screen that looked like wrinkles. After about five minutes or so, I ejected the tape, concluding that there was nothing else on it.

The second tape was of Maddox alone. When the first image flickered on the screen, it was of Maddox’s bare chest. It was roughly the color of cotton and covered with white hair, which added to that comparison. He was obviously leaning over the camera to it on. He then backed up, bent down, and looked right into the lens. His fat, out-of-focus face filled the screen. I could see the reflection of the red recording light flashing on his left cheek. He turned and headed toward the bed, and the light could then be seen flashing on his other left cheek.