Greg Iles - The Quiet Game

I would have expected Livy to leap to her feet at Stone’s last statement, but she seems as engrossed in the story as Judge Franklin.

“How did that become clear, Mr. Stone?” I ask.

“Marston knew every detail of the murder, right down to Ike Ransom’s request for the C-4.”

“Did their conversation shed any light on the possible motive for this crime?”

“Yes.” Stone lucidly lays out the pending land deal between Marston and Zebulon Hickson, the carpet magnate from Georgia. He explains Leo’s secret ownership of the land, Hickson’s concern with black labor problems, and his insistence that an “example” be made of a black union worker before committing to purchase Marston’s property.

“Yes. Mr. Stone, I’m sure everyone in this courtroom is wondering why, since you solved the murder, no one was arrested for it. Can you explain that?”

“After Director Hoover had all the evidence and reports in his possession-including the audiotapes-he set up a meeting with Leo Marston at the Jackson field office of the FBI. After this meeting took place, I was instructed to stand down my Natchez detail and report to Tuscaloosa, Alabama, for other duties. I was told that no arrest would be made because that was in the best interests of the Bureau and the country.”

“What did you make of that?”

Stone shakes his head. “I’d seen it before. Hoover liked having leverage over people. Particularly people in government. Leo Marston came from a powerful political family. His father had tremendous influence in both Mississippi and Washington. Over the next year, I learned that Hoover used the leverage of the Payton murder to force Leo’s father to influence the 1968 presidential election by trying to swing Mississippi’s electoral votes away from George Wallace to Richard Nixon, who was a protege of Hoover’s. It was also clear in 1968 that Leo himself was destined for higher office. Director Hoover and Leo Marston developed a mutually beneficial relationship that flourished from Payton’s death in 1968 until Hoover’s death in 1972.”

Judge Franklin is shaking her head in amazement.

I can’t believe that Livy or Sims did not object to Stone’s last statements, but they probably assumed-rightly, I suspect-that Judge Franklin meant to hear him out no matter what.

“So,” I summarize, trying to bring it all into perspective for the jury, “J. Edgar Hoover was willing to bury conclusive evidence of a civil rights murder in order to strengthen his own political influence. How did you react to this?”

“Not well.”

“Please be specific.”

“I began drinking. It affected my work. I cheated on my wife. She divorced me, took my daughter from me. I was eventually dismissed from the Bureau.”

A fragment of Ike’s confession in the pecan-shelling plant comes to me from the ether. “Did you ever make any attempt to right what you considered the terrible wrong that had been done in the Payton case?”

Surprise flashes in Stone’s eyes. “Yes.”

“How?”

“I had retained a copy of the incriminating tape. About a year after the murder, when I knew no official action would ever be taken against the killers, I called Ike Ransom. He’d been hired as a police officer by then, just as Presley had promised.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. I played him my copy of the tape. Then I hung up.”

“What did you think Ransom would do after hearing that tape?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I hoped that he might take direct action.”

“You hoped he would kill Presley and Marston?”

Stone’s face remains impassive. “The thought entered my mind.”

“Mr. Stone, when you described these events to me two days ago, you didn’t mention Ike Ransom. Why?”

He looks at the rail, his eyes filled with something like grief. “I felt some sympathy for Ike Ransom, despite what he’d done.”

“Sympathy for a murderer?”

“Ransom was a combat veteran. I was one myself. Del Payton too. Ransom had a bad time in Vietnam, I could tell that right off. When Presley caught him with that heroin, his choices narrowed down to nothing. Parchman prison or commit murder. That may not mitigate his act, but when I interviewed the man, he was paralyzed by remorse. He was the only one of the three who ever showed any, and to this day, I’m surprised he lived through those weeks.” Stone rubs his free hand over the one holding the head of the cane, then expels a lungful of air. “Presley and Marston were arrogant about what they’d done. And why not? The system rewarded Marston for it.”

I ask Stone to briefly explain the Presley angle of the Marston-Hoover deal (Marston’s betrayal of Presley to the FBI), my goal being to show the jury that even last night’s attempt by Presley to kill Marston had its roots in the Payton murder. When Stone finishes, Judge Franklin looks overwhelmed by the implications of the case.

“One last question, Mr. Stone. Why, knowing all that you did, did you wait so long to come forward with the truth?”

He looks past me, but I doubt he sees anything of the courtroom. “Cowardice,” he says. “Plain and simple. Hoover used John Portman to threaten my family if I caused a scandal. After my ex-wife died, I thought about coming forward. But by then my daughter had graduated law school and against my advice joined the FBI. She was subject to the will of the Justice Department, of which John Portman was a major part. The murder had happened so long ago. I just tried to put it behind me.”

“Did you succeed?”

“No. It’s haunted me my whole life.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stone. I tender the witness, subject to redirect.”

Judge Franklin lays both hands on her desk and sighs. “I’m going to take a recess here. I’d like to think for a bit, and I’m sure Mr. Stone would like to rest his legs.”

Livy stands abruptly. “I’d prefer to cross-examine now, Your Honor.”

Franklin frowns and looks at me. “Mr. Cage?”

I should probably opt for the recess, to give Stone time to decompress. But something pushes me in the opposite direction. Something in me is driven to witness Livy’s performance. How far is she willing to go to protect her father? How far, now that Stone’s testimony has destroyed any remaining illusions she might have had about Leo’s innocence?

“No objection, Your Honor.”

“Proceed, Ms. Sutter.”

Livy squeezes Leo’s shoulder in a gesture that looks genuine. Then she approaches Stone at an oblique angle, walking slowly with a burgundy Montblanc pen in her hand, not looking at him but at the jury. Every man and woman in the box watches her with fascination.

“Mr. Stone, what year were you dismissed from the FBI?”

“1972.”

“Were you summarily dismissed, or were efforts made to help you stop drinking?”

“I wasn’t fired for drinking.”

“Your record states that you were. But I’m interested. Why do you think you were fired?”

“For drawing my service weapon on Leo Marston in the lobby of the Watergate office complex.”

Livy doesn’t bat an eye. “There’s no mention of such an incident in your record. Were there any witnesses to it?”

“My partner, Henry Bookbinder.”

“Will he corroborate your story?”

“He would if he were alive.”

“Any other witnesses?”

“Not that I know by name. Only Marston himself.”

Leo actually smirks from his table. He loves seeing Livy perform this way. This is what he fantasized about before she ran off to Virginia and then Atlanta.

“Let’s return to your dismissal,” she says. “I admired the candor of your earlier testimony. Being honest about things like losing your wife and child must be very hard. I know, because I’m going through a divorce myself.”