Уильям Макгиверн - Summitt

He was pure trouble, Brett knew.

“I was in my church, on the occasion you ask me to give witness to,” Goldie Boy was now saying in response to Davic’s invitation to relate events in his own words. “I was collecting hymn books. The Tabernacle was dark. Suddenly a light played on the ceiling. I knew it was the light of man, not the light of the Lord. In the street, in front of my Tabernacle of the Golden Flame, a car had stopped. Its lights touched the church.”

“And what action did you take then, Reverend Jessup?”

“I went to the front window and looked out. I thought perhaps some lone soul wished to pray with me. That isn’t uncommon. A church closed to those in need is as unfeeling as a mother’s arms closed to a hungry or lonely child... I saw it was a red automobile, flashing and glittering in the street light. A girl, no, a woman, stepped from that car. She was laughing, her head flung back, hair loose, light shining on her lips.”

“Is that girl, that person, in this room, Reverend Jessup?”

Ollie Jessup nodded and pointed to the prosecution table. “She is sitting there, next to the lawyer lady.”

“I’d like the stenographer’s record to show that the witness has identified Shana Selby,” Davic said... “All right, Reverend Jessup did you observe the man who was driving the red automobile?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that person in this courtroom?”

“I don’t see him, sir.”

“In that case, would you describe the driver of the red car?”

“Yes, sir. He rolled down his window, the street light was full in his face. The man was middle-aged, around forty, I’d say. His hair was gray, face fleshy, high colored. He wore glasses and he blew a kiss and threw it with his fingers to the girl. She laughed, a harlot’s laugh—”

“Objection.”

“Sustained.”

“You say the girl was laughing, Reverend Jessup?”

“Yes, sir. She laughed and blew a kiss back to the man. She started to walk away, and the car drove off. I knew they were sinners and—”

“You are sure of the time, Reverend Jessup?”

“Yes, sir. It was a few minutes before ten o’clock in the evening.”

“Your Honor, I have no further questions.”

Judge Flood made a note on his pad and looked to the People’s table. “Your witness, Miss Brett. Will you inquire?”

“Yes, Your Honor. I surely will.”

A chill afternoon light streaked the windows of Jennifer’s hospital room. The day was overcast and the winds rose with gusting sounds against the building. A delicate, keening tremor shook the windowpanes.

“Harry...?”

She had spoken his name several times since he had sat down beside her bed, but when he leaned closer to tell her he was there her eyes became confused, vacant, and her words dissolved into murmuring fragments.

And then she said his name again. “Harry... listen to me, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“I lied...”

“Yes, Jennifer, I understand.”

“You must know—” Her voice was abruptly clear, even resonant, and Selby thought with a chill of Casper Gideen and his talk about death crops... gnarled, ancient trees sucking their last harvest of blooms and flowers from the earth before fading, withering and dying. An act of defiance. Or life itself, and its instinctive drive to go on... Jennifer’s voice was like that now, strong and full inside her broken, dying body.

“I lied to so many people,” she said. “I shouldn’t have lied to Simon. I loved him. Can you understand? Lies on one side, lies on the other... That’s why I understood your brother...”

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing with difficulty. Her forehead looked fragile as an eggshell.

“Jennifer... you saw someone kill my brother?”

“Yes.”

“How was he killed? Where?”

“They shot him... they shot all the little mice. I saw it...”

“You watched it?”

“You don’t understand ... it was over then, it was over when I saw it...”

“When did you lie to Simon Correll?”

She laughed softly, a strange sound under the circumstances... “I didn’t lie to him, but I let her listen to him. His Excellency told me to do it...”

“Jennifer, you said it was over when you saw it... did you see my brother’s death in a picture. Is that what you’re telling me? Some kind of... film?”

Her fingers went slack in Selby’s hand, she began to breathe with an effort. A monitor at the nurses’ station in the hallway recorded her responses. Within moments an intern and nurse came in.

“I don’t think she’ll regain consciousness,” the intern said after checking her pulse and eyes. “Nurse, page Dr. Kohl.”

When the intern went out Selby looked at his watch; it was three-fifteen. He tightened his grip on her hand, there was no response in her chill, thin fingers.

“Jennifer? Can you hear me?”

Her face was like a small mask, so white that her lips seemed unnaturally vivid. Even her blond eyebrows looked dark against her pale skin.

A figure shadowed the doorway, and Selby looked up to see Wilger standing there, hat in his hands. The cold afternoon light from the windows seemed to splinter against his glasses.

He looked at Jennifer. “Can she hear us?”

“I doubt it...”

“I got done like a Christmas goose, Harry. Taggart wasn’t on Lufthansa like Slocum let me find out. Taggart left on a MATS flight from Dover a couple of hours ago. It’s airborne, and the little faggot’s gone, on his way nonstop to Frankfurt... Well, I talked to Brett from the airport. I checked again on my car phone coming here.” He gave Selby the substance of Ollie Jessup’s testimony. “In her cross,” Wilger said, “Brett pounded at why he waited so long to come forward to tell his story. Jessup rolled those weird eyes of his and swore he’d never heard of the trial, never saw anything on TV, never looked at the newspapers. The good Lord told him about it a couple of nights ago, the Lord fixed it so he’d hear some talk on the radio. So preacher did his Christian duty and went to the police, direct to Slocum. He swore he’d witnessed it right in front of his church. Saw Shana get out of a red Porsche, the guy was middle-aged, they were laughing, blowing kisses. Brett couldn’t shake him. Ollie got wild-eyed and crazy, said he was exposing evil, doing the Lord’s holy work...”

Wilger looked down at Jennifer’s small, white face. “Anything from this little lady?”

“I think she’s been trying to tell me she saw Jarrell’s death on a film... she said she watched it and at first I didn’t understand...”

“Doesn’t do Jarrell much good. Or Shana.” Wilger put on his hat. “It’s guesswork, and we need more... And now Davic re-calls Shana. He can hit her with any damn thing he wants. The only way Brett can keep her off the stand is to drop the charges... But I hear Shana won’t have any of that, even if Brett wanted to give up, which she doesn’t. She’s taking the stand. Gutsy girl... You going back with me?”

“I’ll be there. And thanks.”

“For nothing, I’m sorry to say.” Wilger fumbled through his pockets and brought out a sealed envelope. “Almost forgot. Shana asked me to give you this. See you back in East Chester.” Selby took the envelope, Wilger left the room.

Well, there it was... a dead brother... a murdered brother?... and a daughter who would have to be subjected to disgusting abuse on the stand... Selby looked down at the slim body on the hospital bed... motionless... then at the cold, glazed windows dividing them from rows of cheerless gray buildings. His thoughts became like a Kaddish to the dying girl, the brother he’d never known, and the lonely figure common to them both... the father he’d glimpsed beyond the shadows of the hills and the streams all crossed—