doubt she would make a statement to the police, much less testify in open court.”
“Penn, I can’t believe I’m hearing this. We now have means and opportunity for Presley to have committed homicide. The motive could be racial prejudice. He’s a lock for it. If we don’t squeeze Presley, how can we get any further?”
“We’ve just been discussing that.”
She looks from one to the other of us, her green eyes probing. “You guys know something I don’t. Right? Something about Presley. Something that’s keeping you from going after him.”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t tell you. Not at this point.”
The familiar pink moons appear high on her cheeks. “What kind of bullshit answer is that? Are we partners or not?”
I trust Caitlin implicitly, but I cannot trust her with my father’s secret. “If I could tell you, I would. But I have to ask you to trust me for now.”
“You ask me to trust you, but you don’t trust me.” She looks at my father, who is staring pointedly at the floor, then back at me. “You think Leo Marston hired Presley?”
“Don’t you?”
“There’s no evidence of that.”
“Ike Ransom says it’s Marston, and Dwight Stone said the same thing in so many words.”
“But neither of them will go public.”
“There’s been another development as well.”
She sighs and looks at the floor. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Stone lied to us in Colorado. He knew John Portman a hell of a lot better than he led us to believe.”
“How do you know that?”
I quickly explain Althea Payton’s call about seeing Portman on CNN, and my subsequent verification that he worked in Mississippi in 1968.
Caitlin gropes backward for her chair and falls into it. “Holy shit. Do you realize what this means?”
“Tell me.”
“This story just went national. This story is huge.”
“Remember our deal. You print nothing until I say so.”
“When I made that promise, I didn’t know you were going to obstruct the investigation for reasons you don’t see fit to tell me.”
“There were no conditions on the promise. And I expect you to abide by it.”
She purses her lips. “Could I please point out a couple of things? One, we have no real investigative power. Two, the files we need are under government seal, and we’re unlikely to get that changed without a protracted court battle. Three, the Payton case somehow involves the director of the FBI, who has practically unlimited power to interfere with us. Four, the case also involves Leo Marston, the single most powerful man in this county, possibly in the state. Five, no one directly involved in the case wants to talk to us.” She holds up her hands in desperation. “What do you want to do? I think the media is the only weapon we have.”
“I agree.”
“You do?”
“I simply want to use it in a different way than you.”
“How?”
“To scare the shit out of Portman and Marston, and see which way they jump.”
Now I have her attention. “How can you do that?”
“By making them think we can prove they’re guilty of Payton’s murder.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“Simple. I state publicly that Leo Marston was responsible for the murder of Del Payton.”
“What?” my father cries.
“With no evidence?” asks Caitlin. “Just slander him?”
“Exactly. I slander him.”
“But why?”
“Because by doing that, I leave Marston no option but to sue me.”
Dad snorts in amazement. “What the hell does that accomplish?”
“The minute Marston sues me, I’ll answer his charge by stating that truth will be my defense. I will then be free under the rules of discovery to request Marston’s business records, personal papers, tax returns—all kinds of things from the years surrounding the crime.”
“A fishing expedition?” asks Caitlin. “You think you’ll find some documentary proof that Marston ordered Payton’s murder?”
“Not really. My primary goal is psychological. Ike Ransom says everyone around here is playing the quiet game. He says the way you win that game is by making people nervous. So, that’s what I’m going to do. Marston won’t believe I’d make a public charge like that without hard evidence. He’ll panic. His first thought will probably be Ray Presley. After Presley, who knows? Portman maybe. We don’t know who else was involved. But Marston does.”
“You think he does. What if you’re wrong? What if you have no evidence by the time the slander case comes to trial?”
“Then I’ll lose a great deal of money. Maybe everything I have.”
“How long would that be? From the time of the slander till the trial?”
“Hard to say with someone like Marston. The deck would be stacked against me from the start. He’d want a quick trial, and he’d get one. Everybody in this town owes him favors, especially in the judicial system.”
“He’s got his share of enemies too,” Dad points out. “You might get some unexpected help.”
“I’ll tell you what would scare the shit out of him,” I think aloud, feeling excitement building inside me. “A jury trial. In this town the jury might be fifty percent black. We might even get a black judge.”
Dad actually cackles. “Marston would be apoplectic! After a lifetime of moderation on race, he gets hauled before a black jury on a case like this?”
“How would you do it?” Caitlin asks. “The slander, I mean. Walk into a bar, pound on a table, and accuse him of murder?”
“No. I’d have to make it impossible for him not to sue.”
“Talk radio?”
“Maybe. But the ideal medium is print. It carries the most authority.”
She blanches. “You mean my newspaper? Not a chance in hell.”
I
