“I know I am not without blame in what happened to us. My heart was broken before you and I ever met, and that may be what doomed us. I don’t know. When you think of me, try not to be angry. We shared some joy in those early years. I still remember my first winter of snow, how magical it was to a Mississippi girl. I only learned to dread it later, much as I did with you. I suppose everything has both good and bad qualities. In spite of all, I thank you for the comfort you gave to me and my boy during the hard times in the beginning, and I forgive you for your weakness.

“May you find peace before you go to where I am going soon.

“Vee.”

“I don’t suppose that was a very easy letter to read,” Quentin says softly.

“No, sir.”

“And why did he read it?” Shad cries. “No man would read that without getting something in return. Especially a convicted con man!”

“I didn’t hear an objection, Your Honor,” Quentin says gently.

“Nor did I,” says Judge Elder. “Take your seat, Mr. Johnson.”

As I watch Shad sit, I realize that Lincoln, rather than trying to disappear into his seat, like Cora, is sitting ramrod straight and staring at Junius Jelks as though he means to kill him with his eyes. The ramifications of Jelks’s testimony—and Viola’s letter, if authentic—are just beginning to sink into my brain. Before I can reflect upon them further, Quentin drives the knife home.

“Mr. Jelks, did you inherit any money from your wife upon her death?”

A small, strange smile lights the old con man’s face. “I did.”

“How much?”

“Ten thousand, eight hundred dollars.”

“Did that surprise you?”

“You could say that.”

“Did you inquire of anyone why this apparent mistake had been made?”

Jelks’s only response is a low laugh.

“Answer the question,” orders Judge Elder.

“No, I did not.”

“Given what your wife’s letter had said about disinheriting you, what did you think had happened? Did you think she’d had a change of heart?”

“Objection,” says Shad. “Leading.”

“Sustained.”

“What did you think had happened, Mr. Jelks?”

“Objection!” Shad shouts. “Vague.”

“Overruled.”

“I figured Lincoln had learned something from me after all.”

“What do you mean by that?” Quentin asks, with the soft implacability of an ocean swell that will soon build into a tidal wave that could sweep all before it.

“That boy had been working cons even before he knew what he was doing. By the time he was six, he was as good as anybody I ever saw. He could run up to a lady crying he was lost and come back with her pocketbook and her watch, and her not miss them till five blocks later.”