Anne’s antennae tuned in on that. Rehearsed. It was in the manner of married couples who have pat answers about each other, but there was something else to Raleigh’s reply—something throwaway that came off as inauthentic.

“She is the light of my life.” Raleigh’s voice cracked again.

Whiteside corralled Raleigh’s recollection to the days leading up to the attack and the death threats he had received.

“The church had a pretty large file of unsigned letters, referring to me as a Negro lover, a communist, that I should keep my nose in the Bible and out of politics.”

Raleigh then testified about the precautions taken as a result of this—primarily, the security alarm installed at the house. But the Raleighs weren’t used to having it, he claimed, and Peggy didn’t activate the alarm regularly. Why didn’t he take his family’s security more seriously? And why hasn’t anyone bothered to theorize who else could have done this? Anne puzzled. She then noticed Raleigh’s shoulders hunch in tension as Whiteside began talking about the night in question.

“I came home that night, I’d say around six thirty. Peggy was out in the garage trying to fix the latch on the garage door. It was sticking, and she was trying to loosen it with Palmolive.”

Unbelievable.

“Then what happened?”

“We had a glass of wine, chatted about the kids, and I left.”

Another lie.

“Where did you tell Peggy you were going?”

“Back to the library at SMU to work on my sermon.”

“And where did you go?”

“I went to the apartment of Lucy Goodfellow.”

“What was the nature of your relationship with Miss Goodfellow?”

Raleigh dropped his chin and bit his lip. “We were having an affair.”

“Did you have sexual relations with Miss Goodfellow during this visit?”

“No, we had a fight.”

The real fight was with Peggy about Lucy.

“How long did you stay at Miss Goodfellow’s apartment?”

“Thirty minutes, I think.”

That’s not right, Anne thought. She couldn’t remember exactly, but it was longer than that. They are messing with the timeline. Compressing, distorting it.

“Then did you go to the library?” Whiteside caught himself leading Raleigh. “Sorry, withdrawn, where did you go next?”

“To Bridwell Library.”

“For how long?”

“About an hour.”

“So you left Bridwell around eight thirty?”

“Correct.”

“Where did you go then?”

“I went to the Texaco on Greenville to get gas.” Raleigh tried to offer a faint chuckle. “And some alcohol.”

“Any reason why you were drinking that night, Reverend?”

“The fight with Lucy had rattled me. I was trying to find courage in a bottle.”

Courage is not the word I’d use.

“I had told Lucy that we couldn’t see each other anymore. I told her it was wrong in the first place, and then with the death threats I was receiving, I felt we were being watched.”