Dad’s mouth drops open. “Leo Marston? That’s crazy. Marston’s a lot of things, but he’s no racist.”

“That’s what I thought too. But how do you know he’s not?”

“Well . . . I’ve seen pictures of him with Bobby Kennedy, for one thing. With Charles and Medgar Evers too. I think I even saw a shot of him with Martin Luther King.”

“How do you know that wasn’t just public relations?”

“In the sixties? A white man posing with the Evers boys and King?” Dad shakes his head again. “Is Livy Marston a racist?”

“No. But that doesn’t prove anything.”

“Sure it does. Apples don’t fall far from the tree.” He draws thoughtfully on his cigar. “Ike Ransom’s a bad alcoholic, son. Has been for years. I think he’s playing you. He knows Marston hurt our family, so that makes Marston the best way to suck you into the Payton case. He figures once you’re into it, you’ll go for the throat of whoever turns out to be guilty. That’s what the blacks in this town want, and I don’t blame them.”

“I don’t think blacks want that at all. Shad Johnson sure doesn’t. They want that new chemical plant in here as much as anybody. I can’t believe you’re defending Marston.”

He slaps himself like a madman as a horsefly the size of a small fighter plane attacks him, refusing to give quarter. Fearing that this battle will overturn the boat, I scramble forward and smash the insect against his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he mutters. “I’m not defending that bastard. But Leo Marston destroys people. He doesn’t murder them.”

“You’re thinking in a business context. What if it was personal? Maybe Payton and Marston had business dealings of some kind. Or maybe Payton was in a position to know something about Marston’s personal affairs.”

He dismisses this with a flip of his hand. “No way, no how. Different universes.”

“Ike’s anger felt personal to me. He hates Marston.”

“That’s a big club. Look, for all we know, Marston sent Ike Ransom’s brother to jail. He could have any kind of grudge against Marston, and we wouldn’t know it.”

“But if Marston’s not involved in the Payton case, how would putting me on it hurt Marston? You see? You can’t have it both ways.”

He groans in exasperation.

“You’re looking for logic,” I continue. “But Marston went after you for malpractice in 1979, and we never learned why. Motives aren’t always obvious.”

Now he’s listening.

“Leo Marston was D.A. when Payton was killed. I think that’s how he’s tied into it. When Willie Pinder became police chief, he started looking into Payton’s murder. Very quietly, using only black officers. But before he got far, somebody warned him off the case.”

“Who?”

“Ray Presley.”