The first is Governor Nunn Harkness, a Republican with a two-fisted, shoot-from-the-hip style that has won him two terms despite his methodical gutting of social programs. Playing to the balcony TV cameras, Harkness praises Leo to the skies, lauding his success in bringing industry and gaming to Mississippi, and lamenting that, while Marston is a bit too liberal on issues like affirmative action, he is morally beyond reproach. It’s a pitch-perfect performance by a master, and the jury is visibly impressed. When Sims tenders the governor to me for cross-examination, I don’t ask a single question. Best to get Nunn Harkness offstage as soon as possible.

Sims’s second character witness is Thomas O’Malley, bishop of the Catholic diocese of Jackson. Once the priest of St. Mary Cathedral in Natchez, O’Malley has moved up the hierarchy. For fifteen minutes he waxes poetic about the multitudes of poor children whose Christmases Leo Marston brightened with toys. Then he moves on to the church itself. To hear O’Malley tell it, Leo single-handedly restored the cathedral to its present splendor, donating over half a million dollars to the restoration effort. As the bishop speaks, I am reminded of Michael Corleone being honored by the pope in The Godfather III. I shudder to think what sins O’Malley must have heard Leo confess during his years as a priest in Natchez, but none of that will ever pass the bishop’s lips. When Sims tenders O’Malley to me, I let him go without a word. Unless you’re dealing with questions of sexual molestation or mismanagement of funds, a Catholic bishop is bulletproof.

Sims’s third witness is another matter. As Bishop O’Malley leaves the courtroom, pausing in the aisle to shake the hands of a half dozen former parishioners, Sims calls FBI Director John Portman.

Portman enters the courtroom with two bodyguards, who take up posts at the door as their master walks up the aisle. Lean, tanned, perfectly coiffed, and attired in a dark blue suit, the FBI director is clearly accustomed to television. He ascends to the witness box with the air of a medical expert about to hold forth on matters beyond the understanding of a lay audience.

This time it is not Blake Sims but Livy who rises from the plaintiff’s table and approaches the box. Judge Franklin gives Sims a questioning look, but Sims says nothing.

“You will be handling this witness, Ms. Sutter?” asks Franklin, using Livy’s legal surname.

“With the court’s permission, Your Honor.”

Franklin turns to me. “Any objection, counselor?”

“No, Your Honor.”

Livy walks past the podium and up to the witness box. Though Portman is much older than she, both emanate a sense of confidence and ease to which lesser mortals should not begin to aspire.

“Mr. Portman, what is your current position?” she asks.

“I’m the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The FBI.”