I walk back behind my table and kneel so that Caitlin can whisper to me. Her lips touch the shell of my ear. “I just talked to Stone’s daughter,” she says. “She and Stone were both at the newspaper. Two of my people are bringing them over now. They’ll be on the courthouse steps in two minutes.”

Relief and elation flood through me.

“Mr. Cage?” Judge Franklin presses. “We’re waiting.”

I squeeze Caitlin’s arm, then rise and walk back toward the witness box with a briskness Portman cannot fail to notice. Caitlin’s news has galvanized me.

“Director Portman, was there only one man responsible for Payton’s death? Or more than one?”

“More than one.”

A murmur from the spectators.

“How many? Two? Three? Ten?”

Portman folds his arms across his stomach. “I decline to answer on grounds that it might damage the national security.”

“But you did say more than one. So, a minimum of two. Was one of those conspirators a Natchez police officer named Ray Presley?”

He gives me the great stone face. “I decline to answer on grounds that it might damage the national security.”

“Did you work the Payton case alone, Director?”

“I was part of a team.”

“Did that team include a veteran agent named Dwight Stone?”

Portman’s eyes track me as I move, trying to read the source of my new-found confidence. “Yes.”

“Was the Payton murder your first major case as a field agent?”

“It was.”

“Had Agent Stone wide experience in working civil rights cases for the Bureau?”

“Yes.”

“Did you admire and respect Agent Stone?”

Portman hesitates. “At the time, yes.”

“Did you, earlier this week, order the assassination of Agent Dwight Stone, who is now retired?”

“Objection!” shouts Blake Sims, with Livy close behind.

Franklin bangs her gavel in a vain attempt to silence the gallery. “Mr. Cage, you’d better be prepared to substantiate that statement.”

“I intend to do just that, Your Honor.” I turn back to Portman. “Did you also order the assassination of Sheriff’s Deputy Ike Ransom, the man murdered at the old pecan-shelling plant last night?”

The spectators collectively suck in their breath as Portman turns to Judge Franklin for help.

Franklin looks hard at me, then says, “The witness will answer the question.”

“I did not,” Portman says in an indignant voice.

“Did you last week order the assassination of former Natchez police officer Ray Presley?”

“Mr. Cage,” Franklin interrupts, “I’m losing my patience.”

“One final question, Your Honor. Director Portman, if Special Agent Dwight Stone walks through that door back there and takes the stand, will you remain in Natchez to be recalled as a witness by me?”

He looks right through me. “I will.”

“No more questions, Judge.”

“Director Portman, you are excused,” says Franklin.