“Ransom was a combat veteran. I was one myself. Del Payton too. Ransom had a bad time in Vietnam, I could tell that right off. When Presley caught him with that heroin, his choices narrowed down to nothing. Parchman prison or commit murder. That may not mitigate his act, but when I interviewed the man, he was paralyzed by remorse. He was the only one of the three who ever showed any, and to this day, I’m surprised he lived through those weeks.” Stone rubs his free hand over the one holding the head of the cane, then expels a lungful of air. “Presley and Marston were arrogant about what they’d done. And why not? The system rewarded Marston for it.”

I ask Stone to briefly explain the Presley angle of the Marston-Hoover deal (Marston’s betrayal of Presley to the FBI), my goal being to show the jury that even last night’s attempt by Presley to kill Marston had its roots in the Payton murder. When Stone finishes, Judge Franklin looks overwhelmed by the implications of the case.

“One last question, Mr. Stone. Why, knowing all that you did, did you wait so long to come forward with the truth?”

He looks past me, but I doubt he sees anything of the courtroom. “Cowardice,” he says. “Plain and simple. Hoover used John Portman to threaten my family if I caused a scandal. After my ex-wife died, I thought about coming forward. But by then my daughter had graduated law school and against my advice joined the FBI. She was subject to the will of the Justice Department, of which John Portman was a major part. The murder had happened so long ago. I just tried to put it behind me.”

“Did you succeed?”

“No. It’s haunted me my whole life.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stone. I tender the witness, subject to redirect.”

Judge Franklin lays both hands on her desk and sighs. “I’m going to take a recess here. I’d like to think for a bit, and I’m sure Mr. Stone would like to rest his legs.”

Livy stands abruptly. “I’d prefer to cross-examine now, Your Honor.”

Franklin frowns and looks at me. “Mr. Cage?”

I should probably opt for the recess, to give Stone time to decompress. But something pushes me in the opposite direction. Something in me is driven to witness Livy’s performance. How far is she willing to go to protect her father? How far, now that Stone’s testimony has destroyed any remaining illusions she might have had about Leo’s innocence?

“No objection, Your Honor.”

“Proceed, Ms. Sutter.”

Livy squeezes Leo’s shoulder in a gesture that looks genuine. Then she approaches Stone at an oblique angle, walking slowly with a burgundy Montblanc pen in her hand, not looking at him but at the jury. Every man and woman in the box watches her with fascination.

“Mr. Stone, what year were you dismissed from the FBI?”

“1972.”