“No. Hoover grew up in Washington, D.C., when it was still a Southern town. This business you’re talking about was in sixty-eight. Hoover would have traded twenty nigras for one electoral vote for Nixon. It was that close. You tell Marcello I’ll speak to Edgar, but remember . . . quid pro quo. That goes for me as well.”

“Hey, do I know you or don’t I? Now, what about those gas leases where they’re dredging down by Houma—.”

Judge Franklin switches off the machine.

The silence is total. I’m not sure anyone in the courtroom is breathing. The jury appears to be in shock, particularly the black jurors, who are staring at Leo Marston as they might at a dangerous wild animal. Blake Sims gets to his feet to start listing objections, but Franklin stops him with a gesture.

A chilling screech of chair legs rips through the courtroom. As all heads turn toward the source of the sound—the plaintiff’s table—Livy rises from her chair, puts her purse over her shoulder, and without looking at her father or anyone else walks around the table and down the aisle to the door at the back of the courtroom.

This act is probably more damning to her father than the tape. To me it suggests a chance for the possibility of redemption. At least she draws the line somewhere. I suppress the urge to go after her, even though I know that at this moment she might do something truly desperate. I must play my part in this grotesquerie to the end. As I turn back toward the bench, Austin Mackey stands and hurries after Livy. I’ll have to wait to find out what he’s up to.

“Mr. Sims,” Judge Franklin says from the bench. “I know what you’re going to say. First, that the voice on this tape is not Leo Marston’s. Second, that if the voice is Marston’s, it has been spliced together using some miracle of modern technology. Third, you want to request a continuance while your experts examine the tape.”

Franklin drums her fingers on her desk. “Mr. Sims, that is not going to happen. I am not going to recall this jury three weeks from now just to hear your experts denounce the tape and Mr. Cage’s experts argue that it’s genuine. I’ve known Leo Marston for twenty-five years, and I believe the tape is genuine. Mr. Sims, I am giving this case to the jury.”

Most of the heads in the jury box are nodding.

“Does the plaintiff rest?” Franklin asks.

“Under protest,” Sims says weakly.

“Noted.” Franklin turns to me. “Does the defense rest?”

“Your Honor, the defense rests.”

Franklin is about to begin instructing the jury when Leo Marston rises from his chair and walks toward the aisle as though to follow Livy out.

“Judge Marston?” Franklin says from the bench.