Part 43 (2/2)

I realized now that she was telling the truth. She had turned a corner and was racing down a track and couldn't halt herself.

As a lawyer in trial you try not to ask a question where you don't know the answer, but we were beyond that now.

”What was the argument about, Connie?”

”You.”

Oh, G.o.d. I couldn't back out of it.

”He knew,” she said. ”And he hated you.”

But I could step aside, and I had to, once again for Darryl's sake. ”He slashed you with a knife, Connie, didn't he?”

She wouldn't let me. She was in control now. ”I couldn't stand him anymore,” she said. ”I wouldn't let him touch me. I told him I loved you. You never believed that, did you?”

I wanted to shut my eyes. I wanted to run away. I felt Darryl, at my side, staring up at me. I could see the wide wondering look of Judge Fleming. I felt Toba's presence in the courtroom as a red-hot iron searing my flesh.

But I went forward, because there was no choice.

”What did he do to you, Connie?”

”I told him all that had happened. I taunted him. I told him about c.u.mberland Island.”

I felt my nails digging into my palms. When I unclenched my fists I half expected to see blood.

”He broke a bottle and struck you with it?”

”No.”

”What did he use?”

”I told you, Ted, he hit me with his hand.”

”You grabbed your pistol out of your handbag and fired a shot over his head, didn't you, Connie?”

”Yes.”

”It hit the woodwork on the other side of the room, isn't that so?”

”Yes.”

”And then?”

”He hit me again. He knocked me down.”

”So you shot him and killed him, to protect yourself, didn't you?”

”No, my darling, no.”

I became aware of a commotion toward the rear of the courtroom.

My back was turned to it. Then I saw Connie's eyes s.h.i.+ft that way, and the judge suddenly reached for his gavel. At least I thought it was his gavel; I realized afterward that it may have been a pistol hidden under his robes. All I could think of was: Toba.

Neil Zide was in the aisle, and he had wrenched free of the bailiff, a man forty pounds heavier. Neil hurtled down the aisle into the well of the courtroom. His lips had collapsed inward against his teeth, and the blood had fled from his cheeks as if he had been struck. His hair flowed behind him like a lion's mane.

”You swine!” he yelled at me.

Connie was crying his name, trying to stop him. The judge was shouting, ”Bailiff!” Connie rose from her seat in the witness box and reeled forward toward us as Neil's body slammed against mine and we tumbled back together against the counsel table.

The tumult subsided. The bailiffs held Neil, while the judge rapped his gavel continuously against the oak bench in order to quiet the courtroom. The muscles in Neil's face twitched; saliva foamed at the edges of his lips.

Connie's eyes looked stony and unfocused.

”I think this is the right time,” Muriel said to Judge Fleming, ”for a short recess.”

”No!” I cried. ”She wants to tell us!” I looked up at the bench, pleading. ”Judge!”

Thank G.o.d, he understood. He simply nodded at me, and I turned on Connie, whose hands searched the air like the claws of a wounded animal.

I pointed at Neil. ”He took the pistol from you, didn't he?”

”Yes,” she murmured.

”And he shot your husband.”

”He didn't mean to.”

”Neil was enraged because Solly had hit you, isn't that true, Connie?”

”Yes, he's my son. He loves me. He despised Solly.”

”Connie”-I approached her without asking permission from the judge, but I thought I had the right-”who cut your face?”

”I did,” she said. ”It was cut when Solly slapped me. I had to explain that. They told me to do it. I knew it would heal.”

”Who is 'they,' Connie? Do you mean Neil and Gambrel? Did they tell you to cut yourself?”

She just nodded, and that was good enough, or terrible enough.

”What did you use?”

”A piece of gla.s.s ... it was just my cheek... I knew it would heal.”

How brave. How desperate. How insane. To keep her son from a manslaughter charge that might have turned into murder, she would scar herself and send another man to his death.

But she didn't know they would find Darryl, I realized. She hadn't planned it from the beginning. That was just bad luck: Nickerson was good at his job.

<script>