Chapter 1
Nodding to her coworkers, Shenandoah Wilcox wandered across the noisy, smoke-filled city room oblivious to the clatter of typewriters ricocheting off the bare walls and linoleum floor. She stopped at the large open window overlooking the Mississippi River and glanced out at the rising water. She could see a tugboat maneuvering a barge alongside one of the docks between Mud Island and the mainland. The water, muddy from rains in Missouri and Illinois, swirled like chocolate milk behind the tug’s powerful propellers.
Turning toward the clickety-clack of the Associated Press Teletype, Shenandoah noticed an incoming message, tore it off, and took it to her desk.
AP News: Nashville, Tennessee, July 14, 1952 – Dr. Katherine Marlow, age 32, of Round Rock, Tennessee, is scheduled to go on trial July 21, for the murder of one of her patients, a Mrs. Lillian Johnson, age 32, also of Round Rock.
Dr. Marlow, indicted in March of this year, pleaded not guilty to the charge at her arraignment. Jake Watson, Dr. Marlow’s attorney, was unavailable for comment. The suspect currently resides as an inmate in the Parsons County Jail.
Shenandoah read the two paragraphs three times. She couldn’t believe Kate Marlow was capable of murder. Shenandoah hadn’t seen either the accused or the victim in fourteen years -- not since graduating from high school, the year she moved to Nashville and took a secretarial job at National Life and Accident Insurance Company. After she left Round Rock, she planned never to return. As a young girl she had become fascinated by the exploits of Amelia Earhart and her Nashville heroine, Cornelia Fort. Once she arrived in Nashville, every extra penny had gone for flying lessons at a grass strip just outside the city. When the war broke out, she was one of the 1,000 of 25,000 applicants who made it into the Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP). She'd been stationed in Sweetwater, Texas so after termination from the Service near the end of the war she took a BA in English from the University of Texas in Austin. Upon graduation, she'd become a reporter for the Memphis Express newspaper.
Ashamed of herself for not keeping up with Kate more regularly, Shenandoah was shocked that Dr. Marlow could be in such a mess. Shenandoah picked up the phone and dialed the operator. “I’d like to place a call to the sheriff’s office in Round Rock, Tennessee.”
After several rings, a woman answered.
“Sheriff Marlow, please.”
“Old Jeb’s been dead two year now.”
“Dead?”
“Heart attack.”
“Who’s sheriff?”
“Jasper Kingman. Want to talk to him?”
“No, thanks.”
Replacing the receiver, she looked out over the city room and wondered what she should do. She dialed the operator again.
“I’d like to place a person-to-person call to a Mr. Jake Watson in Round Rock, Tennessee.”
Seconds later, the operator said, “I can’t find a listing for a Jake Watson.”
“He’s an attorney, operator. Try the yellow pages.”
“Sure you have the correct name?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, but there’s no listing for Jake Watson.”
Shenandoah picked up a pencil and started doodling on the Teletype message. What should she do? Forget it? Go home? Lay open all the old wounds? She thought that misery was all behind her.
Shenandoah walked across the city room to the office of her boss, Ned Baker. A year from retirement, the editor was a holdover from the golden age of the press when city editors ran things with an iron fist. Balding and overweight, Ned chewed on a Havana from sunup to sundown. Every few minutes he spit brown-streaked saliva into a rusty fruit juice can he kept beside his desk.
Shenandoah tapped lightly on the doorframe as she entered Ned’s office.
“Morning, Shenandoah. What’s my investigative reporter up to?”
Handing Ned the news report, Shenandoah said, “I know this doctor. I’d like to cover the trial.”
“You’re from Round Rock?”
“I’m actually from a place called Beulah Land, about two miles out of Round Rock.”
“Beulah Land – heaven?”
“Hardly – just squalor. I’ve got a couple of vacation weeks coming. It’ll make a good human interest story.”
“Keep tabs on your expenses and I’ll try to get the boss to reimburse you. Going to interview Buford Frampton for your book while you’re up there?”
“He is Boss Crump’s man in East Tennessee.”
Shenandoah had been gathering information on the E. H. Crump political machine in Memphis for the past six months and planned an exposé of the old-time party boss who was said to vote names from the city’s cemeteries.
The editor picked up his can, spit into it, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He fixed his dark brown eyes on Shenandoah and said, “Remember Thomas Wolfe’s ‘You can’t go home again’? His protagonist, George Webber, alienated himself from the people of his hometown. To paraphrase, I’d say it’s hard to go home again. Things are never as you remember them. The buildings don’t seem as big, the ponds and lakes look smaller, the roads appear narrower, and the people are often not what you remember. You’ll be amazed.”
* * * `* * * * * * * * *
Shenandoah parked her new Chevrolet Bel Air at a meter on the square in Round Rock and slipped a nickel into the slot. She stood on the hot asphalt for a moment and glanced around the square. A little over five-seven, she had what the Bard referred to as “a lean and hungry look.” A Bell's Palsy at age sixteen had left her with a slight droop of her mouth on the right side that gave her a Mona Lisa smile. Men found that minor flaw, her flaming red hair, flawless cream complexion, and green eyes enchanting. A fashion maven, she always looked as if she'd just stepped off a page in Vogue. On this day she wore a free-flowing swing skirt with a floral pattern and wedge open-toed sandals.
Waves of hot air radiated off the pavement, her blouse stuck to her back, and perspiration beaded across her forehead. The stately limestone courthouse looked just as it had the day she left, but the buildings surrounding it appeared in worse shape.
The whittlers, prune-faced old men, kept their vigil as ever on the courthouse steps, piles of cedar shavings hiding their rough brogans. Two Civil War cannons stood like sentinels on either side of the steps, each with a pyramid of cannon balls stacked beside it. A teenage boy, red-faced and gasping for breath, pedaled up the hill toward her on an old Schwinn Road Master.
Bradshaw’s Drugstore, where Saturdays had once found Shenandoah sweeping the floor and stocking the storeroom, still stood at the bottom of the hill. It was from the door of the storeroom that she would watch Katherine Marlow and her boyfriend, Army Johnson, share a chocolate sundae.
The lone Esso station remained on the far side of the courthouse. It was there, at sixteen, that she’d bought her first rubber. She'd sneaked into the men's restroom when she'd decided it was time to lose her virginity. It was a fruitless goal because all the boys were afraid of her. The condom had remained in her wallet, wearing a ring in the leather, until she finally used it with a young Second Lieutenant, the winter of 1942, when she was taking the training required for the women pilots of the WASP.
The whittlers ignored her as she climbed the stairs and entered the cool interior of the old building. It had been years since Shenandoah had been inside the stately landmark. She was amused to see the smooth plaster walls still displayed large photographs of judges, county court clerks, and sheriffs.
In the center of the lobby, a marble spiral staircase led to the upper floors that held the courtroom, the jail, and the sheriff’s office. She started up the first flight, knowing the sheriff would not welcome her visit. Would Kate?
On the third floor, Shenandoah entered an open door and approached a secretary typing on an old Royal typewriter. A woman in her early sixties with gray hair pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, she wore thick spectacles on the tip of her long nose. When the woman didn’t acknowledge her presence, Shenandoah said, “Hello.”
Looking up, she asked, “What?”
“I’d like to see Dr. Kate Marlow.”
“Sheriff’s got to okay it.”
“Jasper in?”
“His office,” his secretary said, pointing to her right.
Shenandoah hesitated for a moment. Dealing with Jasper Kingman was not something she wanted to do. But, if she wanted to see Kate Marlow, she had no choice. Just uttering Jasper's name had brought back distasteful, angry thoughts.
* * * `* * * * * * * * *
Like all the Wilcox clan, Shenandoah went to school barefoot in the autumn and spring. And like her cousins, her clothes were ratty, soiled, and wrinkled. Shenandoah's feet were always filthy, her toenails long with Parsons County clay caked beneath them. Her red hair, which was her pride and joy, was the one thing she insisted be clean at all times. She washed it daily in a galvanized gallon bucket that she kept in her small bedroom. The lard soap her mother made would not lather, so Shenandoah stole bars of city soap from the girls bathroom at school. She wore her hair in one long pigtail that cascaded down the middle of her back to her waist.
On this morning, the school bus was late and Shenandoah and her cousins stood idly next to the lone pump where all the inhabitants of Beulah Land got their water and waited impatiently. Some of the boys were tossing rocks at passing cars and the girls giggled when the drivers waived angry fists in response.
When the bus finally arrived some fifteen minutes late, the children scrambled up the steps and took their seats. Shenandoah shuddered when she saw Jasper Kingman sitting on the last bench on the right. The older boy was in the sixth grade and Shenandoah in the fifth. He didn't always ride the bus because his father worked for the city of Round Rock as a garbage collector and drove to work every day about the same time school started. Normally, Jasper rode with his dad. But, unfortunately, to Shenandoah's mind, Jasper occasionally rode the school bus.
The only seat available was right in front of Jasper. She couldn't stand because the driver wouldn't let her. She had to sit down. He grinned at her as she took her seat. She ignored him and stared straight ahead.
"How's it going, girl? You ain't near as dirty this morning as you usually are. What happened? You steal some more soap?" Jasper asked.
Shenandoah ignored him. She carried her books held together with an old belt her mother had found in the city dump. She unbuckled it and took out her arithmetic book.
"Ain't you the smart one. Look at you. Studying like you was smart or something. Hell, everybody knows you Wilcox folks is as dumb as you is dirty."
Shenandoah ground her teeth, her jaw muscles flexing rhythmically, but still said nothing.
Then Jasper made a bad mistake that would change his life forever. He reached over the back of Shenandoah's seat, grabbed her pigtail, and sliced it off with his pocket knife. Then he wrapped it around her neck and pulled her head back against the seat.
He laughed and said, "I been meaning to do that for a long time, girl. I just don't like pigtails. Particularly on a filthy Wilcox."
Shenandoah could feel Jasper's breath on her neck, and she knew his head was right behind hers. In a move as swift as lightening, she swung her arithmetic book over her head and slammed it into Jasper's with all her might.
"Hey," he yelled letting go of the pigtail.
Shenandoah sprang out of her seat and grabbed Jasper by the shirt pulling him into the aisle. He was so startled he didn't even resist. She slammed her right knee into his groin and when he leaned over gasping in pain, she hit him in the nose with her fist. Blood spurted onto her dress and down onto Jasper's shirt. Then she threw him against the back wall on the bus and pounded his head against it. His tongue hung limply out the corner of his mouth and his eyes rolled back in their sockets.
Mr. Albright, the driver, had followed the scene in his rearview mirror with some satisfaction because Jasper was a trouble maker. Nonetheless, he slammed on the brakes, set the emergency, and ran down the aisle toward the scuffling children. He pulled Shenandoah away from Jasper as the boy fell to the floor unconscious.
Shenandoah struggled with the bus driver trying to get free. In her mind, she was just getting started.
"Shenandoah, honey, stop it!" Albright yelled. "You won the damn fight. Back off."
He let go of her and she picked up her pigtail. Tears streamed down her smooth cheeks as she took her seat.
Jasper regained consciousness moments later and limped back to his seat. The whole confrontation had taken less than two minutes. He pulled his handkerchief out of his back pocket and held it under his nose. He didn't say a word the remainder of the trip and ignored the open mouth amazement of the other students on the bus.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Shenandoah found the sheriff cleaning a .38 revolver. Six silver cartridges stood like toy soldiers on top of his desk.
Fourteen years had barely changed Jasper Kingman. His thin sandy hair was receding and his blue eyes had lost some of their fire, but otherwise he looked just as he had in high school. His belly remained as flat as the desktop.
Spying Shenandoah, the sheriff scrambled to his feet and, blushing, said, "Afternoon, ma'am, can I help you?"
A smile broke across Shenandoah's face, and Jasper Kingman stared at her. "Wait a minute. You look damn familiar. What's your name?"
Shenandoah extended her hand. “Shenandoah Wilcox. I haven’t forgotten you, Jasper.”
The sheriff ignored Shenandoah’s gesture and rammed the cleaning rod down the muzzle of the pistol as a crooked smile crossed his lips. “Got one of your kin back there -- be here a while.”
“Uncle Junior?”
“Yep. Thought we’d seen the last of your sorry ass. What're you doing dressed up like a big-city whore?”
"You've never been to a big city, Jasper, and how would you know what a big-city whore looked like anyway?"
"I've been to Nashville and Knoxville, smart-ass."
"Neither of which are big cities. I’m a reporter for the Memphis Express --up to cover Dr. Kate’s trial.”
“I’ll be damned -- an educated Wilcox. How’d that happen, Shenandoah?”
“Anyone can get an education if you served your country. You in the military?”
The sheriff flushed. “Damned blood pressure was too high. Draft board said they needed me here- ’cause I was a deputy.”
Shenandoah nodded. “Figures.”
“What you want, Shenandoah?”
“To see Dr. Kate.”
Jasper tilted his head back and laughed, his breath coming in short snorts. Placing the pistol and cleaning rod on his desk, the sheriff pulled a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. Slipping one into his mouth, he lit it with a worn Zippo. Inhaling deeply, he looked Shenandoah in the eye and said, “What if the lady won’t see you? She ain’t in the best of moods.”
“I’ll chance it.”
“What if I won’t let you?”
“I’ll see Jake Watson and get a court order. It’s up to you, Jasper.”
Jasper stared at Shenandoah. He sucked on the cigarette until the tip glowed, then leaned forward and pushed a button on the intercom box. “Margaret, tell Masterson to come here.”
The deputy materialized out of thin air, as if he had been loitering within earshot. Shenandoah didn’t know the man. He appeared to be in his mid-forties and had brown hair graying at the temples. A bushy gray mustache hung low over thin lips, and his rotund features gave him a jolly appearance in spite of the frown on his face.
“Oscar, meet a sober Wilcox. Most likely the only one you’ll ever see -- name’s Shenandoah. Take the smart-ass back to see the doc.”
Deputy Masterson motioned for Shenandoah to follow him, and the two of them left the sheriff’s office, passed through the reception area, and crossed the hallway to enter the jail. The deputy unlocked a steel door, led Shenandoah to a second locked door, and opened it. Ushering Shenandoah into a small room, he said, “Push that button on the wall when you’re ready to leave.”
A metal table with four mismatched chairs sat in the middle of the room. One harsh overhead fluorescent light fixture gave the bare, dark green walls an orange cast.
Settling into one of the chairs, Shenandoah tapped the top of the table with her thumb and tried to ignore the burning in the pit of her stomach. Would Kate remember her? Would she still be attractive?
That last thought evaporated the moment the door opened and Dr. Katherine Marlow entered the stark room. Taller than Shenandoah remembered, Dr. Kate moved with the grace of a ballerina. Even though she wore a nondescript dress of gray cotton supplied by the county and brown penny loafers, she seemed regal, as one might imagine a young Queen Bess. She wore no cosmetics, not even lipstick on her full and sensual lips. Her short-cropped hair, the color of corn silk, framed her face like waves on a golden beach. Her eyes were a deep royal blue. Her hands were delicate with long fingers, and her nails were unpolished and trimmed short.
She stood silently and stared at Shenandoah as the reporter scrambled out of her chair. An expression of vagueness passed over Kate's face. Then a smile caused her smooth cheeks to form the soft dimples Shenandoah remembered so well, and she asked, “Shenandoah Wilcox? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”
“Wasn’t sure you’d remember what I look like.”
“What’re you doing here? My God, I haven't seen you in a coon's age. Please sit down,” she said, pulling out a chair.
“I came to cover the trial for the Memphis Express.”
“I forgot you’re a reporter. I haven’t seen you since graduation or even had a Christmas card in three or four years. How are you?”
“I’m more interested in how you are.”
“Mad as hell that I’m in this lousy jail. I’m so frustrated I could scream.”
They sat facing each other across the steel table. Her hands were crossed and rested one on the other in front of her. Shenandoah thought for a moment that she detected a fine tremor in Kate’s slender hands.
“Why aren’t you free on bail?”
“I’m accused of a capital crime. The prosecutor and judge think I’m a risk. Which is ridiculous. I’m not going to skip town. I’m going to fight this thing and clear my name. I don’t run away from battles.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Since the first of April.”
“Can’t your attorney do anything?”
“He’s tried. Jake’s a good country lawyer and a family friend, but I’m not sure he’s up to this.”
“Why don’t you hire a hotshot out of Nashville?”
“Are you kidding? I don’t have that kind of money.”
“You’re a doctor. Surely you can afford a good attorney.”
Kate shook her head. “I’m a country doctor in one of the poorest counties in the state. These people don’t have any money. I still get paid with eggs and hams, for God’s sake. If the tobacco crop’s good, maybe they’ll come up with some cash in the fall.”
“I’ll lend you the money,” Shenandoah said.
“Don’t be silly. You’re a reporter. You can’t have that much money. Besides, I couldn’t impose on you. This is my problem and I’ll deal with it.”
“Who’s the prosecutor?”
“Baxter Hargrove is the assistant attorney general. And he's lower than a snakes belly. The attorney general is in Carthage. I don’t know his name.”
“Why do they think you murdered Lillian?”
“She died of an overdose of a barbiturate. The syringe they found belonged to me and had my fingerprints on it.”
Shenandoah thought Kate's normally pale, transparent skin looked ghostlike.
“Seems awfully circumstantial -- that all they’ve got?”
Diverting her gaze, Kate said, “I can’t remember being there. I woke up sometime that afternoon in my car on the side of the road. I was up north near Static. My nurse told me later that I’d made a house call to Lillie’s that morning.”
“Were you sick -- the flu or something?”
“I have these spells now and then.”
“Do you pass out often?”
“Occasionally. I guess you know your uncle Junior is in jail.”
“Yes. Don’t change the subject. Were you and Lillie on good terms?”
“We were always best friends, but she was upset with me.”
“How’s that? You were her doctor.”
“I’m the only -- was the only doctor here.”
“What was wrong with her? Can you talk about it?”
“It’s common knowledge. She suffered from MS, and a few months ago she developed terminal colon cancer. She was very sick and in constant pain. It drove poor Army crazy.”
Shenandoah had forgotten that Army and Lillian had married right after graduating from high school. Both had been classmates. Shenandoah took Kate’s hand in hers and said, “I’d like to help, Kate.”
Squeezing Shenandoah's hand, Kate said, “I’d like to have someone on my side besides Jake and my sister.”
Shenandoah asked, “How is Rebecca?”
“She’s an attorney now in Knoxville. She’s going to help Jake with my defense.”
“Remember when we met that first day of school?” Shenandoah asked.
“Like it was yesterday. You and the other kids from Beulah Land looked so poor and un-kept I couldn’t believe it. I think your dress was made from a Martha White Flour sack. Your face was smudged with dirt and your fingernails ragged. I felt so sorry for you, but look at you now. My God, girl, you look like a New York fashion model.”
Shenandoah laughed. "Jasper said I looked like a big-city whore. I remember how you looked that first day, Kate. You were a skinny waif of a girl, with scrawny legs and healing scabs on your knees. But you were in a nice, freshly ironed dress and wore shoes. We were all barefoot.”
Kate smiled and said, “I remember the first recess when you and Jasper Kingman faced off. He was in the third grade and towered over you. I ran over there and heard him yell something about the Wilcox folks being poor white trash.
“You were just ready to hit him, so I grabbed your hand and pulled you away. I said something about Miss Rutherford sending me to get you.”
“Most people shunned the Wilcox clan. Looking back, we were our own worst enemy,” Shenandoah said.
“Can’t help what you’re born into. At least you broke free. Most of your people didn’t get past the sixth grade. I never understood why you were so different.”
“When my father wasn’t working at the sawmill, he did odd jobs. He helped a man named Persifor Washington pull pumps and pipe out of the ground. The man’s wife, Frances, introduced me to books.
“Isn't your father dead?” Shenandoah asked.
“Dad passed away right before I graduated from medical school.”
Kate sighed and her eyes moistened. She looked away for a moment and then turned back to Shenandoah. “Why haven’t you come home? You still have relatives here.”
“None I’m particularly proud of or have any fondness for.”
“That’s too bad. All I have is Rebecca.”
“Okay if I visit you? I want to help,” Shenandoah said.
“That’s sweet of you, Shenandoah. Come every day.”
“You were my best friend all the way through school. When you’re poor white trash and people treat you like dirt on their shoes, it has an effect on you. You treated me like your other friends. It meant a lot to me.”
“I always liked you. I didn’t care that you were a Wilcox.”
“You’d have to be a Wilcox to know what it's like. Just having you treat me nice made up for all the bad things the other kids said about me. Now it seems things are reversed. I’m worried about you.”
“I feel like the whole county’s against me.” A look of surprise crossed her face. “I can’t believe I said that – it sounds so paranoid.”
“You’re not paranoid. You’re in a tight spot and I want to help,” Shenandoah said. “What can I do?”
“If I’m going to win an acquittal, it’s going to come down to who they believe – me or my accusers.”
“Tell me what to do,” Shenandoah said.
“You’re a reporter. Try to find me some good character witnesses. See what they think about this silliness. Do people really think I could harm my best friend?”
“I’ll do my best. I want to talk to Jake Watson about your situation. Is that okay with you?
"Of course. Tell him I said it's okay. He'll trust you."
"I don’t know Mr. Watson. None of my kin ever needed a lawyer because they were always guilty as sin.”
Kate laughed. “Jake and my father were roommates at Vanderbilt. His office is next to the City Café.”
Standing, they stared at each other for a moment, and then Kate put her arms around Shenandoah, gave her a bear hug, and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for coming, Shenandoah. You’ll never know how much this means to me.”
Shenandoah pushed the button on the wall, and within seconds the deputy materialized. Motioning Shenandoah out, Masterson said, “I’ll come back for you in a minute, Doc.”
A feeling of despair settled over Shenandoah as she descended the stairs. Why hadn’t she kept in better touch with Kate? Kate had always been an incredible woman, her best friend and supporter. They’d sent Christmas cards back and forth for a few years after graduation and then she’d just stopped. No wonder she’d felt ashamed when she’d read that Teletype.
Shenandoah crossed the street to the attorney’s office. She opened the massive oak door and entered a large, sparsely furnished room containing two overstuffed chairs, a low coffee table, and an old-fashioned rolltop desk. A faded diploma stated that Mr. Watson had graduated from Vanderbilt University Law School in 1912.
Sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs, Shenandoah picked up a June 1950 issue of National Geographic and engrossed herself in an article about pygmies in equatorial Africa. Ten or fifteen minutes later, the door swung open and Mr. Watson walked in. He appeared to be in his early to mid-sixties and had on a white short-sleeved shirt and tie. A big straw fedora topped his head, and he held a load of books in one hand and a Dixie Cup full of black coffee in the other. He kicked the door closed with a thud, then set the books and coffee on the desk. Placing the hat on a coat rack, he turned to Shenandoah and asked, “What can I do for you, young lady?”
Standing, Shenandoah said, “Hope you don’t mind that I dropped in on you. I tried to call before I left Memphis but couldn’t get your number.”
“Don’t have a phone -- useless piece of equipment. Never needed one of the damn things.”
“Don’t you have to talk to other lawyers and judges from time to time?”
Jake Watson took a sip of coffee and said, “Have you ever considered how annoying phones are? I could be talking to President Truman, and if the damn thing rang, I’d have to answer it. Could be my housekeeper, for God’s sake. When someone calls me, Dorothy at the café comes and gets me.”
“If I wanted to talk to you, I’d call the café?”
“That’s how you’d do it.” Jake said, “Have a seat. What can I do for you?”
“My name’s Shenandoah Wilcox. I’m a longtime friend of Kate Marlow -- classmates all through school. I’m a reporter now with the Memphis Express, and I’ve come to cover Kate’s trial. I just left her at the jail. She said it would be okay for you to talk to me about her case. She said you'd trust me."
Jake Watson laughed. "Yes, I'll trust you. I know who you are."
"It’s a damn shame the woman can’t get bail,” Shenandoah said.
“She’s accused of a capital offense, and the judge wouldn’t allow bail.”
“Couldn’t you convince them that she would stay here to clear her name? Besides, I’m sure her patients need her.”
“I tried everything. The prosecutor was more persuasive. Who’s your father?”
“Archibald.”
“I knew him and, of course, I know his brothers. Junior’s in jail as we speak.”
“That’s what I heard. But I’m more interested in Kate. What happened?”
Jake took another sip of coffee and studied Shenandoah’s face. “So, what do you know?”
“Kate told me Lillian Johnson died of an overdose of a barbiturate. Kate was supposed to make a house call to Lillian’s but can’t remember her activities that day -- says she passed out. Kate’s fingerprints were on the syringe. That’s the extent of my knowledge.”
“That’s basically all anyone knows.”
“Why would Kate pass out and have no recollection of her activities that day? Had she been ill?”
Jake shrugged.
“I’m no lawyer, but all this seems circumstantial to me, hardly enough to charge someone with murder, let alone deny bail. Why did the grand jury indict her?”
“District attorneys can browbeat a grand jury into coming back with a true bill. In this case, it was our local prosecutor.”
“I can’t remember Baxter Hargrove.”
“He must have been in your class. Sure you don’t know him?”
“Guess I’ve forgotten him. Why did he push for an indictment?”
“He hates Kate because he suppressed evidence in a murder trial and she exposed him. A young colored man was accused of murdering a white girl he’d been seen with in public. I think they were just friends, but you know how people think in this part of the country. The girl’s body ended up in a wooded area by the lake. She’d been raped and murdered. The autopsy showed dried blood under her fingernails. The coroner typed the blood as AB negative – the rarest. Kate knew the boy’s blood was O positive.
“Kate disclosed the information on the stand, and Baxter lost the case. Later, a transient farm worker from Lebanon, Tennessee, admitted the crime. Baxter kept his job but lost his chance for the state senate.”
“Where was Army when Lillian died?”
“At his garage.”
“He’s a mechanic?”
“Among other things.”
“Kate told me she has no recollection of being at Lillian’s house. Has anyone been able to place her there?”
“A neighbor saw her car there that morning.”
“None of this sounds good.”
“These situations are never straightforward. There’re always extenuating circumstances. It’s my job to convince the jury Kate’s innocent.”
“Hope you can.”
“It’s never over until the fat lady sings.”
“You an opera buff?”
“Absolutely.”
“We have something in common, Mr. Watson. I’m always pleased to meet an opera fanatic. And we’re all fanatics.”
“Yes, we are.” Jake began sorting through a pile of papers. “Anything else I can do for you, Shenandoah? I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Anyplace I can get a room?”
“Hattie Mae Hooper takes in boarders.”
“Where does she live?”
“High Street -- big two story with a porch. White, I think.”
They shook hands and Shenandoah said, “Thanks, Mr. Watson. If there’s anything I can do to help Kate, please let me know.”
Chapter 2
The man who named High Street knew his topography because the hill Shenandoah’s new Bel Air had to climb strained its powerful V8. The street was lined with stately maple and elm trees, some towering seventy-five feet above the sidewalks. The yards in front of the houses contained drought-yellowed grass. Hattie Mae’s two-story dwelling had once been white, but the sparse, peeling paint revealed patches of bare gray spots like an untreated skin disease. A wide, covered porch sported a swing hanging from rusty chains. Flowerbeds filled with petunias, daisies, and rose bushes adorned either side of the walkway.
When Shenandoah knocked on the screen door, she heard a dog barking in the back of the house. A tuft of cotton, safety-pinned to the screen, caught her eye just as a huge brown-and-white English bulldog came charging down the hallway, straight toward her. Shenandoah braced herself for an attack. At the last moment, the dog stuck his front paws straight out in front of him and slid across the hardwood floor, slamming his head into the doorframe.
“Mr. Applebee, behave yourself! You’ll give the poor lady a heart attack. I'll be there directly. Jest hold on.”
A woman came slowly out of the shadows of the hallway. Bending over the prostrate body of Mr. Applebee, she poked him with her index finger. The dog jumped to his feet and spun around two times before lifting his right leg and passing a flatus of foul-smelling methane gas.
“Stop that, Mr. Applebee. That’s enough of your nonsense. Go get in your box.”
The dog looked up at his mistress with bloodshot, baggy eyes and waddled off down the hall.
“Come in, lady,” the woman said, pushing open the screen door. “Mr. Applebee ain’t dangerous, jest stupid. Not the sharpest tack in the box.”
As Shenandoah passed through the door, the woman stared at her, studying her face with an unnerving intensity. Portly, with heavy jowls not unlike Mr. Applebee’s, she had dirty gray hair that stood straight out from her head as if she had just stuck her finger into an electric outlet. Her cotton dress hung loosely from her ample frame, and she wore black high-top tennis shoes with nylon stockings rolled over the tops.
“You’re Mrs. Hooper?” Shenandoah asked.
“Hattie Mae to my friends and I ain’t got no enemies.”
“My name is Shenandoah Wilcox, and I need a room for about ten days. Mr. Watson told me you take in boarders.”
“That’s a fact and I’ve got an empty room. Come in the living room and we can talk it out.”
A musty smell hung over the dark room like a shroud. The furnishings looked to be from the 1920s, and lace doilies adorned the arms of all the chairs. In one corner, an ancient GE oscillating fan on a floor stand droned as it swept hot air back and forth across the room.
“Sit right there, Miss Wilcox,” Hattie Mae said as she plopped into the chair opposite her. “You from Beulah Land?”
“Yes. Please call me Shenandoah. Miss Wilcox seems too formal.”
“Ain’t got much use for them folks – your folks.”
“Haven’t got a lot of use for them myself, Hattie Mae. Hope you won’t hold it against me.”
“I’ll pray on it, honey.”
Shenandoah noticed an eight-by-ten color-tinted photograph in a gold frame on the coffee table. The photograph was of a body in an open coffin.
“You looking at my Henry?” Hattie Mae asked.
“I wondered who was in the picture.”
“Well, pick it up and get a good look at Henry, God rest his soul. He’s dearly missed in this house.”
On closer examination, Shenandoah saw the departed Henry Hooper lying in an expensive coffin. A large bouquet of fresh flowers rested on top of the half-open lid. Henry’s hands lay crossed over his chest, and he looked peacefully asleep.
“When did Henry pass?”
“On the thirteenth of July a year ago. Poor old Henry was scared of Friday the thirteenth -- scared of ghosts too.”
“I’m sorry, Hattie Mae,” Shenandoah said, replacing Henry’s picture.
“Tell me about yourself, Shenandoah.”
“Not much to tell. I grew up in Beulah Land and went to school in Round Rock. After the war, I got a college education and took a job at the Memphis Express. I came up here to cover Dr. Kate’s trial.”
“The good doctor’s got herself in a heap of trouble, ain’t she?”
“To put it mildly.”
“I reckon you know Lillian Johnson is the lady they say Dr. Kate killed.”
“They haven’t proved Dr. Kate killed Lillian. That’s for the jury to decide.”
“Most folks in town believe Dr. Kate and Army are still sweet on each other.”
“You think Army and Kate are involved?”
“You ought to know things like that don’t get by folks in a small town.”
“Sometimes it’s just gossip.”
“Maybe.”
“I’ve known Army all my life, but I never knew how he got that name.”
Hattie Mae grinned slyly and, in a soft voice as if telling Shenandoah a secret, said, “Lola, that’s his momma, was working in Nashville in 1920, a file clerk in one of the state office buildings. She met a soldier boy in the Army National Guard, and when she got pregnant, the man said he already had a wife. There was nothing for Lola to do but come home and have the baby. She jest gave the little fellow her last name. She loved that soldier boy a lot, even if he had done her wrong. That’s why she named her son Army.”
“That’s quite a story,” Shenandoah said.
“So what did you think of Army?” Hattie Mae asked.
“We were never friends. Mr. Watson said he owns a garage.”
“Yeah, but at night he’s a ridge runner.”
“Army’s a bootlegger?”
“He ain’t a bootlegger. He picks up store-bought whisky in Nashville and brings it up here. He sells it to bootleggers.”
Mr. Applebee sauntered in and stood at Hattie Mae’s feet, looking up at her with sorrowful eyes.
“Behave yourself, Mr. Applebee, or it’s back in the box.”
Hattie Mae patted her leg, and the big dog leaped into her lap, settled his massive head on her protruding abdomen, fell into a deep sleep, and within seconds was snoring loudly.
Shenandoah stood and moved to the east window. Hattie Mae’s yard, recently mowed, looked brownish due to the drought, but the flowerbeds overflowed. Shenandoah had not noticed when she drove up, but an old black man, on his hands and knees, was digging in one of the beds.
Hattie Mae stood, and Mr. Applebee rolled off her lap, hitting the floor with a thud. He jumped to his feet and shook himself. “Come on, honey. Mr. Applebee and me’ll show you your room.” The big bulldog followed Shenandoah and Hattie Mae down the long hallway with his stubby tail and narrow hips oscillating.
She led Shenandoah to a small room by the kitchen. It had a double bed that sat high off the floor, a nightstand with a Tiffany lamp, a brass alarm clock with two bells on top, and a wing chair with a floor lamp standing next to it. A small desk sat by a window looking out on the flower garden.
“This is it. Ain’t fancy, but it should do you nicely. Bathroom’s next door. I only allow one roll of tissue a week, so you got to make it last. You want, you can have breakfast and supper with me and Mr. Applebee. We eat at six-thirty and five-thirty.”
“This looks fine. How much?”
“Eleven dollars a week. Clean sheets and towels once a week but no food on Saturday or Sunday. We need some time to ourselves. Ain’t that right, Mr. Applebee?” Hattie Mae said with a gurgling laugh. “City Café on the square is open on Saturday but not Sunday. You could go down to the Blue Dot in Livingston or the Beacon in Cookeville. You might like the Beacon because it’s across from Tennessee Tech.”
“But this afternoon we’ll eat at five-thirty?”
“Me and Mr. Applebee was jest getting supper started when you walked up.”
“I’ll get my stuff out of the car. Anything I can do to help?”
“No, child, we can manage jest fine.”
Shenandoah carried her suitcase and portable typewriter to her room along with a handful of novels and biographies. She had always been a ferocious reader and took a book with her everywhere she went, though on this trip, she planned to work on her article at night.
There was a small fan in the corner of the room, and she set it on the desk and turned it on. The scent of honeysuckle drifted in. She surveyed her new quarters and decided she could have done worse.
Hattie Mae rang a dinner bell promptly at 5:30. When Shenandoah entered the small alcove, she noticed the bulldog had climbed onto the chair opposite Hattie Mae’s. A big serving platter sat in the middle of the table piled high with homemade biscuits. Several bowls held mashed potatoes, creamed corn, and string beans. A second platter contained four pork chops. Once seated, Hattie Mae poured iced tea into a chipped glass at Shenandoah's place setting.
Looking around the small dining area, Shenandoah asked, “Am I your only boarder?”
“I usually got two or three, but boarders are mostly transients. You know, jest in town for a few weeks' work at some temporary job. I run the last one off 'cause he snored louder than Mr. Applebee. Help yourself to the biscuits, Shenandoah,” Hattie Mae said with a slow grin.
Shenandoah passed the serving platter, and Hattie Mae took two biscuits before handing it back to her.
Hattie Mae broke off a piece of biscuit and tossed it to Mr. Applebee. The dog caught it and began to chew with gusto. Large spirals of drool slid out of the corners of his mouth.
As they continued to eat, from time to time, Hattie Mae broke off a piece of biscuit or pork chop and flung it at the bulldog.
After they had finished their meal, Hattie Mae reached over and picked up the pitcher of iced tea. While she filled her glass she asked, “Want some more?”
“Sure.” Watching her, Shenandoah said, “I’m happy to help with the dishes.”
“I’ll do it, honey. Don’t cotton to strangers in my kitchen.”
“You really think the flies are fooled by that piece of cotton pinned to your screen door?”
“My goodness, honey, they’re dumb enough to think that piece of cotton is a spider. And you know how spiders and flies get along. Works like a charm.”
“You’re sure you don’t need help?”
“You can bring the plates and stuff in if you want.”
After supper, Shenandoah read the notes she’d collected on Buford Frampton until ten.
The fan blew hot, humid air over the desk where she worked, and perspiration trickled down her chest.
Shenandoah awoke the next morning to the clanking of the bedside alarm clock.
Dressed at 6:30, she walked into the dining alcove and found Hattie Mae at the table with Mr. Applebee seated across from her. The big dog growled when he saw Shenandoah.
“Behave yourself, Mr. Applebee. Shenandoah is a guest in our house.”
A big platter of scrambled eggs and bacon sat in the middle of the table. Hattie Mae passed it to Shenandoah. As she scooped off her helping, Hattie Mae poured her a cup of coffee.
“How’d you sleep?” Hattie Mae asked.
“Okay. Sweated a little through the night -- can’t remember it being this hot up here.”
“Worst summer I can remember.”
Hattie Mae tore off a piece of bacon and flung it in the general direction of Mr. Applebee. He caught it deftly, spirals of saliva trickling off his massive chin.
“How well do you know Jake Watson?” Shenandoah asked.
“They say he’s a right good lawyer. Wrote my will, but I don’t know that much about the man. He was good friends with Dr. Walt.”
Shenandoah tore off a piece of her own bacon and threw it to the dog.
“That were a nice thing for Shenandoah to do, Mr. Applebee. Thank her.”
The bulldog placed one of his massive front paws on the table and gave a low growl.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Applebee,” Shenandoah said.
After carrying her plate and the empty platter into the kitchen and saying goodbye to Hattie Mae, Shenandoah grabbed her note pad an headed out the front door. As she approached her car, she gasped. All four tires had been slashed and the car rested like a beached whale on the rims of its wheels.
"What the hell?" she whispered.
Turning back to the house, she climbed the stairs and rushed inside. Hattie Mae and Mr. Applebee were just entering the hall from the dining area.
"Forget something?" Hattie Mae asked.
"May I use the phone? Someone's slashed all my tires."
Hattie Mae's right hand shot to her mouth and she said, "Lord, child, that's terrible. Who would do such a thing and why?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Shenandoah said as she lifted the receiver out of the cradle attached to the wall. "Give me the Esso station," she said to the operator.
Two minutes later a man answered the phone and said, "Hello."
"Hudson?"
"Yeah, who's this?"
"Shenandoah."
"Holly shit. I heard you were in town. I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
"Me either. You got any tires to fit a 1952 Chevy Bel Air?"
"Some Firestones"
"Throw four in the back of your pickup and come up to Hattie Mae Hooper's house. Know where she lives?"
"High Street. You need four new tires. That don't make a lot of sense."
"Just bring them. Soon!."
Turning to Hattie Mae, Shenandoah said, "I can't believe I've already pissed off somebody so much they had to slash my tires."
"You got any enemies up here?" Hattie Mae asked.
"I've got enemies in lots of places."
Five minutes later Shenandoah heard a pickup laboring up the hill and walked out on the front porch. A black '46 Ford pickup with Esso stenciled in black letters on the doors came to a stop aside her car. A grisly old man with a straggly gray beard stepped out of the cab. Eying the damage, he looked up and gave Shenandoah a toothless grin. "Who'd you piss off this time?"
"If I knew that they'd been in the emergency room at the Livingston hospital."
"I ain't doubting that. Give me twenty minutes and I'll have you fixed up, girl."
"Thanks, Wally. You take my check on a Memphis bank?"
"I got any choice in the matter?"
"Not if you want to get paid. Honk your horn when you're finished."
Thirty minutes later after settling up with Hutson, Shenandoah headed for the jail and walked into the sheriff’s office at 8:00. The secretary was not at her desk, so Shenandoah knocked on Kingman’s door. The lanky sheriff had his back to the door and was staring out the window with a mug of coffee in his hand. He turned and looked at Shenandoah.
“What you want?”
“To see Kate.”
“You got something going with the doc? You two gone queer on us? You were always more boy than girl.”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Jasper.”
“Everything that goes on in this jail is my business.”
“You haven’t changed since grade school. I wasn’t afraid of you then, and I’m sure as hell not afraid of you now. I’m going to see Dr. Kate every day, so you might as well get used to it. If mornings aren’t good, I’ll come in the afternoon. But I will come.”
Kingman glared at Shenandoah and picked up the phone. “Oscar, meet the Wilcox bitch at the door and let her see the doc. She’s got one hour and not a damn minute more.”
When Dr. Kate entered the room, she had a smile on her face. Crossing to where Shenandoah stood, she gave her a hug and said, “Good morning, Shenandoah. I’m so glad to see you.”
“I’ll be here every day. Jasper will limit me to an hour, but I guess that’s his prerogative. Are you sure there’s nothing I can bring you?”
They both pulled out a chair and sat at the table facing each other. Kate said, “Jake keeps me supplied with books. That’s about all I can do – read. I think I’d go crazy if I couldn’t. And I study the AMA Journal every week.” She gave an audible sigh and said, “I hate this. Have you talked to anyone yet?”
Kate sat at the head of the steel table. Shenandoah settled across from her and said, “Not yet. Why do you think you passed out?”
“You look really nice this morning, Shenandoah. I’m surprised you can look so fresh in this heat.”
“Are you hiding something from me, Kate?”
Kate's face flushed and she looked away. “What do you really want, Shenandoah? Why are you here?”
“I came up here to write a story about your trial. Now I want to help you as well.”
“Why?”
“I told you up front. You were always nice to me when we were kids.”
“That doesn’t give you a right to come in here and start giving me the third degree.”
“Why are you so defensive?”
“You’re a psychiatrist now?”
“Whoa, slow down a minute. Let’s start over.” Shenandoah took a deep breath, reached across the table, and took Kate’s hand. “I’m not trying to be critical. I know you’re under a lot of stress. Give me a chance.”
Kate shook her head as tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Shenandoah. I am tense. This whole thing has me furious. I may spend the rest of my life in prison.”
“That’s why I want to help. You’ve got to level with me, Kate.”
Shenandoah reached over and wiped a tear from Kate's cheek.
She gave Shenandoah a wan smile and asked, “Truce?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. What do you want from me?” Kate asked.
“I want you to try to remember what happened that day. You don’t have to do it right this minute. Just think about it from time to time while you’re reading or before you go to sleep.”
Kate said, “I work really hard to take care of these people. In this part of the state patients who have money go to Nashville, and the local doctors are left with the ones who can’t pay. I’ve never been in it for the money. All I want is to take care of sick people. Now I feel that everyone thinks I’m guilty.”
“You’ve probably more friends than you can imagine.”
“I hope so.”
“Any suggestions on who I should talk to?”
“It’s probably best you follow your nose. You are a reporter.”
“I’ll get back here every morning and tell you who I’ve talked to.”
Kate placed her right hand over Shenandoah's and said, "I'm so sorry I was cross with you. And now that I think of it, you seem a little tense yourself this morning. Anything I can help you with?"
Shenandoah sighed. "You have enough troubles without dealing with mine."
"Tell me what's wrong, Shenandoah. Please."
"When I went out to get into my car this morning all four tires were slashed. Flat as a pancake. Just bought four new ones."
"Oh, my God. What's that all about?"
"I don't know. I guess I pissed somebody off."
Kate took a deep breath, and said, "Do you think someone is trying to get you to leave town -- not help me?"
"Could be. I've got my share of enemies in Round Rock -- always have. It could even be coming from Memphis. I've been investigating a colored man who runs a numbers racket. Big Al Bolton is not a very nice fellow."
"Have you said anything to Jasper?"
Shenandoah laughed and catching her breath, said, "What good would that do? Bastard might be behind the attack himself. I sure wouldn't put it past him."
Kate shook her head. "I don't know what I was thinking. You're right, you can't trust Jasper. You might talk to Jimmy Joe Short. He's the state trooper and from what I hear he's a straight arrow. And while you're talking to people about me, you might be able to find out who's got it in for you."
"I might do that. If anything else happens, I'll talk to the trooper."
Just then the door swung open and Deputy Masterson walked in. “Time’s up, Miss Wilcox. I’ll come back for you in a minute, Doc.”
Kate squeezed Shenandoah’s hand and smiled.
As she left the room, Shenandoah turned and said, “See you tomorrow.”
Random thoughts ricocheted through Shenandoah’s mind as she descended the stairs. She couldn’t believe the whole county was against Kate. She knew Kate was the only doctor for miles around, and people depended on her. Shenandoah felt sure she could find some good character witnesses. She had to. And sure as hell wanted to know who slashed her tires.
At the bottom of the stairs, she went to the roster and scanned the list of tenants. Baxter Hargrove’s office was in the back on the south side of the building.
Shenandoah knocked on the door and walked into the assistant attorney general’s outer office. A young woman with long auburn hair was sitting at a desk, typing on an old Underwood. Shenandoah asked, “Mr. Hargrove in?”
The secretary paused long enough to blow a bubble of gum and, after it popped, said, “Yeah.” Then she turned back to the typewriter, her fingers flying over the keys.
Shenandoah asked, “May I see him?”
Squinting at Shenandoah as she continued to type, the secretary motioned with her head and said, “That’s his office.”
“Thanks.”
The minute Shenandoah laid eyes on Baxter Hargrove, she remembered him. Even as a child, Baxter had seemed like an old man. He walked when others ran. He seldom smiled. Laughter never slipped past his lips. His clothes were always clean, his shirttail tucked neatly into his pants, and you could see your image reflected in the shine on his shoes. His pencils lay in a row on the top of his desk in perfect alignment, and his script, carefully crafted, made his words appear as if printed on a typewriter.
Glancing at Shenandoah, the prosecutor said, “Busy -- can’t talk.”
Shenandoah crossed the space between them and extended her hand. “I’m Shenandoah Wilcox, Baxter. Don’t you recognize me?”
The little man squinted at Shenandoah with pig eyes and shook his head. “Do I know you?”
“We went to school together -- first grade through twelfth.”
“You from Beulah Land?”
“One and the same.”
“What the hell do you want?” he asked, wrinkling his forehead.
“I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes about Dr. Kate Marlow.”
“I’m busy, woman.”
“I can come back.”
Baxter pulled a large gold watch from his pants and glanced at it. “A few minutes, that’s all.”
“May I sit down?”
“That chair.” He motioned toward it.
With his bald head, a graying fringe circling the base of his skull, a potbelly, and a double chin, Baxter Hargrove looked fifty-two instead of thirty-two. Deep lines in his forehead and crow’s-feet around his eyes gave him a look of constant worry. Thick bifocals sat on the bridge of a short and stubby nose, and a cigarette dangled from his lips.
Baxter asked, “What’s your interest in Katherine Marlow?”
Shenandoah settled into the chair and crossed her legs. “I’m with the Memphis Express, and I’ve come up to cover the trial. I’d like your take on the indictment, how you see the trial unfolding, that sort of thing.”
Baxter Hargrove stubbed out his cigarette in a glass ashtray, then pulled a pack of Camels from his shirt pocket. After tapping one out, he placed it in his mouth, tore a match out of a booklet, and lit the tip. He said, “Kate Marlow is accused of murdering Lillian Johnson. It’s as simple as that. I know she did it, and the attorney general and I are going to prove it. Case closed. She’ll spend a few years in the state penitentiary. Good riddance, as far as I’m concerned.” The prosecutor's face was flushed and Shenandoah thought she noticed a slight tremor of his hand.
“Why would Dr. Kate do that?”
“Army Johnson.”
“I find that hard to believe. She and Army went together in high school, but they broke up when Lillian moved to town. Army married Lillian, not Kate,” Shenandoah said with a slight smirk.
“They’ve been carrying on an affair for years. Everyone knows that.”
“Gossip, or proof?”
“Proof enough for me,” Baxter said, his eyes narrowing.
“Kate told me a syringe with her fingerprints on it was found at the scene. That all the evidence you’ve got?”
“She can’t account for her activities that day, and she’s been placed at Lillian’s house. There’re other issues I won’t discuss.”
“Who’s going to prosecute the case, you or the attorney general?”
“McArthur Neal is the attorney general. He’s going to handle the trial.”
“What’s he like?”
“Tough as nails – thorough – seldom loses a case.”
“The judge?”
“Judge Grant. He’d be a hanging judge if we still had hangings in this county -- travels a circuit.”
Shenandoah waved Baxter’s smoke away from her face. “What’re your personal feelings about Kate?”
Baxter’s cigarette ash hung precariously from the tip, and just before it fell in his lap, he flipped it into the ashtray. He said in a low voice, “She’s headstrong – independent to a fault – does what she damn well pleases, regardless of what other people think. Besides, she’s a nigger lover – treats the coloreds same as whites. That doesn’t set well in this community. We believe in separate but equal,” Baxter said, his breath coming is short bursts of agitation.
“You know as well as I do there’s no equal,” Shenandoah replied with a frown.
“I’m surprised to hear a Wilcox defending the coloreds. I thought you people hated niggers.”
“I’m not a racist like you and my clan.”
“You might want to mind your own damned business. I think you should leave now. In fact, why don't you go back to Memphis. You're sure as hell not welcome here.”
“Can you at least tell me who found Lillian?”
“The victim’s younger sister.”
“What’s the sister’s name? I don’t remember her.”
“Trudy Underwood. Works at the drugstore. She would have been a little kid when you lived here.”
Shenandoah took a spiral notepad out of her shoulder purse and scribbled the girl’s name across the top of one page. Then looking up at the prosecutor, she asked, “How long you think the trial will last?”
“Four or five days. We’ll get a conviction. She’s long overdue. Most bull-headed, difficult woman who ever walked the face of the earth. I can’t wait to see her behind bars.” Then pulling out his watch, he said, “Time’s up. You really should go back to Memphis and get your nose out of my business.”