"Yes," Terence said quietly.

"Did you run up there?"

"I was close to sixty years old then, sir, and a little woozy from sleep, and frightened, as I've admitted. No, I did not run."

"Did you walk rapidly?"

"It would be fair to say no, I did not. Not really."

"You strolled?"

"No, sir. I walked at a normal and cautious pace through the darkness, with my flashlight."

"How long did it take for you to get to the house?"

"Maybe three minutes."

"And did you go in?"

"First I shone the beam of my flashlight around, to see if any prowlers were about, and Mr. Zide must have seen it, for he came out to meet me on the gravel."

"Mr. Zide?"

"Young Mr. Zide. Mr. Neil, him as what's here in the courtroom with his mother. Not Mr. Solomon. He had pa.s.sed on." Terence crossed himself.

"Did you know Mr. Solomon was dead-had pa.s.sed on-when you got to the house?"

"The terrace faced the beach. I came up the driveway to the front door. What I'm saying is, no, I didn't know Mr. Solomon was dead, and no one told me he was dead until a great deal later that night. What happened is, when I reached the house Mr. Neil came out and said to me, 'Terence, a terrible thing has happened. We've sent for the police. Go back to the gate and wait for them.' "

"And did you do that?"

"First I asked him if he was all right, and if there wasn't anything I could do. He looked pale and he was shaking. He said, 'No, go back to the gate, man. Do as I say.' And I did that."

"And did the police come, as Neil Zide had said they would?"

"Yes, indeed they came."

"How much later?"

"Thirty-five minutes later."

"Thirty-five? Not ten, or twenty, or forty?"

"No, sir, it took them thirty-five minutes to arrive."

I pretended to be puzzled, and to think about what he'd said. "Mr. O'Rourke, how can you be sure of the time interval?"

"We kept an in-out list, a log. I wrote down the times."

"I see. And did anyone else come before the police got there?"

"One person. Mr. Neil called down to the gate a few minutes after I got back there. He said a man would be arriving shortly and I should let him in and not talk to him."

"Do you remember the name of that man?"

"I do now, sir."

"Explain to the court what you mean by that."

"I didn't remember it when you asked me last week, but then you offered a few names to me, and one of them seemed right, and I remembered it."

"The name of that man?"

"Gambrel, it was."

"And the man named Gambrel arrived approximately when?" "About fifteen minutes after I got back to the gate."

"Twenty minutes before the police?"

Terence mulled that over and then said, "That would be correct."

"You're sure of these time intervals?"

"Yes, I am sure."

"Because you wrote all this down on what you call your in-out list? Your log?"

"I did indeed."

"What happened to that log?"

He sighed. "I gave it to the detective who talked to me."

"That would be Sergeant Floyd Nickerson?"

"Yes."

"Did Sergeant Nickerson ever give the log back to you?"

"He did not."

"Was anyone else present when you talked to Sergeant Nickerson, or when you gave him your log?"

"We were alone. First at the house that night, after the ambulance came flying up, and then later down at the sheriff's office downtown."

"Did you ever tell Sergeant Nickerson that you'd heard a single shot, and then three evenly s.p.a.ced shots a minute or two later?"

"I told him that, sir. Indeed I did."

"Did he write that down?"

"I believe he did, and in any case he had his machine running."

"A tape recorder?"

"That's what it was."

"Did you ever tell Sergeant Nickerson that on the night of December 5 there had been only three shots and that you heard them all together, in succession, one after another?"

"I did not tell him that. It wasn't so."

"Were you aware that at the trial, back in April 1979, Mrs. Zide and Mr. Neil Zide testified that there had been only three shots fired by the accused, Darryl Morgan? And that they had all been fired at the same time?"

"No, sir, I've told you, I was in Colorado and then in sunny California with my children and grandchildren."

"How soon after the death of Mr. Zide was your employment terminated?"

"About five years later."

"Can you tell us the circ.u.mstances?"

"Mrs. Zide came to me and told me she wished to reward me for faithful service. She knew I had another daughter down in Daytona Beach, and that I thought of retiring there. She said the time had come, and she would take care of me."

"Did she give you severance pay?"

"Yes, she did."

"Tell the court how much."

Terence hesitated, then said, "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

I was silent a few moments to let that sink in for the judge's benefit. Then I asked Terence if he thought that was a lot of money. Predictably, he did.

"Do you also receive a pension from the Orlando Police Department?"

"Yes, I do."

"Was Mrs. Zide aware that you would receive that pension?"

"I told her, of course."

"And in addition to that pension, and above the quarter-of-a- million-dollar lump-sum payment she gave to you, Mr. O'Rourke, in the past eight years has Mrs. Zide paid you any more money?"

"She has not, but I receive a check from one of Mr. Neil's companies, every month, for four thousand dollars."

"Health insurance and major medical?"

"I have that from them too."

"Did you ever expect such handsome retirement benefits?"

"No, but I've told you, they are good people."

"Pa.s.s the witness," I said.

This time it was Muriel who jumped up to do the cross. She and Beldon thought highly of young Whatley, but Muriel wanted Terence O'Rourke for her own. She beat at him, she insulted him, she questioned his sobriety and his mental capacity and even his loyalty to his former employers, tried to twist his words and hammer at his memory and degrade his story in any way she could-as any lawyer would have done had he or she been standing in her shoes-indeed, as I would have done had I been the prosecutor.

Like infidelity, the law is a cruel sport.

I held Muriel in check as best I could by objecting to just about every other question. It was unnecessary: Terence wouldn't budge. He was telling the truth, and the more Muriel tried to twist the knives of ridicule and doubt, the more certain he became. Finally she said, "I have no more questions," and I thanked Terence, and the court told him he could leave.

Judge Fleming looked down from his lofty position on the bench. He was king and emperor and court jester. "Is that all?" he asked me. "You look like death on a cracker. Are you ready to go home and get some sleep?"

"No, Judge, I'm just fine, and I have one more witness. And possibly a second one."

"Can we get them done this afternoon before we close up shop?"

"Yes, sir," I said, somewhat recklessly. "They're both here in the courtroom."

"Let's hear the first one."

"The defense calls Constance Zide."

Chapter 31.

"YOUR HONOR, I would like to declare Mrs. Zide to be a hostile witness."

"Objection!" cried Muriel Suarez.

"State your reasons," Judge Fleming said, clutching his coffee mug and peering down at me.

"I'm going by Rule 90.62 Subsection 2," I said, "of the Florida Criminal Code. Mrs. Zide has already been a witness for the state in the jury trial and in this hearing. That makes her adverse by any standards. If she's my witness now, and presumed to be friendly, I can't ask her leading questions. And I don't believe I can get her to speak the truth other than by leading her."

"You want to cross-examine her, Mr. Jaffe? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Yes, Your Honor. But with some lat.i.tude."

"You could have cross-examined her day before yesterday, when she was a witness for the state. You said you had no more questions."

"But I asked to have her stay on call."

"And she has." He pointed with his bony hand. "She's here in the courtroom, isn't she?"