"And then, that night, after you'd cooked up your story, Neil called the Jacksonville Beach police, a good twenty minutes after Victor Gambrel had arrived, and Gambrel called his friend Floyd Nickerson at JSO Homicide. Isn't that what happened? If you know."

"I don't know."

"And the reason Nickerson sent Carmen Tanagra down to the cabanas to see what happened to the dog was so that he'd have the time to listen to an offer from Gambrel on behalf of Neil. Isn't that what happened? If you know."

"I don't know."

"And to your surprise, after Nickerson and Carmen Tanagra picked up Morgan and Smith at the Lil' Champ food store, you found out that Darryl Morgan worked for you as a handyman, isn't that so?"

"I don't know."

"You had no idea he and Smith would be caught, did you?"

"No."

"You didn't want Darryl Morgan to be blamed for the murder of your husband, did you?"

"No."

"Because he hadn't murdered him, isn't that the reason?"

"No, that's not why."

"When you were in Baptist Hospital, the police showed you Morgan's photograph, didn't they?"

"Yes."

"You had to identify the man in that photograph, didn't you?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Because Neil told you that Nickerson had captured a man who admitted trying to burgle your house-Darryl Morgan, a man who worked for you-and the police were going to show you a photograph of him, and you had no choice: you had to identify him. Isn't that what happened?"

"No."

"Neil told you Morgan was violent, a career criminal, right?"

"No, I don't remember that."

"And by then it was too late to back out, wasn't it?"

"I don't understand."

"In the end, what did it matter if Morgan was blamed for a murder he didn't commit? He'd do the time anyway, for one crime or another-isn't that what your son, Neil, and Victor Gambrel, told you in Baptist Hospital?"

"No."

"And so it was a choice between Darryl Morgan, an uneducated, violent black criminal who wasn't fit to do more than pick up your dog droppings, taking a fall on a first-degree murder charge, or you taking a fall on a manslaughter charge that might easily turn into murder if they found out how you hated Solly ... and that was hardly a choice, was it?"

"It's not true," Connie said.

"But you didn't want Morgan to die in the electric chair, did you?"

"I didn't want that at all, Ted."

"You wanted me to go easy on him in the trial, didn't you?"

"Yes." She brightened suddenly; she saw a glimmer of salvation. "I did. You knew that. You remember."

"During the jury selection, we went for a walk along the river, and you told me you didn't want Morgan to die, isn't that right?"

"Yes, darling."

I felt a terrible chill, and my heart fluttered like a torn wing. Toba was there in the courtroom. Toba had heard.

But I had to go on. "You knew Morgan wasn't guilty, didn't you, Mrs. Zide?"

"No, Ted."

"Wasn't that why you begged me the way you did?"

"No, Ted."

I switched gears again, as much to save myself as to trap her. "The argument with Solly, before he died-that final argument-that was about Neil, wasn't it?"

"No, Ted."

"And then Neil came in at two o'clock in the morning while it was taking place, didn't he, Mrs. Zide?"

"He came in, yes."

"Solly was violent, wasn't he, Mrs. Zide?"

"Please, my sweet, don't call me that. You know my name."

My wife was hearing all this. I wanted to turn and look at her, to say, "Toba, it was then, not now. It's you I love and cherish." But I didn't dare. I remembered Beldon's hard warnings to me last spring in his office ... something makes me feel you shouldn't be involved... . He had known. He had tried to stop me from moving too far into the past, where dragons lived.

But for Darryl's sake I had to go back. And then go on.

"Solly threatened you, Connie, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"Somehow, in this argument, you enraged him to the point where you feared he'd do you bodily harm, isn't that true?"

"He hit me, Ted."

"In the face?"

"Yes. In the face. He cut my cheek."

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 shift 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.