Where the Crawdads Sing(92)

“Yes.”

“Thank you. That will be all.”

When Robert Foster left the witness stand, he sat with Tate, Scupper, Jodie, Jumpin’, and Mabel, behind Kya.



* * *



? ? ?

THAT AFTERNOON, Tom called the sheriff back as his next witness.

Kya knew from Tom’s list of witnesses that there weren’t many more to be called, and the thought sickened her. The closing arguments came next, then the verdict. As long as a stream of witnesses supported her, she could hope for acquittal or at least a delay of conviction. If the court proceedings trailed on forever, a judgment would never be handed down. She tried to lead her mind into fields-of-snow-geese distractions as she had since the trial began, but instead she saw only images of jail, bars, clammy cement walls. Mental inserts now and then of an electric chair. Lots of straps.

Suddenly, she felt she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t sit here any longer, her head too heavy to hold up. She sagged slightly, and Tom turned from the sheriff to Kya as her head dropped onto her hands. He rushed to her.

“Your Honor, I request a short recess. Miss Clark needs a break.”

“Granted. Court dismissed for a fifteen-minute recess.”

Tom helped her stand and whisked her out the side door and into the small conference room, where she sank into a chair. Sitting next to her, he said, “What is it? Kya, what’s wrong?”

She buried her head in her hands. “How can you ask that? Isn’t it obvious? How does anyone live through this? I feel too sick, too tired to sit there. Do I have to? Can’t the trial continue without me?” All she was capable of, all she wanted, was to return to her cell and curl up with Sunday Justice.

“No, I’m afraid not. In a capital case, such as this, the law requires your presence.”

“What if I can’t? What if I refuse? All they can do is throw me in jail.”

“Kya, it’s the law. You have to attend, and anyway, it’s better for you to be present. It’s easier for a jury to convict an absent defendant. But, Kya, it won’t be for much longer.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better, don’t you see? What comes next is worse than this.”

“We don’t know that. Don’t forget, we can appeal if this doesn’t go our way.”

Kya didn’t answer. Thoughts of an appeal sickened her more, the same forced march through different courtrooms, farther from the marsh. Probably large towns. Some gull-less sky. Tom stepped out of the room and returned with a glass of sweet iced tea and a package of salted peanuts. She sipped at the tea; refused the nuts. A few minutes later, the bailiff knocked on the door and led them back into court. Kya’s mind faded in and out of reality, catching only snippets of the testimony.

“Sheriff Jackson,” Tom said, “the prosecution is claiming that Miss Clark snuck out of her motel late at night and walked from the Three Mountains Motel to the bus station—a trip of at least twenty minutes. That she then took the 11:50 P.M. night bus from Greenville to Barkley Cove, but the bus was late, so she couldn’t have arrived in Barkley until 1:40 A.M. They claim that from the Barkley bus stop, she walked to the town wharf—three or four minutes—then she boated to the cove near the water tower—at least twenty minutes—walked to the tower, another eight minutes; climbed it in pitch dark, say, four to five minutes at least; opened the grate, a few seconds; waited for Chase—no time estimate—and then all of this in reverse.

“Those actions would have taken one hour seven minutes minimum, and that does not count time supposedly waiting for Chase. But the bus back to Greenville, which she had to catch, departed only fifty minutes after she arrived. Therefore, it is a simple fact: there was not enough time for her to commit this alleged crime. Isn’t that correct, Sheriff?”

“It would’ve been tight, that’s true. But she could’ve jogged from her boat to the tower and back, she could’ve cut a minute here and there.”

“A minute here and there won’t do it. She would have needed twenty extra minutes. At least. How could she have saved twenty minutes?”

“Well, maybe she didn’t go in her boat at all; maybe she walked or ran from the bus stop on Main, down the sandy track to the tower. That would be much quicker than going by sea.” From his seat at the prosecution table, Eric Chastain glared at the sheriff. He had convinced the jury there was enough time for Kya to commit the crime and return to the bus. They didn’t need much convincing. In addition, they had a superior witness, the shrimper, who testified that he had seen Miss Clark headed to the tower by boat.

“Do you have any evidence whatsoever that Miss Clark went by land to the tower, Sheriff?”

“No. But going by land is a good theory.”

“Theory!” Tom turned to the jury. “The time for theories was before you arrested Miss Clark, before you held her in jail for two months. The fact is you cannot prove that she went by land, and there was not enough time for her to go by sea. No more questions.”

Eric faced the sheriff for the cross. “Sheriff, isn’t it true that the waters near Barkley Cove are subjected to strong currents, riptides, and undertows that can influence the speed of a boat?”

“Yeah, that’s true. Everybody lives here knows that.”

“Someone who knew how to take advantage of such a current could boat very quickly to the tower from the harbor. In such a case, it would be very feasible to cut twenty minutes off the round trip. Isn’t that correct?” Eric was annoyed that he had to suggest yet another theory, but all he needed was some plausible concept the jurors could latch on to and pull them in.