Chapelwood (The Borden Dispatches #2)(55)

The lawyer lifted his butt off the edge of the table and slowly walked toward me, shaking his head like I’d done something awful. “You shouldn’t say such things,” he said, talking to me as if I were some naughty schoolchild who’d copied off someone else’s slate. “That’s very offensive to the Reverend Davis, and to the church’s members—some of whom are in this very courtroom.”

“They . . . they are?” I didn’t like how nervous I sounded when I said it. But like everything else, it was too late for me to go back and fix it.

“Why, I’ve attended services there once or twice myself—and I can assure the fine gentlemen of the jury that nothing strange or untoward ever takes place. Chapelwood welcomes worshippers of many faiths into the fold. It’s not at all like the vipers of the Vatican, who would make each man, woman, and child stand upon elaborate ceremonies before they enter the sanctuary.”

“That’s not true,” I argued. “None of it’s true—not about Chapelwood, and not about Saint Paul’s. Father Coyle didn’t make me do anything in exchange for his help, he—”

Faster than you could blink, Hugo Black snapped, “So he was helping you? You admit to this?”

“Everybody knew he helped me. I already told you, he’s the one who married me and Pedro.”

“Had he helped you before?”

I hesitated. Of course he’d helped me before; he’d given me a place to go when I felt like I couldn’t go home, on more than one afternoon. He hid me from Tom Shirley once, after my daddy called him around to collect me. But if I’d said any of that out loud, they’d use it to make me sound bad and Father Coyle sound worse. So even though I’d put my hand on the Bible and made my swears, I shook my head. “He was somebody to talk to. A nice man who didn’t treat me like dirt—and when I asked if he’d marry me and Pedro, he said he’d do it.” That was another lie. It wasn’t my idea to get married, but it wouldn’t go over too well if I put that part on the record.

“Was Father Coyle aware that your father disapproved of the union?”

“It wouldn’t have surprised him any.”

“Answer the question directly, Mrs. Gussman.”

“Fine.” I crossed my arms. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. “He knew my daddy wouldn’t like it.”

“But he performed the marriage anyway?”

“Obviously.”

I glared at him, just daring him to tell me to answer directly again, or properly, or in the manner of his preference. I was getting fed up with this whole courtroom-language business. It was starting to feel like a trick, like a big old game and nobody whose life depends on it knows the goddamn rules.

I think they do it that way on purpose.

Finally someone made a call for “recess,” and they let me get down off the stand. I could hardly get away from it fast enough . . . I even had to stop myself from running down the aisle toward Chief Eagan. I took a real deep breath and mostly held it, putting one foot in front of the other until I reached that back row.

He stood up and smiled real big, and he said, “I’m proud of you, girl. They didn’t take it easy on you, did they? But you said your piece all the same.”

Then Inspector Wolf leaned over the bench and said, “Unfortunately, I doubt they’re finished with you yet.”

The chief turned around, surprised to see him—but he didn’t look unhappy about it. “Inspector, what brings you here?”

“A combination of things, but mostly I wished to support Mrs. Gussman, and to see what steps toward justice were under way, with regards to Father Coyle’s murder.”

“Feeble ones,” Chief Eagan muttered.

We all got real quiet then. The courtroom was emptying out, and Hugo Black was coming down the aisle. I didn’t mean to stare at him. I think he likes it when people stare at him, and I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction on purpose. He looked right at me as he went on by, and spared a glance for those who stood around me. He gave Chief Eagan a bob of his head that was supposed to be polite, but I think it only meant that he’d seen him, and that he was glad the chief was getting to watch him work.

That man is truly a bastard, in the nastiest, coldest sense.

The chief wouldn’t give him a smile or a nod in return any sooner than I would; but those of us at the back row were the only ones who weren’t grinning at him and trying to shake his hand as he left, swarming him and telling him how good he was and what a great job he was doing. He was eating it up, and his appetite was strong.

I looked around and watched the jury men whisper back and forth to themselves as they either stayed in place or wandered off in clusters, sneaking peeks at me when they thought I wouldn’t notice—like I had no idea who or what they were talking about. Jesus, but Hugo Black only told them I was a delinquent. He didn’t tell them I was an idiot.

Inspector Wolf had been exchanging pleasantries with Chief Eagan but I hadn’t heard them, until he said, “But I am terribly sorry—where are my manners? Chief Eagan, Mrs. Ruth Gussman . . . this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Miss Lizbeth Andrew. She’s joined me from Massachusetts, to assist with my investigation.”

“Like Father Coyle used to?” I asked, since he’d mentioned they’d sometimes worked together.