The Quiet Game

Portman enters the courtroom with two bodyguards, who take up posts at the door as their master walks up the aisle. Lean, tanned, perfectly coiffed, and attired in a dark blue suit, the FBI director is clearly accustomed to television. He ascends to the witness box with the air of a medical expert about to hold forth on matters beyond the understanding of a lay audience.

This time it is not Blake Sims but Livy who rises from the plaintiff's table and approaches the box. Judge Franklin gives Sims a questioning look, but Sims says nothing.

"You will be handling this witness, Ms. Sutter?" asks Franklin, using Livy's legal surname.

"With the court's permission, Your Honor."

Franklin turns to me. "Any objection, counselor?"

"No, Your Honor."

Livy walks past the podium and up to the witness box. Though Portman is much older than she, both emanate a sense of confidence and ease to which lesser mortals should not begin to aspire.

"Mr. Portman, what is your current position?" she asks.

"I'm the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The FBI."

"Do you know the plaintiff in this case?"

"I do. I've known Leo Marston for thirty years."

"How did you meet?"

Portman purses his lips like he's thinking back. "Leo was the district attorney in Natchez in 1968. I was serving here as an FBI field agent at that time, investigating the death of Delano Payton. Mr. Marston gave the Bureau valuable assistance during that investigation."

My heart lurches.

"Why do you think he did that?" Livy asks.

Portman opens his hands, palms upward, as though the answer were obvious. "Leo Marston believed in the necessity of civil rights legislation. At no small risk to himself, he worked to help us enforce that. The man was a hero."

Livy nods thoughtfully. "How did you first become aware of the charges made by Penn Cage against Leo Marston?"

"Leo contacted me in Washington by telephone on the day the charges were printed in the local newspaper. We spoke at length at that time, and several times subsequent."

So much for the phone records. Livy's strategy is all too clear. She plans to undercut what little documentary evidence I have before I can present it.

"What was the substance of those conversations?" she asks.

"Judge Marston expressed anxiety that this sensitive case was being dragged through the media, and that his reputation was being damaged."

"You called the Payton case a sensitive case. Why is that?"

Portman adopts a pose of paternal concern. "I'm afraid I can only speak indirectly to this issue. As I've stated to the press, our file on Delano Payton is sealed on the grounds of national security interest. It has been for thirty years. Earlier this week the Senate Intelligence Committee voted to maintain the sanctity of that file."

"Please tell us anything you can about the case."

Portman nods agreeably. "The Payton case involved a veteran of the U.S. Army, a man who served in Vietnam. J. Edgar Hoover, the FBI director at that time, felt that the details involving this man, if released during the Vietnam conflict, might damage national morale, particularly the morale of line troops in Vietnam, where racial problems had become an issue."

He has to be talking about Ike Ransom.

"But the Vietnam War has been over for more than twenty years," Livy points out. "Why is the file still sealed?"

"As I said, I can't speak as fully to this issue as I would like. I'm sorry Mr. Cage has seen fit to exploit this case in his bid for publicity or revenge, or whatever it is."

Livy pretends to be intrigued by this aside. "Have you had experience with Mr. Cage in the past?"

"I had some dealings with him when he was an assistant district attorney in Houston, Texas. I found him to be highly partisan, and indeed an unstable sort of man for that type of job. He actually killed the brother of a man he tried for murder, and the facts of that incident were never satisfactorily explained. I think the citizens of Texas were well served when he left that job to pursue a career in which a vivid imagination is an asset, not a liability."

I feel like throwing my pen at Portman, just to break up the rhythm. He and Livy are like tennis pros giving an exhibition match, sleek and practiced, the volleys perfectly timed, every shot a winner.

"One final question," she says. "As one of the agents who originally investigated the Payton murder, what do you think of the allegation that Leo Marston was somehow involved in that crime?"

A superior smile touches Portman's lips. God, he's enjoying this. "I find the notion utterly preposterous. The fact that we are sitting here today discussing it is a travesty of justice."

"Thank you, Mr. Director. Your witness."

I would prefer to cross-examine Portman after I have presented my case, but I cannot let his slurs against me stand unchallenged. Nor can I be sure that Portman will even stick around Natchez after he leaves the stand. I rise but remain at my table.