The Quiet Game

A murmur of anticipation ripples through the crowd.

"The language on the tape is profane," Judge Franklin goes on, "as language spoken between men in private sometimes tends to be. I will play only that portion of the tape I believe relevant to this case. I want no displays of emotion. I want absolute silence. I will eject anyone who disobeys that order."

She rubs the bridge of her nose and sighs. Then another liver-spotted hand emerges from the black robe. It presses a button on the machine and turns the speakers toward the jury.

Static fills the courtroom. Then an unfamiliar male voice comes from the speakers, the New Orleans accent plain: Brooklyn with a little crawfish thrown in. This must be Clayton Lacour.

"… and this problem, Leo, it's, you know, one of those things you could earn a lot of gratitude by fixing. "

"I'm listening."

A collective intake of breath by the crowd as it recognizes the resonant voice of Leo Marston.

"Order!" demands Judge Franklin.

"This goddamn new guy they got at the field office here," Lacour goes on, "Hughes, his name is, he's not playing by the old rules. This is the new SAC I'm talkin' 'bout. He's stoppin' by for coffee at Carlos's office at the Town and Country, for God's sake, got surveillance on him around the clock. Uncle C is gettin' ulcers. You gotta help me out here, cher."

"I'm not sure what you want."

"What I want? It's not me, Leo. I'm just passing a message from the man."

"From Marcello? "

"Yeah. Elvis was down here a few months ago, and he told Carlos you were tight with Hoover. He said-"

"Elvis?"

"Yeah. Presley. That, ah… what's his first name? Ray. Carlos's guys call him Elvis."

A pause on Marston's end. Then: "/ thought Frank Costello greased the skids with Hoover for Marcello."

"Well, you didn't hear it from me, okay? But Carlos and Frank are on the outs just now. Not a good time for Carlos to call New York for a favor. So anyway, Elvis was down here, and he told the man you guys cooled out a nigger down there two or three years back, and Hoover let it slide for you-"

A gasp from the jury box.

"-said you call him Edgar, like he's your uncle or something. " Lacour laughing now. "Anyway, Carlos wants you to talk to the old queen and get this Harold Hughes off his back. This fucking guy don't know how it works down here."

"Does Marcello understand how things work with Hoover? "

"What do you mean? "

"Hoover expects a quid pro quo."

"Hey, there's always a quid pro quo, right? That's business. But look, Elvis wasn't just talkin shit about this nigger, was he? "

"No. Hoover grew up in Washington, D.C., when it was still a Southern town. This business you're talking about was in sixty-eight. Hoover would have traded twenty nigras for one electoral vote for Nixon. It was that close. You tell Marcello I'll speak to Edgar, but remember… quid pro quo. That goes for me as well."

"Hey, do I know you or don't I? Now, what about those gas leases where they 're dredging down by Houma-."

Judge Franklin switches off the machine.

The silence is total. I'm not sure anyone in the courtroom is breathing. The jury appears to be in shock, particularly the black jurors, who are staring at Leo Marston as they might at a dangerous wild animal. Blake Sims gets to his feet to start listing objections, but Franklin stops him with a gesture.

A chilling screech of chair legs rips through the courtroom. As all heads turn toward the source of the sound-the plaintiff's table-Livy rises from her chair, puts her purse over her shoulder, and without looking at her father or anyone else walks around the table and down the aisle to the door at the back of the courtroom.

This act is probably more damning to her father than the tape. To me it suggests a chance for the possibility of redemption. At least she draws the line somewhere. I suppress the urge to go after her, even though I know that at this moment she might do something truly desperate. I must play my part in this grotesquerie to the end. As I turn back toward the bench, Austin Mackey stands and hurries after Livy. I'll have to wait to find out what he's up to.

"Mr. Sims," Judge Franklin says from the bench. "I know what you're going to say. First, that the voice on this tape is not Leo Marston's. Second, that if the voice is Marston's, it has been spliced together using some miracle of modern technology. Third, you want to request a continuance while your experts examine the tape."

Franklin drums her fingers on her desk. "Mr. Sims, that is not going to happen. I am not going to recall this jury three weeks from now just to hear your experts denounce the tape and Mr. Cage's experts argue that it's genuine. I've known Leo Marston for twenty_:five years, and I believe the tape is genuine. Mr. Sims, I am giving this case to the jury."

Most of the heads in the jury box are nodding.

"Does the plaintiff rest?" Franklin asks.

"Under protest," Sims says weakly.

"Noted." Franklin turns to me. "Does the defense rest?"

"Your Honor, the defense rests."