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  “But if we get Stuart out—”

  “It wouldn’t make any difference. She’s adamant about that. She doesn’t want him back. As a matter of fact, the last time I talked to her, she seemed more afraid of that than anything else.”

  “You’ve talked to her since I came to town?”

  “Yes. She came to me last Tuesday. I can’t reveal what she said, of course, but it’s really nothing new. She’s trying to make up her mind which way her life should go, and it’s very hard for her. She’s being pulled to pieces, I’m afraid.”

  Tom left shortly after that, and as soon as he was gone, Charles Fields sat down at his desk. He picked up his Bible, thumbed through it, then shook his head. “No one knows what Leah will do, not even she herself, but it’ll be a tragedy if she can’t open her heart to Stuart again and forgive him.”

  ****

  When Tom Winslow came downstairs for breakfast, he found that his uncle had already left. He sat down and filled his plate with eggs and country ham and grits and some hot biscuits that Diane had just pulled out of the oven. He ate heartily as Diane sat across from him sipping her coffee but eating nothing.

  “I ate with Richard. He’s so busy,” she said. She hesitated for a moment, then said, “You’re not making much progress, are you, Tom?”

  “Oh, it takes a while,” Tom said evasively. He put a layer of apple butter on a fresh biscuit, bit into it, and said, “You just have to keep on turning over rocks and hoping you’ll find something underneath. And I will. I don’t care how long it takes.”

  “But your practice. What about that?”

  “It’ll be there when I get back, Diane. Don’t worry about it. I got a letter from Dad yesterday, and I could tell he’s very anxious for me to get this thing worked out.”

  “Bless his heart. I wish I could see him. He’s such a fine man.”

  “The best one I know,” Tom said.

  The two sat there for a time, and finally Tom saw that something was troubling Diane. “What is it?” he asked. “Have you got something on your mind?”

  “Well, you’ll probably hear about it. Maybe you already have. Cora Simms came back to town. She’s been gone to Europe, I think. Switzerland or somewhere. She’s been traveling a lot since Carter was killed.”

  Instantly Tom sat up straight. “She’s the one I need to see. She’s the only witness to what happened. I was about ready to leave the country and go run her down.”

  “You won’t have any trouble. She lives in the big stone house out by the Old Military Road, just past the cotton gin.”

  “I’ll go see her this morning,” Tom said. He sat for a moment thinking, then he said, “Why don’t you and I just pray that God opens a door?”

  “I think that’s exactly what we should do,” Diane said.

  The two did pray—Diane passionately—and Tom left feeling a stir of excitement. It was the last day of November and was very cold, and the car was hard to start. Finally he got it going, though he almost broke his arm getting it cranked. “I wish I could afford one of those new self-starters for these contraptions,” he grumbled. Sailing down the road, he followed Diane’s instructions and soon pulled up at an imposing stone house. A Cadillac sedan was parked outside, and he got out of the car, shook his shoulders against the cold, and advanced to the steps. When he rang the bell, the door was opened almost at once by a small young black woman.

  “Yes, suh?”

  “I’d like to see Mrs. Simms, if I might. My name is Tom Winslow.”

  “Yes, sir. Would you wait in the foyer? I’ll see if Mrs. Simms will see you.”

  Tom stood looking around the foyer. It was an opulent house with the mark of wealth everywhere. The walls were painted a bright white with gold accents highlighting the trim, crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, and the floor was made out of highly polished white marble with gold swirls running through it. Mahogany shelves and tables lined the walls and were covered with vases of fresh flowers, books with bright leather bindings, and crystal and gold knickknacks of all kinds.

  Hearing footsteps, Tom turned to find a woman approaching him and was impressed by the beauty of Cora Simms. She was wearing a dark burgundy dress made of satin with an overlay of black lace that fell to her ankles. The neckline was low, the sleeves long and tight fitting, and the skirt had black beads along the edge of the hem.

  “My name is Tom Winslow, Mrs. Simms. I apologize for calling without making an appointment.”

  “Are you related to Stuart?”

  “Yes. He’s a cousin of mine. You may not have heard, but I’ve come to see what I can do for Stuart. I’m a lawyer.”

  “Come into the drawing room, Mr. Winslow.”

  The two went into the drawing room, where a fire was blazing in the fireplace. A tall black man was putting logs on it, and Cora said, “That’ll be fine, Ralph.”

  “Yes, Miz Simms.”

  As soon as the man was gone, Cora turned to Tom and said directly, “What have you done so far?”

  It was a direct question, and Cora Simms was watching him carefully. Tom Winslow knew that he had to be very careful. This woman had been in the back of his mind ever since he had heard the story, and now he felt a sense of excitement growing in him. “I found out that there are elements in the trial that might lead to a new examination of the case.”

  “You mean another trial for Stuart?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to speak unkindly of anyone, but Mr. Frasier was in no condition to try that case, and he did not bring facts in that could have altered the verdict. I’m looking for all the evidence I can to prove that the trial was not fair for Stuart.”

  “And what do you want from me?”

  Tom decided to take a chance. He had the spirit of a gambler deep in him, although his gamble was never with cards or dice. He gambled with people. Now something in Cora Simms’s eyes and expression, her whole demeanor, in fact, compelled him to say, “I think you could do more than anyone else to help Stuart, Mrs. Simms.”

  “How can I help?” Cora said as she sat down.

  He noticed that her hands were unsteady. Sitting down across from her, he said, “I read your testimony at the trial, but I’m afraid the district attorney twisted a few things.”

  “I was frightened,” she said. “I’m usually not an easy woman to frighten, but I was worried about Stuart.”

  “How did it happen? Tell me exactly.”

  “Stuart never even had a gun,” she said. She twisted her hands together, and words began to flow out of her. “Stuart and I had had an affair when he was first married but hadn’t seen each other for four years. That night we were together again. Carter had always been suspicious of Stuart. He never believed our affair was really over. When he came through the door that night, I knew I was a dead woman. He had always said if he caught me with a man, he’d kill me.”

  “Did he ever threaten to kill the man?”

  “Never,” Cora said, and a bitter light touched her eyes. “He never loved me. I was nothing but a trophy to him. He always said he couldn’t blame a man, because I used them, and he was right.”

  Cora’s honesty took Tom aback, but he only said, “Can you tell me exactly what happened when your husband came home that night?”

  “He had a gun in his hand, and he began to curse me, and he said, ‘I’m going to kill you.’ Then he simply raised the gun and shot me. I fell over backward and struck my head, but I didn’t lose consciousness.”

  “What did Stuart do?”

  “He jumped up and made for Carter. Carter shot at me twice more, and he missed both times. I think it was because Stuart knocked his arm up. The two started struggling for the gun, and then I heard another shot, and Carter fell down.”

  “This information is very important, Mrs. Simms. Did Stuart get the gun away from your husband?”

  “No. He never did. He had a grip on his wrist, and he was twisting the gun away from him, trying to keep him from shooting me. He bent it all the w
ay back, but it was Carter who pulled the trigger.”

  A great sense of relief came to Tom Winslow then. “This could change everything. Will you testify to this in court?”

  Cora’s eyes met Tom’s. “Yes, I will,” she said. “I don’t have any reputation to uphold. I’ll testify.”

  “I’ll be getting back to you, Mrs. Simms,” Tom said as he stood to leave.

  When they reached the door, Tom held his hat in his hand and turned as Cora spoke again. “Get him out if you can, Mr. Winslow. He’s not a killer. It was my fault he was here. I made him do it.” Her lips twisted in a humorless smile, and she shook her head. “I can make men do things, you know.”

  Tom said briefly, “I’ll be calling on you again once I attend to some matters, Mrs. Simms. I think we can do something with this new information.” He turned then and left.

  When Cora shut the door, she put her back against it. Her body began to tremble, and to her astonishment tears formed in her eyes. She had not cried over anything in so long she had forgotten she knew how.

  ****

  “I think I’ve got enough new information to go ahead now and seek a retrial for Stuart, Richard.”

  “I can’t believe it will do any good,” Richard said. He looked weary but pulled himself up and said, “Do what you can.”

  Tom nodded. “I’m going to go see the governor in Little Rock.”

  Richard suddenly laughed. It was a harsh sound, and he said, “You don’t know who the governor of Arkansas is, do you?”

  “Why, no, I don’t.”

  “The governor of Arkansas is Leonard Stokes.”

  Tom blinked with astonishment. “You mean the district attorney who prosecuted Stuart?”

  “Yes. He got into office on a reform movement. The old governor was so corrupt that he had to go, and Stokes had a good record. But he’s not going to be happy to see you.”

  “Happy or not, Mr. Stokes is going to see me in the morning,” Tom said. His face was set in a determined mold, and he turned to Diane, saying, “You do the praying, and I’ll talk to the governor.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ancient History

  Tom arrived back in Little Rock a little before one o’clock. He took a room at the Marion Hotel, then asked for directions. The capitol was not hard to find. He simply turned west on Fifth Street, and off in the distance he saw the dome rising high in the air. Finding a parking place proved to be somewhat difficult, but after he had parked the Hudson, he made his way to the front door. The governor’s office, he discovered, was in the east wing. When he entered he found a room full of people waiting. He stepped up to the desk and told the rather attractive young woman, “My name is Tom Winslow. I have an appointment with the governor.”

  “The governor’s running a little late, I’m afraid, but if you’ll have a seat, I’ll work you in as quickly as I can, Mr. Winslow.”

  Tom took a seat, but it was an hour and a half before the young brunette spoke to him. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long, but the governor will see you now.”

  “Thank you,” Tom said. He walked through the heavy walnut door and swept the room with a glance. The carpet was blue and thick, the walls were beautifully matched with walnut, and the desk was the most imposing one he had ever seen. Behind it the governor sat, but he rose at once.

  “I’m Governor Stokes,” he said pleasantly. “And you’re Mr. Winslow, I take it.”

  “Yes, Governor.” The two men shook hands, and the governor waved at a chair. “Sit down. Tell me what I can do for you. Sorry to have kept you so long.”

  “That’s all right, Governor. You may recognize my name.”

  “Winslow? Yes. Tom Winslow,” he murmured. “I don’t quite remember—”

  “But you do remember a relative of mine. Stuart Winslow.”

  Governor Stokes suddenly grew very still. He was a lean man with his hair growing gray at the temples, and his mind worked rapidly. “Yes, I do remember Stuart Winslow in Lewisville about seven years ago.”

  “Yes. You prosecuted him, Governor.”

  Stokes remained silent for a moment, studying his visitor. He never forgot a case, but the Winslow case had been particularly important to him. It had really launched his career. His victory there had aided him in pursuing his political aspirations, but somehow he had never felt proud of it. It had something to do with the fact that he had defeated an old man who had no business being in a courtroom.

  “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “I want you to pardon Stuart Winslow.”

  Stokes laughed abruptly. “Well, you don’t mind asking big. Why should I?”

  “Because he was innocent. He should never have been sentenced to the penitentiary. There was no malice. That’s clear from the trial.”

  “He had a trial before a jury of his peers.”

  “And he was defended by a man who should not have been in that courtroom. I think you know that. You cut Mordecai Frasier to pieces, Governor.”

  Stokes’s face grew flushed, for Tom had touched a nerve. No one had ever said this before, but over the years he had said it to himself. “He got a fair trial. I’m sorry, but this point is not debatable.”

  “Mrs. Simms doesn’t think he got a fair trial,” Tom said quietly.

  Leonard Stokes turned quickly. “She testified that her husband was killed in his own bedroom by Stuart Winslow.”

  “But that’s not what really happened, is it, Governor?”

  “What do you mean that’s not what happened? The man’s dead! Winslow was in the room.”

  “But he never had the gun in his hands. You knew that, didn’t you?”

  Actually Stokes had known that. It was another one of those bits of evidence that Frasier had failed to turn over. Stokes had found it out simply by talking with Cora Simms, but since it would have weakened his case, he had never brought it up. If it had been brought up, he would, of course, have admitted it, but he had known in his heart that the verdict might have been very different. Carefully Stokes said, “What is your intention, Mr. Winslow?”

  “I intend to get a retrial.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “No. I don’t think so. I’ve been rather successful in matters like this if you’d care to check my record. I don’t think it would be difficult at all when all the facts are presented.”

  “What facts?”

  “The gun that killed Carter Simms was in his own hand. He pulled the trigger. Stuart never had the gun in his possession. Mrs. Simms will testify to this in open court.”

  “I can’t pardon a man on that one piece of evidence.”

  Tom shrugged. “Then there’ll have to be a retrial, and I’ll get one. This time you won’t be facing a tired old man, Governor. I don’t lose many cases. . . .” Tom paused, and his voice was low, but there was a certainty in it. “And I won’t lose this one.”

  Stokes turned and began to pace the floor. “I can’t do it. He’s a dangerous man.”

  “Warden Armstrong doesn’t think so. He’ll testify that Stuart’s no danger to anyone.” Suddenly Tom smiled and his eyes glinted. “He’s a Republican, as I think you know. You came in to office on a very narrow margin, Governor Stokes. The election is coming up again. I don’t know much about Arkansas politics, but Warden Armstrong would be happy to get this all over the front pages of the Arkansas Gazette. Indeed, in every paper in Arkansas with a Republican leaning. It’ll make you look pretty bad, Governor.”

  Stokes chewed his lip. It was a bad time, and he did not need any fuel stirring the political fires. He turned and went and looked out the window, and Tom did not speak for what seemed like a long time. Finally, when Stokes did turn, he spread his hands out. “I’ve always felt bad about that trial. I didn’t break any laws, you understand, Winslow, but I did take advantage of Mordecai. He’s the best man I’ve ever known. He’s dead now, so I can’t tell him that I was wrong.”

  “You have a chance now to do something for him. If you pardon St
uart Winslow, you’ll be vindicating Mordecai Frasier’s memory.”

  Stokes was a political fanatic and did not want to lose the upcoming election. He weighed the situation and then made an instant decision. “There may be some trouble. I’ll be criticized for pardoning a man, but I’ll do it.”

  Tom Winslow took a deep breath. “Thank you, Governor. It’s the right thing to do. Here’s a copy of the warden’s letter about Stuart. It ought to assure you, and it’s better in your hands than on the front pages of the papers.”

  “Did me in, didn’t you, Winslow?” Stokes said. “You’re a pretty sharp lawyer. I’d hate to be crossing swords with you in court.”

  “I’ve got the right cause. That always helps.”

  ****

  “What is it, Mr. Murphy?” Stuart asked.

  “You got a visitor, Stuart.”

  Looking up from the guitar where he was working out a new song, Stuart rose and handed it to a tall, gangly young inmate. “You keep on practicing those runs, Sam. You’ll be ready for the big time when you get out.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that, Stuart.”

  Stuart asked no questions as he walked behind Murphy to an office next to the warden’s. When he went inside and the door closed, he said at once, “Hello, Tom.”

  “Stuart.”

  Stuart came over and shook hands, and Tom said at once, “I’ve got good news for you.” There was excitement in his voice, and in a sudden burst of emotion, he put his arm around Stuart and hugged him. “You’re going to be pardoned, Stuart.”

  At that moment, the world seemed to stop for Stuart Winslow. He thought he had misunderstood Tom. Tom had been back to visit him once but had never mentioned the possibility of a pardon. Now he swallowed hard and said, “You wouldn’t fool me, would you?”