Alex Cross's Trial

basis.

    “Why aren’t you staying at your daddy’s?” Jacob asked as soon as we sat down at a corner table.

    “You know my father,” I said. “It seemed like Maybelle’s was the smart place to be. My father and I just don’t get along.”

    “All right, then. But there is one question I been dying to ask: What in hell are you doing back in Eudora? ”

    “Nothing much,” I said. “I’ve got a little business to tend to.”

    “Lawyer business?”

    “Just a simple job for the Justice Department. I have to interview a few lawyers in the county, that’s all it is. In the meantime—it’s catfish!” I said.

    Pretty soon Miss Fanny came from behind the counter bearing plates of crispy fried fish, sizzling-hot hush puppies, and ice-cold sweet-pickle coleslaw. The first bite was delicious, and every bite after. I asked Miss Fanny what time the place opened for breakfast, and made up my mind never to suffer through another of Maybelle’s breakfasts.

    “Hell, I look old, but you still look like a high-school boy, Ben,” said Jacob. “Like you could run ten miles and never even break a sweat.”

    “Oh, I did plenty of sweating just riding that bike a dozen blocks,” I said. “It’ll take me a while to get used to this heat again. How you been keeping yourself, Jacob?”

    “Well, let me see… you probably heard I turned down the offer to be ambassador to England… and that was right after I passed on the chance to be president of the university up in Tuscaloosa. Well, sir, it was shortly after that I made up my mind that the profession I was most suited for was as a carpenter’s assistant.”

    “That’s good,” I said. “Honest work.”

    “Yeah, me and Wylie Davis are the men you want to see if you need a new frame for your window screens, you know, or a new roof for your johnny house.”

    Then there was silence, a good and acceptable kind of silence—nothing nervous or uncomfortable about it. The kind of quiet that is tolerable only between old friends.

    It was Jacob who finally broke it.

    “They were good days, Ben. Weren’t they?”

    “They were great days.”

    “We were friends! Right through it all.”

    “The best,” I said. “We were like brothers.”

    We clinked our iced-tea glasses. Then Jacob spoke.

    “But there is one thing I need to make very clear to you, Ben.”

    “What’s that?” I tried to keep the note of concern out of my voice.

    “You said we were like brothers?”

    “Yeah? That’s what I said.”

    “I just need to remind you of something.”

    “Well, go ahead, Jacob,” I said.

    “I was always the pretty one.”

    Chapter 31

    ENOUGH!

    Enough idle thoughts about my long-ago romance with Elizabeth Begley.

    Enough turning over in my mind the painful lack of affection between my father and me, the disgust in his face when he saw me for the first time in six years.

    Enough reliving an old friendship like Jacob’s and mine.

    Theodore Roosevelt hadn’t sent me to Eudora to take a rickety bicycle ride down memory lane. I had a job to do, and it might even help change history.

    I paid the bill for our lunch, and Jacob left two bits for Miss Fanny. Then he headed off up Commerce Street to help Wylie frame a new roof for the front porch of the town hall.

    An old black man stepped off the sidewalk as Jacob passed, not to avoid a collision, but simply making the customary show of respect. Black men of all ages had been stepping down off sidewalks to get out of my way since I was five years old.

    I rode the bicycle back to Maybelle’s, changed my shirt, and set off on foot for the Eudora Quarters. On my way out, I made sure to tell Maybelle I had some interviews to attend to.

    I considered trying to hire a horse and buggy, and couldn’t think of anywhere in town to do such a thing. My father had three perfectly good horses in his barn, of course, but I was determined to do what I came to do without him.

    ABRAHAM CROSS, EUDORA QUARTERS said the slip of paper the president had given me.

    It was time for me to meet this Mr. Cross.

    Chapter 32

    I KNEW THE STREETS of the Quarters almost as well as I knew the rest of Eudora. I knew the history of how it came to be. After the war, the slaves from all the plantations and farms in the vicinity of Eudora had been freed. Most of them had either left their previous lodgings or been turned out by masters who no longer wanted to provide housing for people they didn’t own.

    So the freed slaves built their homes where no one else wanted to live, in a swampy, muddy,