Free Just Cause by John Katzenbach Page A

same.'
    'Why not?'
    He didn't have a ready answer for that question. After a moment, he replied, 'Look, Mrs. Ferguson, ma'am, I can hardly make things worse. And I still need some answers if I'm going to help.'
    The old woman smiled at him again. 'That's true. All right, Mr. Reporter. Ask your questions.'
    'On the day of the little girl's murder…'
    'He was right here with me. All day. Didn't go out, except in the morning to catch some fish. Bass. I remember because we fried them for dinner that night.'
    'Are you sure?'
    'Of course I'm sure. Where was he to go?'
    'Well, he had his car.'
    'And I'da heard it if he started it up and drove off. I ain't deaf. He didn't go nowheres that day.'
    'Did you tell this to the police?'
    'Sure did.'
    'And?'
    'They didn't believe me. They said, "Emma Mae, you sure he didn't slip away in the afternoon? You sure he didn't leave your sight? Mebbe you took a nap or somethin'." But I didn't, and I tole them so. Then they tole me I was just plain wrong and they got angry and they went off. I never saw them much again.'
    'What about Robert Earl's attorney?'
    'Asked the same damn questions. Same damn answers. Didn't believe me none, either. Said I had too much reason to lie, to cover up for that boy. That was true. He was my darlin' gal's boy and I loved him plenty. Even when he went off'n to New Jersey and then came back all street tough and talking trash and actin' so hard, I still loved him fine. And he was doing good, too, mind you. He was my college boy. Can you imagine that, Mr. White Reporter? You look around you. You think a lot of us get to go to college? Make somethin' of ourselves? How many you figure?'
    She snorted again and waited for an answer, which he didn't offer. After a moment, she continued. 'That was true. My boy. My best boy. My pride. Sure I'da lied for him. But I didn't. I'm a believer in Jesus, but to save my boy I'da hopped up to the devil hisself and spat in his eye. I just never got the chance, 'cause they didn't believe in me, no sir.'
    'But the truth is?'
    'He was here with me.'
    'And the next day?'
    'Here with me.'
    'And when the police came?'
    'He was right outside, polishing that old car of his. Didn't give them no lip. No trouble. Just yes sir, no sir and went right along. See what it did for him?'
    'You sound angry.'
    The small woman pitched forward in the chair, her entire body rigid with emotion. She slapped her palms down hard on the arms of the rocker, making two pistol shots that echoed in the clear morning air.
    'Angry? Y'all asking me if I'm angry? They done tore my boy from me and sent him away so they's can kill him. I ain't got the words in me to tell you about no anger. I ain't got the evil in me that I could say what I really and truly feel.'
    She got up out of the chair and started to walk back inside. 'I ain't got nothing but hate and bitter empty left, Mr. Reporter. You write that down good.'
    Then she disappeared into the shack's shadows, clacking the door shut hard behind her, leaving Matthew Cowart scribbling her words into his notepad.
    It was noontime when he arrived at the school. It was very much the way he had pictured it, a solid, unimaginative cinder-block building with an American flag hanging limply in the humid air outside. There were yellow school buses parked around the side and a playground with swings and basketball hoops and a fine covering of dust in back. He parked and approached the school, slowly feeling the wave of children's voices rise up and carry him forward. It was the lunch hour and there was a certain contained mayhem within the double doors. Children quickstepped about, clutching paper bags or lunch boxes, buzzing with conversation. The walls of the school were decorated with their artwork, splashes of color and shape arranged in displays, with small signs explaining what the artwork represented. He stared at the pictures for an instant, reminded of all the drawings and colored paper and glue montages he was forever