"There was a mighty furor," she says. Her voice rises an octave in indignation. "All h.e.l.l came down. On the university. On Crone. He was called in by the administration. There were meetings of the academic senate. There was an investigation, a lot of questions. In the end, the research stopped."

Harry looks at me, trepidation in his eyes, an expression of I told you so from the lips up. Harry is thinking what I am: mother and daughter, history repeating itself, only Mom had the good grace and foresight to copy the papers from Crone's office instead of taking them.

"Did Doctor Crone ever find out that you were responsible for obtaining these doc.u.ments and releasing them to the press?"

"Not that I know of. I don't think he did."

"So it was never made public? At least not until today?"

"That's right."

"And you were never arrested?"

"How do you mean?"

"For taking Dr. Crone's papers?"

"Oh. No."

Tannery shifts gears, shuffles papers at the podium. "Now, can you tell the court, did you subsequently, years later, have occasion to tell your daughter about this episode in your life, the fact that you had taken doc.u.ments from one of your professors while in college?"

"I did."

"And when did that conversation take place?"

"About two years ago." There is a certain intent look in her eyes now as she stares at me from the stand. Message to Crone.

"And how did this conversation come about?"

"Kalista had just completed her doctoral thesis. She was looking forward to employment opportunities, some field of research. That's where her strength lay. She had an excellent academic record. There were a number of offers, and one in particular that caught my eye. It was from the Genetics Center."

"That's the research inst.i.tute directed by the defendant, David Crone?"

"That's correct."

"And how did you come to realize that the center had made an offer of employment to your daughter?"

"She showed me the letter. His name was very prominent on the letterhead. He had signed the letter soliciting Kali to apply. She told me that she'd actually met him at the university, when he was recruiting. I thought it couldn't possibly be the same man. But his curriculum vitae was included in the literature that came to the house. It mentioned his time on the faculty at Michigan. It was him. I couldn't believe it. Of course, it didn't say anything about his earlier research into racial genetics. He needed money, and he wasn't going to get it . . ."

"Objection."

"Sustained. Just answer the question," says Coats.

"But you told your daughter about the defendant's history in this area? The fact that he'd been involved in controversial research regarding racial genetics in the past?"

"I did."

"When you talk about controversy," says Tannery, "let's get into some of the specifics. What exactly was Dr. Crone working on back then?"

"Objection, Your Honor. This is irrelevant."

"Overruled. You can answer the question."

"He was working on racial graying."

"And what is that?"

"He was researching racial markers, enzymes that distinguish one racial group from another, with the goal of finding ways to neutralize them, to blur them. He wanted to create a kind of genetic melting pot in which there would ultimately be no racial distinctions, no unique characteristics of race."

"And you considered this to be unethical?"

"Absolutely. He was playing G.o.d, or getting ready to. It was clear that he was leaning toward the elimination of minority characteristics."

"And you stopped him?"

"Yes, I did. Fortunately for us," she says, "the science of genetics was not as advanced back then. We were able to find out what he was working on and expose it."

"And you told this to your daughter?"

"I did."

"What else did you tell her?"

"I told her about the demonstrations back in the seventies. About Crone's published studies, and how they were discredited."

"Did you tell her that you were in large part responsible for uncovering the information that led to this?"

"I did."

"And what was her reaction?"

"Objection."

The witness sits upright in the chair and looks at me. There is a long sigh, as if she didn't hear the objection.

"She was proud of me. She said I did the right thing."

"Objection. Move to strike."

"Sustained." The judge admonishes her that she is not to answer the question when there is an objection.

The witness looks at him but doesn't indicate one way or the other whether or not she accepts his instruction. Coats presses the issue, and finally Tanya Jordan acknowledges that she understands.

Hearsay is the law's final insult in a murder trial. The victim's voice is silenced forever. Now the rules of evidence, with narrow exception, erase every comment she made before death. This is sufficiently broad to include Kalista Jordan's feelings regarding the incidents related to her by her mother.

Tannery asks the judge for a moment. He confers with the cop back at the counsel table. The problem here is that they have run into a wall. The witness cannot relate to the jury things told to her by her now-dead daughter. Tanya Jordan can only testify as to her part of any conversation, and the jury, without more, cannot fill in the gaps with guesses. If it comes down to that, it is likely that the judge will not allow her to testify at all.

The prosecutor comes back to the podium. "Let me ask you, did you discuss with your daughter this employment opportunity? The job with the Genetics Center?"

"I did."

"And can you tell the court what you told your daughter in this regard?"

"I told her I didn't think it was a good idea for her to take the job."

"And why not?"

"Because of Dr. Crone's history."

"You mean his perceived racial att.i.tudes?"

"Objection. There has been no testimony as to his att.i.tudes, only his work."

"Sustained. Rephrase the question."

"Is it fair to say that you didn't want your daughter to take the job with Dr. Crone because of your knowledge regarding the history of his work in racial genetics?"

"Yes."

Tannery smiles at my having made the point, one that he is likely to expand upon for the jury.

"But she took the job anyway?" he asks.

"Yes."

Why? The unasked question lingers in the air like the acrid smell of smoke from a spent fire. Tannery can't pose it because it would call for hearsay, but the jury will no doubt conjure it in their silent thoughts.

"But so that we're clear, you didn't want her to take this job?"

"No."

"And the reason?"

"Dr. Crone's history. What I considered, my view, my opinion that he had been involved in what I considered racist genetic studies."

The witness is a quick study. I object, but this time the judge overrules me.

I can object to a statement of fact, but not to her considered opinions, especially when they relate to the witness's motives.

"I didn't think Kalista should get involved with someone who had that kind of a history." The witness drives the point home.

There are a dozen avenues of attack on cross: What makes Tanya Jordan an expert on racial genetics? How can she be so sure Crone's research wasn't legitimate? How is it possible to pursue science if certain topics are taboo? All these are poison. Tannery would watch with glee as I got tangled in each of them. The witness has already characterized Crone's earlier work as "racist." There was enough of a sting to these charges at the time to draw controversy, to bring an abrupt end to his research back then. To pa.r.s.e words with the dead victim's mother, an African-American, over what const.i.tutes racism is not a dispute I am likely to win. One thing is sure: If the issue becomes racism, the verdict will no longer be in doubt.

Tannery moves closer to the question.

"Did you have reason to believe that Dr. Crone was involved in racially related research at the time he was recruiting your daughter?"

"I didn't know."

"Is it fair to say that you were concerned about this?"

"I was concerned. Yes."

"And did you come to learn later that this was in fact the case?"

"I did. I received a message from Kalista that she wanted to turn over doc.u.ments that she had taken to her people."

"Objection, your Honor. Hearsay."

" 'Her people.' Those are the words she used?" says Tannery.

"Sustained," says Coats.

"She used those words? She wanted to turn these doc.u.ments over to her people?"

"That's exactly what she told me."

The judge is now pounding his gavel. "The question and the answer will be stricken. The witness is instructed not to answer a question when there is an objection pending. Do you understand?" Coats points his gavel at her like a gun, then aims it at Tannery.

"And you, sir. You know better than that. The only reason I am not imposing sanctions is that the jury's not in the box. Try that when they are, and you'd better bring your toothbrush. You're gonna be spending the night in the bucket."

"Sorry, Your Honor. I got carried away."

"Yes. You're going be carried away by my bailiff, you keep that up."

Tannery feigns a little mock humility. Eyes downcast, feet shuffling, body English subst.i.tuting for an apology. He shuffles through a few papers, then picks up without missing a beat.

"Let me ask you," he says. "This information concerning the nature of Dr. Crone's current research, were you able to obtain information regarding this matter from another source? A source other than your daughter?"

Coats is looking at him over the top of his gla.s.ses, ready to swat him with his wooden hammer.

"Yes."

"And what was that source?"

"Another employee at the center."

Tannery turns to look at me as he poses the final question. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I can feel it coming; lawyer's coup de grce.

"And can you tell the court the name of that employee?"

"His name is William Epperson."

chapter.