Chapter 12: Trial Five

The cemetery was grey and wet, and the wall at the back was older than the city.

Amos stood in front of it with his cane planted in the gravel.

He did not turn when I walked up.

"An old woman from my church is buried there," he said, pointing at a flat stone.

"And your mother's name is on the one beside it."

I looked.

I had never seen it.

"My mother is buried in Ohio," I said.

"She is buried there. This one is a marker.

"I paid for it in September."

The old man's mouth moved.

"A man should have a place to stand."

I said nothing.

The wind came across the grass, and for a moment he just breathed.

"Trial five," Amos said.

"I thought trial five was Desmond."

"That was the first half. This is the second."

He took an envelope from inside his coat and held it out.

Inside was one photograph.

It showed two men on the steps of a courthouse, a long time ago.

One was Amos, with black hair and a big smile.

The other was a heavy, gentle-looking man of about forty.

He had reading glasses pushed up on his forehead and a brass key on a chain at his throat.

I knew the face.

It was in a frame on Suzette's bookshelf.

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