The man looked up, and I had the sudden feeling of being courteously but efficiently assessed by the deep-set brown eyes behind his thick spectacles.
“I am indeed,” he said, with a trace of a southwest Virginia accent. “And unless my eyes deceive me, you must be related to Ms. Cordelia Mason. I can definitely see a family likeness.”
“She’s my grandmother,” I said. “I’m here helping her with the conference.”
“And that means Mr. Festus Hollingsworth, Esquire, would be your cousin.”
“He would indeed,” I said. “He’ll be starting to speak any time now if you’re interested.”
“I know,” he said. “Interested, but not sure I’m quite ready to deal with the crowd. I kind of have to work my way up to that. But if I don’t make this speech, I’ll get to see him later today. And appear on a panel with him when he talks about how he managed to exonerate me.”
“You must be Ezekiel Blaine, then.” I held out my hand. “I’ve heard Festus mention your case. Meg Langslow.”
We shook hands.
“And this is Ruth,” Mr. Blaine said, gesturing to the dog at his feet. Ruth sat up at the sound of her name, wagged her tail, and leaned against the outside of his leg. “Named after the one in the Bible.”
“Whither thou goest, she goes?” I asked.
“At least till she’s fully trained,” he said. “I’m raising her up to be a PTSD support dog. Help some poor veteran who brought home more sorrow than he can handle. Maybe get him back to something like a normal life.”
He smiled down at the dog and scratched her behind the ears.
I studied his face and tried to recall what Festus had told us about Ezekiel Blaine’s case. He’d been tried and convicted of a particularly vicious murder at only eighteen or nineteen. Festus had managed to get his conviction overturned, largely due to trace DNA evidence that Grandfather’s lab had recovered—evidence that proved another man had committed the crime—but not until Mr. Blaine had spent almost fifty years in prison.
He was nearly seventy now and looked even older. His weathered brown face was seamed with wrinkles. His hands were so contorted with arthritis that I wondered how much his firm handshake with me had hurt him. And something lurked behind the warmth and friendliness—something tentative, cautious, and wary. Here was a man who didn’t trust easily. Festus had earned his trust, and my connection to Festus made him a little more ready to accept me—but nothing would ever be a given with him.
“May I pet her?” I asked, looking down at his dog.
“You certainly may,” he said. “And thank you for asking first.”
I scratched Ruth behind the ears, and she wagged her tail happily and snuffled at my jeans.
“She likes you,” he said.
“She probably just likes that I smell like other dogs,” I said.
“You have dogs, then?”
“Our household includes two Pomeranians, an Irish wolfhound, and a small furball of unknown ancestry,” I said. “We think maybe a cross between a T. rex and a wolverine. And most days we have two or three other visiting dogs that belong to friends who are deputies and don’t want to leave their fur babies alone when they’re on shift.”
“Mercy,” he said. “You do indeed have dogs. And—”
He stiffened and frowned, as if he’d seen something behind me that unsettled him. I glanced over my shoulder. A man was standing in front of the front desk, haranguing Becky about something. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could tell Becky wasn’t enjoying the conversation.
The man snapped off a few more words to Becky. Then turned around, as if dismissing her not just from the conversation but from the planet, and I recognized him from the images the boys had shown me: Godfrey Norton. He scowled as he scanned the lobby, as if looking for something new to fuel his foul mood. I noticed he was wearing a black t-shirt printed with the slogan I SEE GUILTY PEOPLE.
“Then again, maybe I should run along and catch the end of Festus’s presentation,” Mr. Blaine murmured.
“Mr. Blaine,” I began.
“Just Ezekiel,” he said. “Being called Mr. Blaine makes me think I might be back in court.”
“Yikes,” I said. “Ezekiel, then. If your main reason for relocating is to avoid the jerk standing by the front desk, let me know. I can probably chase him away. Even get him thrown out of the conference if he doesn’t behave.”
“You’ve met Mr. Norton, then?” He seemed amused rather than worried.
“No,” I said. “But my grandmother already warned me about the Gadfly.”
He chuckled at that.
“And I could see how he was treating Becky. Maybe it’s harsh, but I judge people by how they treat the service staff. And yeah, I know judging’s bad. I can’t help it.”
“‘Judge not, that ye be not judged,’” Ezekiel quoted. “‘For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged.’ Not a hard-and-fast commandment against judging if you ask me. More a warning about what’s gonna happen if you don’t show others the mercy and kindness you hope to receive yourself.”
I remembered Festus mentioning that Ezekiel had found religion while in prison and become something of a lay preacher.
“That’s reassuring,” I said. “And is it just me, or is it pretty tone deaf of him, wearing that t-shirt at a conference whose whole reason for being is helping exonerate the innocent?”
“Well, Mr. Norton seems to think there aren’t all that many innocents in prison,” Ezekiel said. “And he’s never shy about expressing his opinions. He’s told me to my face that he thinks I got away with murder. And that if he ever sees me so much as littering or jaywalking, he’ll report me.”
“Sorry you have to put up with him,” I said. “Especially when you’re here trying to help other people instead of spending time celebrating the holidays with your family and friends.”
“Oh, don’t feel too sorry for me,” he said. “I’m actually having a better Christmas than I expected, thanks to this conference. If I wasn’t here, I’d be spending the time pretty solitary. I don’t really have that many friends and family on the outside. Not yet, anyway. ’Specially family. The respectable ones long since washed their hands of me, and the wild ones have mostly managed to do themselves in by now. When Festus invited me and apologized for how close it was to Christmas, I had to laugh. And confess to him that the only thing I had planned for the holiday season was church services. At a couple of different churches—I still haven’t settled on one. Hard to find one that’s a good fit for me. Lot of them aren’t all that welcoming to ex-cons.”
“That would be a deal-breaker for me, even though I’m not one myself,” I said. “I’d have thought ex-cons might be among the very people they’d most want to reach.”
He nodded. Then, seeming to spot something, he frowned and clenched his jaw.
“Well, if it isn’t our own axe-murderer,” said a nasal voice behind me. I turned to find that the Gadfly had sneaked up behind me on us.
“Morning, Mr. Norton.” Ezekiel’s tone was neutral, a little cool, but courteous.
“You know who you’re talking to, don’t you?” Norton said, turning to me. “He’s the guy who—”
“Who spent nearly half a century in prison until my grandfather’s DNA lab came up with the evidence that enabled my cousin Festus to prove his innocence.” I couldn’t see any reason not to let Norton know up front where my sentiments—and alliances—lay. “I’m looking forward to hearing him talk about his experiences.”
Norton jerked back as if I’d slapped him. But he recovered quickly.
“You might feel differently if you knew what kind of man he is,” he said. “He—”
“I’ll be covering all that when Mr. Hollingsworth and I do our panel,” Ezekiel said. “And I think Ms. Langslow already knows most of it. I’d be the first to admit that I was no angel as a young man. I took drugs. I sold drugs. I beat people up—including the young lady who had the good sense to break up with me and get on with her life.”
“You see,” Norton said. “Even he admits—”
“But I’m not a killer.” Ezekiel was speaking louder now—not angrily, just projecting more, the way Michael taught his acting students to do. He had a lovely voice, deep and musical. “I didn’t kill that man in the filling station. I never killed anyone. And I’m not the person I was fifty years ago.”
“No,” Norton said. “You’ve gone from street-smart punk to hardened criminal. And—”
“Mr. Norton, you need to stop harassing Mr. Blaine.” I stepped between the two, just in case. “By registering for the conference, you agreed to our code of conduct. Which includes being civil to your fellow attendees. If you keep this up, we’ll have to ask security to remove you from the premises.”
“Oh, great,” he said. “You threaten to remove me when—”
“Give it a rest, you miserable troll.” A tall, slender thirtyish blond woman stepped in beside me—and between Norton and Ezekiel. She stood glaring at Norton, fists clenched, feet planted solidly on the plush carpet as if to brace herself for a blow. “Why did you even bother to come if all you’re going to do is parrot your usual garbage and insult people?”
“The Black Widow speaks,” Norton said.