Proof of guilt

Two images define Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination.

The first is indelible. Atlanta Mayor Andrew Young and the Rev. Jesse Jackson stand on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel, pointing up and across the motel parking lot. Their arms parallel in trajectory, their fingers extended in accusation. King lies prone on a miserable slab of concrete in a pool of his own blood. An undercover Memphis police officer cradles King’s head.

Seconds earlier, a single bullet fired from a concealed position had struck the right side of King’s face and severed his spinal column.