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April 20, 1874
The morning of the trial dawned crisp and cold, but the trembling in my hand as I tried to drink my coffee had nothing to do with the chilly weather. Closing my eyes for a moment, I said a quick prayer that the night to come would find Hank a free man once again. Zach and Beth were feeding the animals, occasional laughter ringing out despite their own anxiety, and as I watched through the window I smiled. His arm was in a cast, and twice since he had been allowed to come home an agonizingly painful headache had sent him to his bed--a thick blanket tacked over the drapes at each window to further decrease the amount of light. The heavy dose of laudanum that Michaela told me to give provided only minimal relief, and I had sat silently in a chair next to him for hours, changing the damp cloth on his forehead and feeling helpless as I watched him suffer nausea and excruciating pain. Still, given the severity of his injuries, Zach's recovery was progressing much faster than I had ever hoped or expected, and with each day that passed I felt more and more grateful. For four days after his injury he had slept for long hours, oblivious to noise, and from then on it had been hard for Mike to keep him quiet as the natural restlessness of an l8 year old male began to exhibit itself. Beth had stayed with him from morning to late afternoon each day until his release--the excuse of needing to keep him occupied while I was at work seeming to diminish any desire that she might have had to assist me in the classroom. Zach could draw with the help of an easel to hold the paper, and she read to him from the manuscripts that arrived daily from the publisher, the two of them sharing ideas about what scenes that he should sketch--and exchanging shy glances over passages from romance novels when they thought that no one would notice. Whatever might be going on inside his heart, if he was falling in love with my sister, it definitely hadn't affected Zach's appetite. So with biscuits already baking in the oven, I fried slices of ham and mixed up a huge bowl of eggs to be scrambled with onions and peppers. While the meat sizzled in the pan my thoughts turned again to the up-coming court battle. The hostility that existed between Hank and his brother had apparently disappeared as they worked together feverishly to prepare the case for trial. Erik had split all of his daylight hours between the jail, interviewing witnesses, and pouring over borrowed law books at a table in the library, and each evening he had joined Zach, Beth, and me for dinner--the four of us laughing and talking well past our usual bedtime. Much of the conversation had revolved around Hank and the rapidly approaching trial date, and I had listened hungrily to every scrap of information that was passed along. Resolved to avoid my ex-fiance after he had ended our engagement, my visits to the clinic had been timed for when I knew that he was least likely to be there, and now that Zach was at home but forbidden to drive the wagon or ride a horse for several weeks, Beth was the one who took him into town each day to see his father. Even though Hank was rarely out of my mind, for the past two weeks I hadn't seen him at all. With Zach and Beth spending every waking moment in each other's company, the likelihood that she would choose to remain in Colorado Springs appeared to be growing, and there were only two more weeks remaining before the school year--and my contract--ended. Freed from the need to sell my house, I could easily have my trunks packed and all loose ends tied up to catch the train home by mid-May. I wanted nothing more than to escape from this town and its memories of the man who I knew that I would continue to love for the rest of my life, and after Hank was released--my mind refused to consider the alternative--it would feel like a knife twisting inside my heart each time that I passed the Gold Nugget and saw his tall, lanky frame lounging against the railing out front. Leaving my two housemates to breakfast alone together, I carried a biscuit back to my room to nibble on while I dressed. All of my clothes were hanging loosely--evidence that I had had little or no desire for food for weeks now--and I had to set the button over on my skirt before I could wear my best suit. Knowing that all eyes would be on me when I took the witness stand, I carefully pinned my hair into a tight chignon at my nape and used a stiff brush on my dressiest buttoned-over suede shoes, thinking that their two-inch heels would give me added stature. "Ready to go?" Beth came into the room and stopped, her gaze moving over me critically. "If you are." I reached for my black-beaded handbag. "Sit down," she ordered, pushing me onto a stool and reaching for the pot of rouge. "You look like death warmed over." Smearing a tiny bit of color onto my lips and the apples of my cheeks, she wiped away all but the faintest hint of stain, then released my hair from its controlled knot. A week earlier--with Zach muttering doubtfully underneath his breath as he watched--she had cut my hip-length mane to just below my shoulder-blades, unexpectedly providing me with a cure for the headaches that had plagued me for months by reducing the strain caused by my heavy braid pulling against the pins that held it coiled tightly against my scalp. After studying me for a moment, Beth began to deftly place hairpins and tiny tortoise-shell combs in strategic spots, creating a cascade of curls that spiraled from the crown of my head down over my shoulders, with wispy tendrils left loose to fall around my face. "Much better," she pronounced, a satisfied smile curving her lips. "I was thinking that perhaps I should appear as--conservative--as possible." I turned my head slightly to get a better look at myself in the mirror. "With your coloring, you actually look good in black--in fact, you look better in a black velvet evening gown than anyone else I know." She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she touched the sleeve of my cashmere suit, her preference for shades that went with her milky-white skin and mahogany-colored hair clearly evident. "But this outfit, paired with a chignon and no makeup or jewelry, makes you seem too cold and aloof. Untouchable. Today, of all days, that's not the impression that you want to give." "But... I'm not in the habit of wearing my hair down in public.	 People will notice the change--and stare." "Good." Beth beamed her approval, adding pearl earrings to my costume. "While you're on that witness stand every man on that Jury ought to be watching you, asking himself whether or not he would leave your arms to go out and kill a man--no matter what the provocation." "I don't want everyone to think that Hank and I..." "They're going to think whatever they will," she interrupted, fastening a pearl-edged cameo brooch onto the standing-collar of my white silk blouse. "So use it. Men have been turning their heads to look at you your whole life, and it can only help Hank if what you let them see in that courtroom is a soft, beautiful woman. Put the schoolmarm to rest for the day." "I'm scared to death," I confessed. "Of testifying to what happened that night--or that Hank might lose?" I didn't answer, and she squeezed my hand tightly in silent understanding. "You've come this far...and it's almost over. Don't lose your courage now." "I'm afraid that it's already too late." Fidgeting nervously, I rechecked my image in the looking glass. "I'm a basket-case." "Trust Erik," she advised gently. "He has absolutely no intention of allowing his brother to die for something that he knows he didn't do."
Colorado Springs was overflowing with people, horses tethered side by side to every available hitching post and the meadow filled with wagons and buggies. With the trial set to begin in half an hour, men crowded onto the porch in front of the Gold Nugget, finishing off a last glass of whiskey before joining the line to wait their turn for the privy located behind the saloon, and Bray's Mercantile was bustling with eager customers. As we drove through the carnival atmosphere at the center of town I could feel the curious stares of strangers following me, most of them wondering about my relationship with a man accused of murder. It made me feel as if my knickers were showing, and I blushed. "Hold your head up," Beth hissed as we were helped down from the wagon by Zach. Realizing that I didn't want to see Hank for the first time in weeks with the entire town watching me for my reaction, I squared my shoulders and straightened my spine. "I'm going over to the jail while you take care of the horses," I said quietly. "I'll meet you at the church." "Are you sure that you don't want me to go with you?" she asked hesitantly. "I'll be fine. You wait for Zach." The walk from the meadow to the sheriff's office seemed to be the longest of my life, and I sighed with relief when I finally reached the door. Jake Slicker was just leaving, and he nodded a greeting before hurrying away to find himself a seat in the rapidly filling church pews. As my eyes adjusted to the change from bright sunshine to the dim light of the jail I saw that the door to the cell stood open, and Daniel was leaning against the distant wall, rifle in hand, waiting to escort his prisoner down the street. Dressed in a somber charcoal-gray suit, Erik had his back to me, frowning into a small mirror while he tied his cravat. "Erik, is there anything---" The man in front of me turned at the sound of my voice, and I found myself looking up into the face that haunted my dreams. Numb with shock and disbelief, I shifted my gaze from his shorn locks to the piles of golden curls that littered the floor of the cell. "Dear God, no..." I breathed, tears of regret filling my eyes. "Oh, Hank, no...not your hair..." "Oughta make it easier to get a rope around my neck." He shrugged. "Please, don't." I reached up to touch the cropped layers that had been brushed back away from his face. "Not today." For a moment our eyes held, and I saw him swallow hard. His hand lifted to cover mine, and he brought it to his lips to press a kiss against my palm. "Good morning, Caitlyn," Erik greeted me, smiling broadly as he stepped out of the open cell, wearing a suit that was almost identical to his brother's in color and style. "Are you ready to get this allover with?" I glanced from one of them to the other, stunned by how much the two now looked alike. With both of them clean-shaven, their blond hair cut to the same length and oil taming Hank's waves to fall the same way as Erik's straight locks, it would take more than a quick glance to tell them apart. "I asked Hans to clean himself up before we went to Court," Erik explained lightly, spotting the sheen of tears that I was barely managing to choke back. "So's I'd make a more respectable-lookin' corpse," Hank's voice was dry. "Wouldn't wanna embarrass the family." "Time to go, Lawson." Daniel started to place handcuffs around Hank's wrists. "Are those really necessary?" Erik laid his hand lightly on Daniel's sleeve. "You'll be holding a rifle on him the entire way." The sheriff hesitated, then nodded. "I reckon I won't need them-- but if you try anything, Hank, your 'trial' will be over right there in the street." "He won't try anything," Erik promised quickly, cutting off the retort that we all knew was forthcoming from his brother. "Gonna walk with us?" Hank looked at me. "If you would like for me to." He gave a slight nod, and Daniel motioned with his head for me to go first. Drawing in a deep breath, I stepped onto the sidewalk, feeling all eyes upon me and hearing the sudden murmur of voices as I waited for the others. "Take my arm," Erik suggested kindly, shortening his stride to match mine as we walked down the middle of the suddenly silent street, Daniel and one of his deputies following closely behind us. The pews were overflowing and the walls of the church lined with people, many of them men and women with faces that I had no memory of ever having seen before. Small tables had been positioned in the front of each half of the church, with a deacon chair for each attorney, a less comfortable chair on the left side that was clearly meant for Hank, and one directly behind that for Daniel. The seat that had been reserved for me was in the front row--next to Zach and Beth--and I kept my eyes focused on the large window behind the Judge's table as we walked down the aisle, trying to ignore the catcalls, laughter, and ribald comments as regulars from the Gold Nugget caught their first glimpse of the newly-shorn Hank. With Matthew assisting the Judge, a jury was quickly chosen, sworn in, and seated in the two pews that had been arranged perpendicular to the rest, positioned so that each juror had a clear view of the witnesses. Banging his gavel to quiet the crowd, Judge Levi Baker turned to Melvin Leslie, the prosecuting attorney, and called on him to make his opening statement. After adjusting his spectacles on his bulbous nose, the portly lawyer tugged at his vest, then got to his feet to face the assemblage. "On or about midnight of February l5, two men--two brothers--were sleeping in their jail cells here in Colorado Springs. Those men were named Cole and Doyle Walker. They were accused of bank robbery--and assault-- and as Mr. Lausenstrom is sure to tell you, they were being sought for questioning in various other crimes. But in this country a man is innocent until proven guilty. According to the Law, two innocent men were locked behind bars that night. "Another man came into the jail through a back door--a man bent on revenge and destruction. A man who moved so quietly that Sheriff Simon didn't realize that anyone was behind him. Not until that moment right before he was struck with what was most probably the butt of a gun and knocked unconscious. When Daniel Simon came to--bleeding from a head wound--he discovered that the cell doors were open. Only one man was still inside...Cole Walker. And Cole Walker was dead--his throat slit from ear to ear. "What happened to his brother? We still don't know. But we do know that someone passed through this town without attracting notice. We do know that a man who had reason to hate these two, who was good with a knife, and who your own Sheriff saw out of the corner of his eye, committed this terrible crime. And that man was Hank Lawson." "Mr. Lausenstrom." The Judge inclined his head toward Erik when the prosecutor returned to his seat. "Mr. Leslie has his facts correct about only one thing--Cole and Doyle Walker were innocent until proven guilty in a Court of Law," Erik's voice filled the room with its deep, musical timbre as he faced the Jury. "They were men who were charged with eleven murders, the brutal rapes of eight women, 56 armed robberies, and countless assaults, but one of the great things about this country is that until you are tried and found guilty by a Jury of your peers, you are considered an innocent man. "Whoever entered that jail on the night of February 15th took the Law into his own hands--something that he had no right to do. Cole Walker was murdered in cold blood. There is no question in anyone's mind that a heinous crime has been committed--however despicable we may personally find the victim of it. "What is in dispute is who is guilty of that crime. Who killed Cole Walker. In a murder trial the burden is on the State to prove that the accused had a motive, the opportunity, and the ability to kill another human being. It's a serious business for a man to serve on a jury for a trial like this. We all want justice served. We also want to know, beyond a reasonable doubt, that if a noose is put around a man's neck because we've sentenced him to death by hanging, that we have the right man on those gallows. After a man is dead, there is no bringing him back. No apologizing. No room for mistakes. "I can't tell you who murdered Cole Walker. I don't know. What I do know is that the murderer was not Hank Lawson." Erik looked from one juror to the next, making eye contact with each man. "First, he had no reason. Absolutely no motive to kill Walker. Secondly, he wasn't even in town when the murder took place. And last but not least, he was still recovering from surgery--physically unable on the night of February 15th to have taken on two men who were desperately fighting for their lives. The man who's on trial here now--fighting for his own life--has killed no one. He's as innocent of these charges as you or me. The wrong man was arrested--for a crime that he didn't commit. And when we reach the end of this trial today--when the time comes for the Gentlemen of the Jury to render a verdict--each of you will know as surely as I know right now that Hank Lawson is not guilty. Thank you." At a nod from the Judge, Mr. Leslie shuffled a stack of papers, then rose to his feet again. "The great territory of Colorado, which Mr. Lausenstrom wrongly refers to as a STATE, calls Mr. Jacob Slicker." Jake was duly sworn in and seated in the witness chair, which held a place of prominence next to the Judge's table, and the questions began. "Mr. Slicker, how long have you know Mr. Lawson?" "Long as I been in Colorado Springs. Going on 15 years." "Do you consider him a friend?" "We've had our differences, but I guess you could say that." "Mr. Lawson has his differences with quite a few people, doesn't he?" "Objection," Erik said firmly. "Hearsay." "Sustained." "Mr. Slicker, have you ever seen Mr. Lawson strike another man?" "Plenty of times." Jake half-chuckled. "When you own and operate a saloon, it's parta your job to stop the fights." "Does Mr. Lawson have a quick temper?" "Objection. Calls for speculation." "Restate the question." The Judge nodded. "Have you observed incidents where you felt that Mr. Lawson had lost control of his temper?" "Everybody knows Hank is..." "Just answer the question, Mr. Slicker." "Yes." Jake glanced at Hank apologetically. "Have you ever seen Mr. Lawson fight with a knife?" "A few times," he admitted reluctantly. "Based on your observations, do you consider Mr. Lawson to be better than average at using a knife to defend himself?" "Hank's a fair hand with a knife," he answered quietly. "He's quick on his feet, he's big, and he ain't scared o' Old Harry. He's been cut plenty of times, but I never seen him come out on what I would say was the losin' end." "Mr. Slicker, you were present in the bank the day that it was robbed, and Mr. Lawson was shot. Is that correct?" "Yeah. I was there." "And can you identify the man who you saw shoot him?" "I found out later that he was called Doyle Walker. All I knew in the bank was what he looked like." "Based on your years of friendship, do you believe Mr. Lawson to be a man for whom it's easy to forgive and forget?" "I wouldn't say that." "In your experience of the defendant has he ever attempted to take justice into his own hands?" "Back before we had a lawman, the way things were..." "Yes or no, Mr. Slicker?" "Yes." "Your witness." Leslie nodded to Erik. "Mr. Slicker, it is your testimony that Mr. Lawson is a man who finds it hard to forgive and forget, am I correct?" "Yeah." Jake shifted uncomfortably in the wooden chair. "Let me take you back to an afternoon a few years ago... To a day when you were standing on a balcony, extremely drunk, and filled with unjustified jealousy of Hank Lawson over the woman who later became your wife. Do you remember that day?" "Doubt I could ever forget it." "Would you tell the Jury what happened?" "I fired on Hank. I coulda killed him." "Did Mr. Lawson return your fire?" "No." "Was he armed?" "Yeah. He was." "Did he avenge himself in any way for the fact that you shot at him and, in your own words, could have killed him?" "Just with his fists." Jake shrugged. "After I broke up the bar, Hank called me out. To the middle of the street. Anybody saw it would tell you it was a fair fight, includin' me. He had reason." "Mr. Slicker, you just stated that Mr. Lawson is good with a knife. Do you know of men here who fight with a blade as well or better?" "Probably four--maybe five--would be an even match for Hank when it comes to using a skinner. Sully is the only non-Injun I can think of who's better." "When you saw Hank Lawson use a knife during a fight, was that fight with you?" "No. Only blade I'm any good with is a shaving razor." "Hell, he ain't too good with that, you askin' me--he's cut me more'n once!" A voice chimed in from the audience. "Could be 'cause you ain't man enuff yet to got somethin' to shave!" Another man chortled, causing a ripple of laughter that Erik waited out. "Would you tell the Jury the circumstances under which the fight that you saw Mr. Lawson have came about?" Erik took a step closer to the barber, blocking his view of the crowd. "A customer started beating up on one of his girls, so he broke the door down," Jake said quietly. "Other fellow pulled a knife on him first--cut Hank's arm pretty deep. Probably still carries that scar and always will." "Mr. Lawson used a knife to defend himself and protect the woman-- is that your testimony?" "Yes." "Did he kill the man who cut him?" "Nah. Hank ain't never killed nobody." "Can you tell the Jury why you sound so sure of that?" "I'm the barber--I used to stitch people up before Dr. Mike came to town, and I still take care of all the dead bodies. No way I wouldn't know if he had." "No further questions," Erik said quietly. "The Prosecution calls Mrs. Myra Bing." Flushing with embarrassment, Myra made her way from her place in a pew in the center of the church to the witness chair. "Mrs. Bing, you were working in the bank on the day that Mr. Lawson was shot, were you not?" Melvin Leslie rocked back on his heels as he studied her. "Yes." "Can you identify the man who pulled the trigger?" "Doyle Walker." "One of those men held a gun to your head, am I correct?" "His brother, Cole." "Mrs. Bing, would you tell the Jury the nature of your past relationship with Mr. Lawson?" "Objection!" Erik rose to his feet. "Immaterial." "If Your Honor will permit, the answer to this question establishes both the defendant's character and has a direct bearing on the case in point." Mr. Leslie raised his palms in a gesture of appeal to the Judge. "Over-ruled. Proceed." "That mean I'm s'posed to answer?" Myra looked at the Judge, who nodded. "I worked for Hank." "What kind of work did you do?" "Entertainin'." "What sort of entertainment?" "Talkin'--dancin'--servin' men drinks." She bit her lip. "You know--entertainin'." "Did 'entertaining' include going to bed with those men?" "Sometimes," Myra admitted softly, color staining her cheeks as knowing chuckles resounded from the front to the back of the room. "Isn't it true, Mrs. Bing, that Mr. Lawson wouldn't allow you to leave his employment when you wanted to? That you were held there against your will?" "I'd signed a contract... Made a deal with Hank to stay 'til it was up. I got my ownself into that spot." "During the time that you worked for Mr. Lawson, were there occasions when you tried to leave--or in some other way displeased the defendant--and he threatened you as a result? Or did you actual physical harm?" "Hank says things he don't mean." "Is your answer yes?" "No. I mean, he never hit me. Not even once. He said things...but it was just him talkin'." She appeared flustered. "Let me draw your attention to your engagement party--on one Sunday afternoon after church services. Will you tell the Jury what happened to interrupt that joyous celebration?" "Hank was drunk. Mad about me tearin' up my contract and hurt I was leavin' him to marry Horace." Myra licked her lips nervously. "I never seen Hank that deep in a bottle before... He came over durin' the party and started mouthin' off--firin' his gun up in the air." "Did he not also point that gun at somebody?" "At me." "And what did he tell you?" "He said I needed somebody to give me away--and that it was never goin' to happen." Her voice was almost inaudible. "That he would kill me first." As Mr. Leslie returned to his seat Erik walked to where Myra sat, smiling at her in an attempt to help her relax. "Mrs. Bing, did Mr. Lawson try to physically stop you from going on the day that you left his employment?" "No." "Did he have you arrested for not honoring the time that remained on your contract?" "No." "And after that afternoon when he held a gun on you, did he ever attempt to hurt you--before or after your marriage to Mr. Bing?" Erik asked gently. "No." "But on that particular afternoon you were afraid of Mr. Lawson, were you not? Frightened for your life?" He turned and walked away from her, then faced the witness from a distance, giving the jury a better view of Myra's facial expressions. "Hank wasn't gonna shoot me." "What makes you feel that way, Mrs. Bing? What was it that made you believe that a drunken man who's pointing a pistol at you has no intention of pulling the trigger?" Erik challenged. "I know Hank. And back then, in his own way, he loved me." Myra glanced toward the table where the barkeep sat. "I was more afraid he might be plannin' to use it on hisself than on me." "Mr. Lawson was seriously injured during that incident. Isn't that true?" "Yes." "Would you tell the Jury how that injury happened?" he requested. "Sully threw a piece of wood to knock the gun out of his hand. He didn't mean for it to, but it hit Hank somewhere right around here." She lightly touched her temple. "Caused him to go into a coma. If Dr. Mike hadn't operated when she did, Hank woulda died." "To your knowledge, did Mr. Lawson ever attempt any kind of revenge on Mr. Sully for the injury that he received?" "No." "Mrs. Bing, would you please tell the Jury what you did during the days that followed Mr. Lawson's surgery?" "I sat up with him." She sighed. "He didn't have nobody else. Seemed like nobody cared he might be dyin', not even the people called themselves his friends. Coulda been they were mad about what he'd done at my engagement part. I don't know why." "Hank Lawson had pointed a gun at you--threatened your life--and you were still willing to keep a vigil at his bedside? You were the one who volunteered to stay and tend to his needs?" "It was the right thing to do." Myra met his gaze. "But you were an engaged woman. Didn't your fiancée object to you taking care of another man? Especially this particular man?" "Horace called off our engagement because of it." "Yet you stayed on at the clinic with Mr. Lawson?" "Bad as I wanted to marry Horace, if he didn't know I couldn't walk out and let Hank maybe die alone, then he wasn't the right man for me," she said levelly. "When you and Mr. Bing decided to go ahead with the wedding, you invited Mr. Lawson to attend, did you not?" Erik glanced down at his notes as he passed the defense table. "Yes." "And he came?" "He didn't want to--but he did it anyway. Because I told him he was the closest thing to family I had in Colorado. Because I went to him special and asked him to come." "Why would you risk your own happiness for a man who had treated you the way that he had? Why go out of your way to invite that same man to your wedding?" "Hank took care of me the best he knew how--for a lotta years." Her gaze dropped to the crumpled handkerchief in her hand. "He took me in when I didn't have nowhere else to turn and gave me extra money to send back home to my brothers and sisters. As much as I hated that life, in a funny kinda way I owe him. Hank ain't the best man I know of, but there's still goodness in him deep down inside. It's just his way that he don't like for folks to know it." "Thank you, Mrs. Bing." Erik nodded, allowing her to step down. "Preston A. Lodge, III." Melvin Leslie wiped his brow, then carefully folded and returned the linen handkerchief to his pocket as he waited for his witness to be sworn in and take the chair. "Mr. Lodge, I believe that you own the bank that was robbed?" "That is correct." "Can you tell me who else was present during that robbery, other than yourself?" "Jake Slicker, Myra Bing, Caitlyn McShane, Hank Lawson, and of course, the two Walker brothers." "You can positively identify them as the pair who robbed your bank?" "Without a doubt." Preston gave him a tight smile. "We were in rather close proximity to each other while Cole was holding a gun to my head and having me empty my safe." "Did you see which of these two men shot Hank Lawson?" "Doyle Walker." "And do you recall what happened immediately before Mr. Walker took aim and fired that shot at Mr. Lawson?" "Walker grabbed Miss McShane...with the intention of taking her along with him when they left the bank." "Did he say for what purpose?" "His comment was something about taking her for a ride. It was obvious from the way that it was said and the way that he was looking at her that he wasn't referring to the two of them riding double on his horse," Preston offered drily. "It was clear to me--and probably to everyone else in the room--that what he had in mind was to--take his pleasure at her expense, after Miss McShane had served to prevent us from firing on them during their getaway." "Caitlyn McShane and Hank Lawson have been seeing each other socially, have they not?" "The two of them have been the talk of the town ever since this happened." Preston smiled mockingly in my direction. "Your witness, Mr. Lausenstrom." "Mr. Lodge, you've told us that Doyle Walker was in the process of abducting Miss McShane--and that your feeling was that he intended to rape her. Who or what stopped him?" Erik rose to his feet and approached the chair where Preston sat. "Hank," the banker admitted grudgingly. "Was Mr. Lawson armed?" "One of the first things that they did was take away our guns. No one was armed by that time." "Except for the Walkers, one of whom was holding Miss McShane," Erik smiled slightly as he corrected him. "Would you explain to the Court exactly how Mr. Lawson was able to prevent them from taking her along?" "Doyle Walker had jerked Caitlyn up against him--his left arm around her and his right hand holding the pistol--and the best way that I can describe what happened next is that Hank launched himself directly at Walker. Leading with his arm and shoulder." Preston's smug self-confidence appeared to be fading under Erik's steady gaze. "The way he let go of her look like a reflex--in order to grapple with Hank--but instead of fighting with him, Hank dropped to the floor and covered Caitlyn. That's when Walker shot him in the back." "Mr. Lodge, prior to the time when Mr. Lawson risked his own life to protect Miss McShane, had you ever seen the two of them together at a social function?" "No, I had not," he confessed. "Was there any gossip that you might have heard around town which indicated that Miss McShane and Mr. Lawson were romantically involved?" Erik paced back and forth across the room restlessly, reminding me of Hank during Council meetings. "No, in point of fact, their interactions had always seemed rather adversarial prior to February." "At the time, Miss McShane had an impeccable reputation as a lady, did she not?" "Quite so." "Mr. Lodge, have you ever suggested to Miss McShane that you would be interested in having a romantic relationship with her yourself?" Erik asked conversationally. "Many men find Caitlyn to be a beautiful, gracious lady. I'm afraid that I'm no exception." Preston's smile held a hint of mockery as he turned to look at me. "I would like to direct your memory to a conversation that you had with Miss McShane immediately after you had helped to bring the Walkers back to Colorado Springs to be jailed." Erik positioned himself directly in front of the witness chair to minimize Preston's efforts to 'play to the crowd.' "Do you recall speaking to her as she left the clinic?" "I do," he agreed hesitantly. "Do remember your words to her that day about Doyle Walker?" "Not precisely," Preston hedged. "Then do you recall telling her that you had shot him for her?" "I was elated about the recovery of the stolen money and..." "Mr. Lodge," Erik interrupted sternly, holding up his hand for Preston to halt his rapid speech "Please, simply answer the question." "Yes." "Did you, in fact, shoot Walker?" "No." "Do you recall the rest of what you said to her regarding Doyle Walker?" "I'm afraid that it has been far too long ago for that." "Allow me to refresh your memory. During that conversation with Miss McShane, did you tell her that the 'ruffian' who had dared to put his hands on her might not live long enough to see his trial? That he might 'cheat the hangman?' Does that sound familiar to you, Mr. Lodge?" "If you are implying that I had something to do with this..." "Mr. Lodge, did you or did you not say those words?" The attorney demanded. "Perhaps, but I was simply..." "Is your answer yes or no, Mr. Lodge?" "Yes." "You're dismissed," Erik said quietly, indicating to the flustered banker that he could leave the building for a breath of fresh air. "The prosecution calls Sheriff Daniel Simon." Mr. Leslie intoned, seeming to finally be sizing up his competition at the opposite table while the lawman was sworn in. "Sheriff, will you tell the Court what took place in your jail on the night of February 15th?" "Be glad to." Daniel fixed his gaze on the Jury. "It had been rainin' heavy, and nothin' much was goin' on in town. Nights like that are usually pretty quiet. Both Walkers had bedded down and were already snorin', and I was sittin' at my desk, thinkin' about turnin' in myself. It was late--'round about 11:30--and I was getting heavy-eyed and ready to hit the sack. "Long about then something caught my eye--like a shadow of somebody comin' up behind me. Before I could turn around and get a good look, I felt this pain in my head, and I was out cold. "When I come to I was facedown on my desk, bleeding bad and sick to my stomach. With both doors to the cells standin' wide open, I figured somebody had come in on me and helped the Walkers escape. Almost didn't bother to look before I went for help. I was that sure I'd find 'em both gone. Floor of one cell was covered in blood. Looked like somebody had slaughtered a hog in there. An' Cole was layin' right in the middle of it, his throat cut. Doyle was gone. No sign of him anywhere." "What did you do next--after finding the body?" Mr. Leslie encouraged. "Nothing to be done for Cole, 'cept bury him--so I got Jake over there to stitch me up. It was awful late to be waking up Dr. Mike, and I didn't feel much like riding out to the house anyway, with my head pounding like a bass drum. After Jake finished, probably 1:00, I went over to the Gold Nugget, figuring I'd have a little talk with Hank." "Why did you want to talk to Mr. Lawson?" "Man who came up behind me was tall--over six feet. Blond. Wearing a hat. I saw that much--and I smelled smoke on him," Daniel explained flatly. "I just had me a feeling it was Hank. Who had better reason to want the Walkers dead than him? They'd shot him in the back and planned on rapin' Miss Caitlyn." "And what did Mr. Lawson say about that when you talked with him?" "Nobody had seen Hank all night long. Went back the next mornin', and his bed had never been slept in." The sheriff focused his attention on the barkeep. "When he took off--on the run from the Law--that pretty much settled it." "Your witness, Mr. Lausenstrom." "Sheriff Simon, did you ever consider anyone else a suspect other than Hank Lawson?" Erik moved to the front of the room again. "Didn't see no reason to. I knew all along it was him." "Then you actually saw Mr. Lawson kill Cole Walker?" he inquired politely. "Woulda stopped it if I had--I was out like a light when it happened." Daniel shook his head. "But you're saying that you know for a fact that Hank Lawson committed this murder. How can that be true if you didn't see it happen?" "Hank's a hothead. Always has been." "In your mind does being a 'hothead' automatically make a man a murderer?" Erik asked quietly. "Makes it more likely, I reckon." "To your knowledge has Mr. Lawson, who you say has always been a 'hothead,' ever killed a man--or been a suspect in a case like this?" "Maybe he never had a good enough reason 'til now--or never got caught." "Tell me, Sheriff, is Mr. Lawson the only man in your jurisdiction who you would classify as a 'hothead?" "We got our share--same as any other town." "When you found Cole Walker, you said that the cell was covered in blood, am I correct?" Erik paused to take a sip of water. "Never seen that much blood splattered in one place." "And would you tell us again approximately what time that the murder took place?" "Between 11:30 and midnight--somewhere along 'bout then." "Sheriff Simon, were you able to locate any witnesses who could place Mr. Lawson in Colorado Springs at the time of the murder?" "Nobody's sayin' so, if they saw him." "Based on your observations, sir, did the Walker brothers get along well?" Erik suddenly changed his line of questioning. "As well as most folks." Daniel shrugged. "Did you ever hear them quarrel or threaten harm to each other?" "Men talk that way, especially brothers--and most especially when they're locked behind bars." "Isn't it possible, Mr. Simon, that what you first thought had happened is still true--that someone did slip into the jail to help Doyle Walker escape?" "Somebody like that woulda got them both out." "A lot of money that was stolen has never been found. Is it not possible that if someone helped Doyle escape from jail, the two of them would rather have split that money two ways instead of three?" "Objection! Calls for speculation." Leslie leaned back in his chair. "Sustained." "Can't see Doyle going along with somebody killin' Cole." Daniel ignored the ruling and answered Erik's question. "Would that be because of his sterling character, Mr. Simon?" Erik lifted one brow. "Objection!" The prosecutor snapped. "Sustained." "Your Honor, I reserve the right to call this witness back to the stand when the Defense presents its case." Erik calmly made his way back to the table beneath the glare of both Daniel's and Mr. Leslie's eyes. |
