Soiled Dove (33 page)

“Enjoy,” Jo said with a smile. “We have a lot to talk about before the trial begins tomorrow. Lots to do between now and then.”

Clare sat on her cot with her legs drawn up and her arms wrapped loosely around them. “We don’t have anything to talk about,” she muttered.

Jo took a deep breath and turned to face her client.

“You’re right. You’re going to be found guilty as hell in what will probably be the shortest trial in Colorado history, followed very quickly with you being strung up from the nearest tall object. Think about that for a second. Then think about seeing Loretta’s face contort in anguish as she watches you kick and struggle to suck in even one more small breath. If you were hung right you’d break your damn neck when your body fell, but we’re talking about a bunch of angry, drunken people living barely on the fringe of civilization. They would rather see you suffer. And you will. I’ve seen it happen and it’s not pretty.

Loretta will see your eyes bulge from their sockets while you gasp for breath. Your face will turn an ungodly shade of purple, and your tongue will begin to swell and protrude from your mouth. All that in addition to pissing and shitting on yourself. That’s the vision you’re willing to have Loretta live with the remainder of her life. All the while she’ll be thinking about what she could have done to save you. Never knowing she couldn’t have done a damn thing because you, the woman she thought loved her, didn’t give a shit. She deserves better than that, Clare. I only spent one night with her, but it’s not a night I’ll likely forget. If I had a woman who loved me that way every night, I would be a happy woman.”

“You spent a night with Retta?” Clare asked.

“Yes. A rather glorious one in St. Joe while I was passing through on business. I’m proud to say I was the first woman she had been with. You have me to thank for her sexual expertise when she’s with you. In fact, now that I know you’ll be gone, probably within the week, I might stay a little longer to…console her.”

Clare leaped from the cot and grabbed Jo, shoving her roughly against the brick wall of the cell. “Don’t talk about her like she’s an object you can use and throw away!”

“Isn’t that how you’re treating her right now?

Like what she feels doesn’t matter?”

Clare’s voice broke and her grasp loosened on Jo’s arms. “I never meant to hurt her by loving her.”

“Then do something about it, Clare. At least give her the hope you’re willing to fight to stay alive for her. You’re a lucky woman. Don’t throw it away.”

Clare’s arms dropped to her sides and she half-stumbled back to the cot. “What do you want me to do?”

THE BALLROOM OF the Columbian Hotel buzzed with activity. The hotel management had been more than willing to set the large ballroom up as a court room for the trial of Clare McIlhenney. The buzzing grew louder as Sheriff Beutler pushed Clare toward the front of the room and shoved her down into a hard wooden chair behind the defense table. Ripley sat next to her with Jo sitting behind him, presumably acting as his assistant. Clare turned halfway in her chair and scanned the crowd gathering behind her.

On the left side of the narrow aisle she saw Virginia Garner seated next to Clement, several of the Garner ranch hands surrounding them. Clare’s eyes met Clement Garner’s, the hatred in his eyes clear to anyone who looked. Apparently he had recovered from his injury in the month since the incident. There would be no sense in arguing with him about what had actually happened the night his father and Jack Coulter were killed. Clare was certain Clement Garner would reveal the truth about Loretta if called to testify.

Also seated in the left side of the main aisle were townspeople Clare had known for twenty years. She’d had disagreements with most of them.

Seated behind the defense table on the right side of the aisle, Clare saw that the visitors to her trial reflected the way people saw her. Most of her ranch hands, Ino, accompanied by Mavis, Willis and Rosario Manning and the girls from the saloon sat behind Clare. Not people the court would consider the most reputable in the world. Clare cast them a smile of sorts. Before she turned to face the judge’s podium she caught sight of more people entering. Cyrus Langford, his wife Hettie, and Amelia stepped tentatively into the ballroom and looked around, finally finding seats near the back of the room. She didn’t see Loretta and shifted in her chair to face the front once again.

Ripley tapped Clare on the shoulder and leaned closer. “Are you ready?”

“Never been readier. In case I don’t get a chance later on, thanks,” Clare said without meeting his eyes.

“THE PROSECUTION CALLS Clement Garner to the stand,” Franklin Bucknell, the attorney for Las Animas County, called out.

The witnesses preceding Clement had been at best hearsay witnesses who hadn’t actually seen anything or they were ranch hands who worked for Thaddeus Garner. Ripley tricked one or two into admitting they held Clare while Thaddeus and Clement physically attacked her.

Once Clement swore to tell the truth and settled into the witness chair, Bucknell hooked his thumbs into his suspenders and boomed. “Where were you the evening of December fifteenth?”

“In town with my father and a few of our hands.”

“What was the purpose of the visit to town?”

“We picked up a few supplies and then relaxed with a few drinks. Nothing special.”

“Did you see Clare McIlhenney while you were in town?”

“Sure did. She attacked us outside the Cattleman’s Saloon.”

“And what was the result of that premeditated attack?”

“Objection,” Ripley said from his chair. “No evidence has been introduced to indicate anything pre-planned occurred.”

“Mr. Garner, please tell us about the relationship between your father and Clare McIlhenney,” Bucknell intoned

“Objection, your Honor. Hearsay. The witness wasn’t present during every conversation between Mr. Garner and Miss McIlhenney. Furthermore, no evidence has been introduced to prove Thaddeus Garner is the father of this witness.”

Clement shot out of his chair. “What the hell are you saying?!”

Ripley shrugged. “You could have been adopted for all I know.”

Laughter rippled through the on-lookers.

Clement’s face turned red as the judge slammed his gavel down to restore order.

Questioning resumed when Clement was seated once again. “Were there any occasions, when you were present,” Bucknell began, looking pointedly at Ripley, “that made you aware of the nature of the relationship between Mr. Garner and Miss McIlhenney?”

Clement glanced at Ripley waiting for his objection before he answered. When none came he said, “Every time I accompanied my father and he had a conversation with Clare, they always turned into arguments. Clare doesn’t have a legal title to her property and…”

“Ob…ject,” Ripley said wearily. “Whether or not Miss McIlhenney holds the title to the land she lives on has absolutely nothing to do with the charges against her in this court, your Honor. Can we simply get on to what pertains to the night of December fifteenth?”

“Mr. Bucknell?” the judge asked, looking over the glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“Was there an argument between your father and Miss McIlhenney the night of December fifteenth?”

Bucknell asked.

“Yes.”

“Were shots fired?”

“Yes.”

“Who fired first?”

“Clare did. Got the drop on us and opened fire.

My father didn’t even have a chance to draw his pistol before she gunned him down.”

Surprisingly there was no objection from the defense table. Ripley leaned back with a grin on his face, reading papers Jo handed to him.

“Were you shot that night as well?” Bucknell continued.

“Yeah. So was one of our ranch hands.”

“Both of you were shot by Clare McIlhenney, is that correct?” Bucknell asked as he turned and pointed at the defense table.

“That’s right,” Clement said clearly.

“Objection,” Ripley said. “The witness has no way of knowing anything other than he was shot. For all we know someone behind Miss McIlhenney fired the bullets that struck him.”

“No one else could have shot me and Clyde,”

Clement snarled. “No one else was there to protect Clare.”

Ripley smiled. “In other words, you planned to attack Miss McIlhenney and made sure no one was allowed to help her when she was attacked. Did that include Jack Coulter?”

“Objection,” Bucknell bellowed. “The defense will have ample time to cross-examine this witness.”

The judge admonished both attorneys and Bucknell returned to his questioning of Clement Garner. Bucknell asked a few more questions before handing him over to Ripley Sinclair for cross-examination. Jo patted him on the back as he stood up. “Mr. Garner, who shot you?”

“Clare McIlhenney.”

“You saw her pull the trigger?”

“Yes.”

“Wasn’t she standing behind her horse?” Ripley paused. “I’ll remind you that four previous witnesses confirmed Miss McIlhenney was shielded by her horse.”

“Yeah. She was behind her horse,” Clement conceded.

“Then how can you be certain she’s the one who fired at you?”

“Wasn’t no one else there.”

“Where was Jack Coulter during this altercation?”

“I don’t know where he was once the shooting started.”

“Well, when his body was found, he was laying a step or two off the boardwalk
behind
Miss McIlhenney. Therefore, isn’t it possible he was the individual who shot you and your father and your ranch hand?”

“Had no reason to.”

Ripley picked up a small package from the defense table and opened it. He reached inside and pulled out a gold chain. A gold pocket watch dangled from the end and slowly rotated. “Do you recognize this watch, Mr. Garner?”

“Of course. My father’s had it as long as I can remember.”

“Did he have it the night of December fifteenth?”

“He always carried it.”

“Where did he get it? Was it a gift from your mother?”

“Said he won it in a poker game about twenty years ago.”

“Really?” Ripley punched the button on the top near the chain and the lid flipped open. He looked at it intently.

“Can you tell me what’s engraved inside?”

“Nope. He said it was probably the initials of the man who lost it.”

Ripley held the watch up for everyone to see.

“What if I told you this watch was stolen? That the real owner and his family were murdered by marauders. Nearly twenty-one years ago. How old are you, Mr. Garner?”

“Twenty. If you’re insinuating my father murdered someone and stole that watch–“

“What was your father’s full name?”

“Thaddeus James Garner. So what?”

“Well, isn’t that amazing? The leader of the marauders twenty years ago was a man known as TJ,”

Ripley stated.

“I didn’t hear a question there, your Honor,”

Bucknell objected.

“Simply thinking aloud,” Ripley said. He opened the watch case and looked at the inscription inside.

“To T.M. from A.M. 2/14/1856,” Ripley read aloud.

“Now that’s quite a coincidence. Your father’s initials are the same as those of the man responsible for the murders of Terrance and Agatha McIlhenney. T.M.

and A.M.” Ripley turned his head to look at Virginia Garner before bringing his attention back to the witness. “No further questions, your Honor.”

Clement glared at Clare. He stepped out of the witness chair and walked slowly back to his seat next to his mother. He made sure he caught Clare’s eye as he walked past the defense table before he smiled and brought his hand up and pointed his index finger at her as if it were a gun and pulled the imaginary trigger.

Before court adjourned that day the jurors heard brief testimony from Dr. Wayne, Willis Manning, and Mavis Calendar concerning what they witnessed either during or immediately following the shooting.

Clare was relieved when she was finally escorted back to the jail by Deputy Hardcastle. Much to her surprise the judge temporarily relieved Sheriff Beutler of his duties until the charges that had been filed against him were sorted out. Once her handcuffs were removed, she sat on her cot rubbing her wrists while Jo and Ripley found a place to sit.

“I thought today went fairly well,” Ripley said as he removed his jacket and draped it over the frame of Clare’s cot.”

“We’ll have our chance when the prosecutor rests his case,” Jo said. She pulled a stack of papers from her satchel and thumbed through them. “Now that we know what they’re relying on as evidence we should be able to create enough doubt to sway the jurors.”

Clare snorted. “I don’t know how things work where you’re from, but I saw the way the men on the jury were looking at me.”

“Then we’ll simply appeal and have the trial moved to a bigger city,” Jo said with a shrug.

“I need to speak to Ino,” Clare said, leaning back against the wall of her cell.

“We need to go over your testimony,” Jo said with a frown.

“They don’t care what I have to say. I appreciate everything you’re doing, but I don’t expect to live to see the end of this trial. Find Ino. We’ll talk about my testimony later.”

CLARE COULDN’T SLEEP that night. She was calm, but afraid. She knew something would happen soon and shivered. It was well after midnight when she was awakened by the sound of something heavy falling. She wasn’t sure where the sound had come from. A moment later the door between the sheriff’s office and the cells flew open. Five men wearing masks stormed into the cell area. Clare jumped from her cot and grabbed the closest thing she could find that could be used as a weapon. The ceramic water pitcher would probably break with the first swing, but she didn’t have much choice. One of the men twisted the key in the cell lock and jerked it open while the others held their weapons on her.

“Drop the fuckin’ pitcher!” a voice ordered.

“You afraid of one woman with a water pitcher, Beutler?” Clare asked while shifting her stance. “You fire any of those pistols and you’ll wake the whole damn town.”

One of the men motioned toward her with his pistol and the others rushed into the cell, ducking the pitcher Clare swung at them. One of the men managed to catch her jaw with a glancing blow, enough to force her off balance and allow the others to grab her. They wrestled her to the floor and held her down. A man stepped forward and glared down at her as he yanked the mask from his face. Sheriff Beutler knelt down over her and unleashed a savage blow to her face, knocking her unconscious.