Stoner's Crossing

by Judith Pella

  “Lead me to him!”

  They left Sky behind, for he was too young to go to the kind of places Pollard frequented. Pollard was easily located in his favorite watering hole, and it was early enough in the evening so that he was still fairly sober.

  “What do you two polecats want?” he asked, not masking his hostility. “Ain’t I talked to you enough?”

  Sam and Jonathan drew up two chairs at the table where Pollard sat alone, a glass of whiskey in front of him.

  Sam sat back and watched while Jonathan said in his smoothest, candidate-of-the-people tone, “I hope you don’t take personally all that posturing that goes on in the courtroom, Mr. Pollard. It’s all in the way of business, and I surely hold nothing against you.”

  “It sure didn’t seem like it.” Pollard gulped down his drink.

  “I have been told that lawyers are nothing more than highly paid actors. Well, sometimes, in that vein, I have a tendency to bury myself in my part.”

  “Hey, is it true you was a U.S. senator up there in Washington and that you was nearly president of these United States?”

  “I am both proud and humbled to say yes.”

  “Well, I’ll be! And you’re trying to apologize to me?”

  “If an apology is necessary, yes indeed! I am very interested in keeping our lines of communication open.”

  “‘Lines of communication’? What’s that mean?”

  “Talk, Mr. Pollard, nothing more. You’d be surprised how much more we can accomplish outside the confines of a courtroom.”

  “Is that legal?”

  Jonathan smiled. “The law is my life, Mr. Pollard. I hold it in the highest esteem. And there has come to my attention a small matter, not really worth clogging up the trial time with. Would it be too much of a bother if I asked you to help me out?”

  “I reckon I could.”

  “That’s fine, just fine! It’s simply this: I am a bit cloudy about when you came to the Stoner ranch the night of the murder. You didn’t ride to the ranch all alone, did you? I can hardly believe even a notorious lawman like yourself would ride into such unknown danger all by yourself.”

  “Well, I did, ‘cepting for the Stoner hand that came to fetch me—he rode back with me.”

  “That was a brave thing for you to do.”

  “All in the line of duty, I reckon.”

  “I’m sure I would have rounded up an entire posse to accompany me.”

  “Well, I didn’t.”

  “No one else came with you? Caleb’s son, perhaps?”

  “You mean Laban? He wasn’t even in town.”

  “Oh, somehow I got the impression he was with you at the scene of the crime.”

  “I met him at the Stoner place. As I was riding up to the gate, he was coming from the opposite direction. We rode to the house together.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, that important or somethin’?”

  “Just curious,” said Jonathan.

  Sam could hardly restrain a grin as he listened. He felt he had just watched a master fisherman reel in a big one.

  62

  When Carolyn went to the line cabin on the appointed night to meet Jacob, she wondered if she was in reality going to meet her father’s murderer. If that were so, then she might well be riding into considerable danger. Yet there had been something about Jacob that made her want to believe him, to trust that she was not heading to her doom.

  She was disappointed when Jacob failed to appear. She waited for over an hour before returning home, then went back the following night in the futile hope that he might show up. Her dismay was all the greater because on Monday, Mr. Barnum was to begin his case for the defense, and she had hoped Jacob would be able to provide the answers that would free her mother.

  Monday came, and Carolyn felt just as helpless as she had been before. Jonathan began his defense with Mabel Vernon’s testimony. She spoke her piece and felt immensely better for doing so, but because she had no hard proof that Leonard had been beating Deborah, the prosecution fairly discounted her entire testimony. Then Jonathan called Sheriff Pollard again.

  He got Pollard to admit that Deborah had walked into an already volatile situation at the Stoner ranch, and he manipulated him into stating that he had, during the first trial, suspected self-defense. Then he questioned Pollard about the discussion they’d had regarding Laban. When the prosecution protested that Laban Stoner was not on trial, and thus his whereabouts were not in question, Jonathan argued, though he knew it would do little good, that not having a proper alibi could make Laban a suspect. The man had a definite motive and could well benefit from the victim’s demise. But again, Jonathan’s statements were pure conjecture, as the prosecutor was quick to point out. Without putting Laban on the stand, he could make little more of his suspicions. Unfortunately, Laban had disappeared. He apparently had heard of Caleb’s threats and had made himself scarce.

  Sky arrived during Pollard’s testimony, and when Jonathan was finished he asked for a brief recess, during which Sky apprised him of his discoveries. Jonathan wanted to question Eufemia Mendez before he put Deborah on the stand, but having no warning that she was to be called, Eufemia was not present at the trial on that day. He asked for, and received, a recess until the following day.

  Tuesday, Eufemia had been notified and was present. Jonathan got right to the point.

  “Mrs. Mendez, how long have you owned La Rosa Cantina?”

  She hesitated as if mentally tallying the time. “Eighteen years, señor.”

  “So, you came into possession only a year after Leonard Stoner’s death?”

  “Yes, about that long.”

  “I would like to remind the court that the last time Mrs. Mendez testified, it was established that Caleb Stoner held the loan note on the cantina.” Jonathan turned back to Mendez. “You must have been saving your money a long time to go from saloon girl to saloon owner?”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, señor, but it was an inheritance.”

  “From whom?”

  “My relations in Mexico.”

  “Do you have proof of that?”

  “I’m sure there are records in Mexico.”

  “You have none in your possession?”

  “No.”

  “I would think you’d want some evidence for your own protection, since some might question such a sudden—how shall I say?—windfall.”

  “Objection!” said Fuller. “Counsel is drawing conclusions.”

  “Objection overruled,” the judge said. When Fuller started to protest, the judge added, “I think it’s in the interest of the court to see where this is leading. Proceed, Mr. Barnum.”

  “I have a ledger here from the Stoner’s Crossing Bank recording several deposits in Mrs. Eufemia Mendez’s name for the period of June 1865 to May of 1866. There are two deposits for one hundred dollars each in June of 1865, and one for five hundred dollars in July 1865. There is no more activity in this account until May of the next year, when a deposit of five thousand dollars was made. Are we to assume this money was from your wages?”

  “Why not?”

  “Come now, Mrs. Mendez, even I, greenhorn easterner that I am, know that a saloon girl doesn’t earn that much money.”

  “This is a personal matter.”

  “And I am sorry to have to pry into such things, but my client’s life may be at stake here, so I must put that before propriety. How did you come by this money, Mrs. Mendez?”

  “It was from a business I had on the side.”

  “What business?”

  For a moment Eufemia’s hard face took on the quality of sharp, jagged rock, lethal and dangerous. Jonathan fixed a steady gaze on her, not turning from her uncomfortable ire.

  “Some people refer to it as the world’s oldest business,” she said icily. “I had clients who were willing to pay well for such services…and for the discretion that accompanied them.”

  “I see.” Jonathan did not blink, even though he h
ad no idea he would stumble onto such a delicate matter. “What about this five hundred dollar deposit that was made less than a week after Leonard’s death?”

  “Life does go on, señor. The Stoners were not anything to me that I should stop my business to mourn them.”

  “And the five thousand dollar entry?”

  “That was the inheritance.”

  “Did no one at that time comment on the coincidence of you receiving such an inheritance so shortly after Leonard’s trial?”

  “No. Why should they?”

  “A very good question, Mrs. Mendez. But if you can’t answer it, then neither can I.”

  “I cannot answer it.”

  Jonathan paused, glanced at the bank ledger, then asked as if it were an afterthought, “I notice there were no deposits made between July 1865 and May 1866, a ten-month period. Was business…uh…simply slow during that time?”

  “I was traveling,” said Eufemia coolly. “I went to Mexico. I married there, had a child, and also received the inheritance.”

  “Quite a busy trip, I should say.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “When, exactly, did you return to the States?”

  “In May of 1866.”

  “And you immediately deposited your inheritance?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are a widow now, Mrs. Mendez?”

  “My husband died shortly before our son was born. That’s why I decided to return to the States.”

  “I’m sorry; that’s very tragic.”

  “I need no one’s sympathy.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Mendez. No further questions.”

  There was no cross-examination, and Eufemia Mendez stepped down from the witness seat.

  Listening to the testimony, Carolyn was disappointed. She had spoken to Sky for a few moments after yesterday’s session and had hoped Barnum would be able to make more of the money issue. Even after Barnum had said he would probably only be able to cast some doubt on Eufemia’s credibility, she still thought more would come of it. The timing of the money was just too coincidental for it to be unrelated. Yet the fact that some of the money had come before Leonard’s death did cloud the matter. Why would Caleb give Eufemia money before the murder? It made no sense. And there was no way to connect the five thousand dollars to Caleb. A trip to Mexico to verify Eufemia’s claims would involve too much for the probable use it would have. Had the questioning at least given the jury food for thought? Carolyn glanced that way and could read nothing on the twelve impassive faces.

  But she couldn’t dwell on all this for long. Her mother was about to take the stand.

  63

  Deborah had told herself many times that everything was different now. In fact, there could hardly be any comparison to her situation nineteen years ago. She had been completely vulnerable when she had testified in her first trial. She’d had no hope; she didn’t even care whether she lived or died. When they had asked if she was innocent, she had not spoken with conviction because inside she felt like a murderer, filled with guilt and filth.

  Now she was an entirely different woman, full of hope and assured of her innocence. But she was still conscious of her vulnerability as Jonathan Barnum called her to take the stand. Could there be a small speck of uncertainty within her? She had held back that tiny inner doubt from everyone, hoping that by ignoring it, it would go away.

  The night of Leonard’s death had been spectral, like a waking nightmare. Some things were still hazy, depending upon how strong she seemed at a given time. Usually she felt as if her account of the events as she told them to Jonathan were the absolute truth.

  “I was awakened by a nightmare and was terribly shaken. I went downstairs, intending to fix some warm milk to calm my nerves. I heard a shot and went to the room from which the sound had come. Leonard was sprawled out on the floor. But almost at the same instant that I noticed him, I saw the French doors click shut. Believing whoever had shot Leonard was making an escape, I started toward the doors, stumbling upon the gun as I went. Without thinking I picked up the weapon, believing I might need protection, and then I opened the doors. I saw a shadow disappearing around a corner of the house. Before I could think of going in pursuit, Caleb’s voice stopped me. ‘What in God’s name have you done? You murderous tramp, you have killed my son!’”

  She told the same story now as Jonathan questioned her on the stand. But in her mind even as she spoke, the old doubt reared its treacherous head. The nightmare that had awakened her had been so real! In it she had confronted Leonard and, with great satisfaction, shot him dead. She had heard of cases of temporary memory loss where people had done extraordinary things without even knowing it. Had she been so traumatized while shooting Leonard that she blacked out, not waking to reality until Caleb made his jarring accusation?

  Why couldn’t she be certain? Especially now, when those twelve faces were examining her so intently, looking in her eyes for the very speck of doubt she now wrestled with.

  “Mrs. Killion,” asked Jonathan gently, “we have evidence that you purchased a small handgun about six months before your husband’s death. Can you explain your reasons for this?”

  “I thought I might shoot him the next time he beat me. I…I also thought about using it to kill myself.”

  “You must have been very desperate, then?”

  “I couldn’t go on like that much longer.”

  “You didn’t use the gun in that six-month period; does that mean Leonard did not strike you again?”

  “No, he…he mistreated me several times after that. I just couldn’t bring myself to use the gun.”

  Jonathan had her describe what her life was like married to Leonard Stoner, and she found it no easier to speak of such things now than it had been when she had been a naive young woman. Though Sky had left the courtroom for the testimony, Carolyn was still there. Deborah had not had the heart to insist that the girl leave. She had as much right as anyone to hear Deborah’s answers.

  And her testimony did make an excellent case for self-defense. Maybe that was as much as she could hope for. Maybe she should be glad to accept that. Yet, two things haunted Deborah’s mind and drove her to fight that possibility. One was Carolyn and the fear of what the true facts might do to their relationship. Carolyn would always have to live with the knowledge that her father had been killed by her mother. It was an awful reality for a child to deal with—not only that her mother was a killer, but that her father had been the kind of man who could drive a woman to such extremes.

  But there was something even more personal eating at Deborah’s conscience. In her nightmare—or, what she desperately hoped was a nightmare—she had felt such satisfaction, such delight at seeing Leonard fall lifeless before her. And that had always troubled Deborah. Self-defense was one thing, but could it really be self-defense if she had pulled the trigger with such willing malice?

  The next day, these thoughts still clouded her mind as the prosecutor began his cross-examination.

  “Deborah Killion, would you consider yourself to have been a compliant wife during your marriage to Leonard Stoner?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean by compliant.”

  “Did you try to do his bidding, care for his, ah, needs?”

  “I wanted to, but his demands were often more than I could obey.”

  “Such as?”

  Deborah described several instances, and Fuller questioned her in greater detail about each.

  “Tell me again about the horses.”

  “He forbade me to go to the stables. I was raised with a love for horses and found great pleasure and satisfaction from working with them. It was a hard thing to give up.”

  “But, at his wish, you did give it up?”

  “No, I went to the stables anyway. When he became furious with me for doing so, I told him I’d do anything else for him if I could just do that.”

  “And did you follow through with that promise?”

  “You don’t understand, M
r. Fuller; no one should have to beg—”

  “Please, just answer the question.”

  “No.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I tried to be the kind of wife he wanted, but he continued to mistreat me, even though he did allow me to go to the stables and ride when I wished.”

  “He granted your wish, and you repaid him by using that new freedom to begin an illicit affair—”

  “Objection!” exclaimed Jonathan, leaping from his chair as if he was ready to do battle.

  “Objection sustained,” the judge said. “Mr. Fuller, you are drawing a conclusion and using it to badger the witness. Please keep your remarks in the form of a question.”

  The prosecutor was in no way abashed by the objection, for he had known full well it would be called. He had gotten his point across to the jury nonetheless.

  “Mrs. Killion, did you at any time deny your husband his conjugal rights?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you lock him out of your bedroom?”

  “Yes, but only when—”

  “If you were so mistreated, why didn’t you tell anyone?” the prosecutor broke in quickly.

  “You must let me finish answering your first question,” Deborah pleaded. “I desperately wanted to be a good wife. But he forced me—”

  “I must insist that you answer only the questions asked of you. If I wish further explanation, I will ask.”

  “But—”

  “Why did you tell no one about what was happening?”

  Deborah took a ragged breath. Jonathan had warned her it would be like this. The prosecutor was going to allow her to say only enough to hang her. He was going to do all he could to twist and confuse the truth. At least she’d already had the chance to tell her side of it under sympathetic conditions during Jonathan’s questioning. She just hoped that testimony and not this would be what remained in the jury’s mind.

  “I tried to tell the banker’s wife, but—”

  “She didn’t believe you, Mrs. Killion?”

  “I don’t know. Leonard was such a gentleman in front of others.”