“I can, I suppose, in a round-about way, tell them, however, how they should write the laws they choose to enact. In fact, arguably, it is my function to do so since I am the poor soul required to interpret their words’ meaning. And as I said, in making my interpretation of what they are trying to enact with their statutes, I cannot consider something that they have apparently chosen not to write down on the paper.
“The pertinent part of the statute with which we are dealing in this case says, essentially, that it’s a crime to abort a fetus by whatever means in a pregnant woman unless—and now I’m quoting. ‘—such miscarriage is necessary to preserve her life.’ Period. That is the cause allowed by law for creating a miscar riage, the preservation of the pregnant woman’s life. Adding words to the statute, as Mr. McConners has said, is precisely what I would be doing if I were to include at the end of the phrase, ‘. . . to preserve her life due to complications in her pregnancy.’”
He pulled off his spectacles. “I cannot do that. As a matter of fact, I would not be doing my job if I did do that.
“Likewise, I am not here to determine whether Miss Pratt was in fact in danger of losing her life. As I sit here, I don’t know that Sonny Pratt planned to kill his stepsister. I have to assume that he would not. Sonny Pratt, like Dr. Hedstrom, is presumed to be innocent until proven otherwise.
“Also, if Miss Pratt’s life had been threatened as a result of complications in her pregnancy, I would be forced to accept her word and the word of her physician that they felt that was the case.
“In our present situation, all that is necessary is that I accept as fact that she, and more importantly, Dr. Hedstrom, believed she was in fatal danger, and because of that belief the abortion was performed.
“After hearing Miss Pratt’s testimony, I do believe that was their fear.”
He looked down at Micah and added, “So, for those reasons, Mr. McConners, and based on the language of the statute as written, I will grant your motion. I will direct a verdict of acquittal for Dr. Chester Hedstrom, and I will order this case dismissed as a matter of law.”
He turned toward the jury. “And I will also excuse the jury. Thank you, gentlemen, for your good service.
“Court will stand adjourned.”
With that the judge rose, stepped from his bench, and left the stage.
Even before his exit was complete, the spectators in the opera house came to their feet with cheers.
PART FOUR: MICAH’S DECISION
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Have a seat, gentlemen.” Judge Walker motioned toward the chairs set up around the large table in the theater’s backstage green room. Shortly after he had adjourned court, Walker called the lawyers into his makeshift chambers. Since Brad Collins had been acting as bailiff throughout the trial, he followed the attorneys into the room and stood by the door. Walker scrutinized him and said in a hard tone, “We won’t be needing your services at this time, sheriff.”
Collins cleared his throat and said, “Yes, sir,” stepped out, and closed the door.
Walker eyed each one of the men, and in as harsh a tone as he had used with Collins, he said, “It seems we have ourselves a situation here, gentlemen.” He turned to Earl Anderson. “I said a moment ago it wasn’t necessary in order to reach my decision that I believe Miss Pratt’s life actually was in danger, and that’s true; it wasn’t necessary.” His back was stiff. His shoulders were squared. Still looking at Anderson, he added, “But I do believe it. I believe this Pratt kid raped her, and I believe he has threatened to kill her. Of course, if he were ever to be charged with anything by you, Mr. Anderson, which I doubt, I would recuse myself from his case and ensure that he was afforded his right to the presumption of innocence and all due process. We would have no trouble finding another judge to hear the matter.”
Walker paused and for a brief instant Micah assumed he’d said what he brought them in to say, and they were finished with the matter. But the judge continued.
“I’ve been judging in this district now for nearly ten years, and it’s my opinion that the state of law enforcement in this county for the last two of those ten years has been deplorable. It was bad enough since your election in ’94, Mr. Anderson, but since ’98 when Collins was elected sheriff and the two of you have worked together, it has defied belief. I’ve been tempted to inform the State Attorney General of it on more than one occasion.”
The earth’s natural gravity seemed to double when the judge said that, at least in the area surrounding Earl Anderson. Everything about the little man drooped—his head, his shoulders. His entire body sank deeper into his chair. The monocle he wore fell from his eye and swung on its chain.
The judge went on, this time spreading his gaze among the others at the table. “The way I see it, an investigation needs to begin immediately into the accusations Miss Pratt made in court today. Now that her claims are out in the open, she may be in less danger than before. Then again, perhaps she’s in even more danger. There’s no way to know. But serious charges have been levied against this Pratt boy, and it needs to be looked into starting right now.” Walker punctuated his last sentence by smacking the flat of his hand on the tabletop.
Everyone looked to Anderson to respond. He was the county attorney, and despite the judge’s spreading the heat of his glare about the table, it was obviously Anderson to whom Walker was still speaking.
Finally, after a full minute of silence so thick it could be whittled, Thomas Blythe spoke up. “Judge,” he began, “if I may be so presumptuous as to speak for the county attorney and the sheriff, in all honesty, today was the first either of these men had heard any of the accusations against Mr. Pratt. I assure you had they been informed, they would have promptly looked into the matter.”
Walker looked from Anderson to Blythe without the heat dropping a degree. “Tom,” he said, “it’s one of the requirements of my job to listen to a certain amount of bullshit, but there’s a limit to how much I’m willing to hear. You and I both know that because Sonny is Emmett Pratt’s boy, not a God-damned thing would have been done if that girl and her mother had gone to either Collins or Anderson. Nothing. Not a thing. But I’m here to tell you that those days are done. They are over.” He turned back to the county attorney. “Do you hear me, Mr. Anderson?”
Anderson gave a quick nod.
“Now, for some reason that I cannot fathom, you have been elected by the people of this county, not once but twice, and because of that I can’t tell you how to do your job.” Walker’s usually pallid face had turned such a deep crimson Micah thought the man might be about to detonate. The judge reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “But I will tell you, sir, before calling all of you in here, I drafted a telegram. It’s to the AG explaining what’s going on here in Probity. Unless you can give me one hell of a reason why I shouldn’t, as soon as we leave this room, I will be going down the street to the telegraph office and sending this off. I expect the Attorney General can have a whole passel of lawyers and investigators here by tomorrow afternoon looking into the manner in which you and the sheriff perform your duties.”
Micah saw a flash of panic hit Anderson’s eyes. The little man’s lips moved a couple of times before any sound came out. Once he found his voice, it was quivery and at least an octave higher than before Walker had called them in.
“Judge,” Anderson said, “I—I promise you if you hold off on sending your wire, I’ll have the sheriff make a full investigation. I’ll see to it he leaves no stone unturned, and if there’s any truth to the allegations, I promise you, arrests will be made.”
The judge seemed unconvinced. “There are multiple accusations here, Mr. Anderson. There’s not only the accusation of rape, but the murder of that fellow—” He snapped his fingers trying to recall the name.
“Lester Jones,” offered Micah.
“Lester Jones, right. There is threatening a witness, assault and battery, and from what I hear, at least six counts of a
ggravated assault, if not attempted murder, by firing a shot into a house full of people.”
Micah had not mentioned the shot through the window to Walker, but apparently Jackson had before the rest of them made it in to chambers. Since it was out, Micah decided to let the judge know it all. He sat forward in his chair and said, “The sheriff knew of the shot being fired, Judge. I informed him of it myself.” Micah was not one to enjoy another man’s discomfort, but he had never had any fondness for Anderson or Collins, so even as he watched Anderson squirm from the heat of Judge Walker’s anger, he could not help but toss another log on the fire.
“That does not surprise me,” Walker said. “I would be hesitant to turn the investigation of anything over to you and your sheriff, Mr. Anderson.”
“Judge,” said Anderson in a near whisper, “I can assure you that the best effort would be made to get to the bottom of all of these things. In fact, I make you that promise.”
“Not good enough,” said the judge flatly.
“Your Honor,” said Blythe, “perhaps I can make a suggestion.”
“All right, let’s hear it.”
“It’s an unpleasant embarrassment for everyone in the community to bring in people from Cheyenne—Cheyenne of all places—to rummage through our dirty laundry.” He held his palm out as though making an effort to ward off contradiction even before it could be made. “Yes, Judge, I realize we have a situation here that may well warrant doing that very thing. But as you yourself pointed out, Mr. Anderson is an elected official, as is Sheriff Collins; perhaps we could give them one opportunity to show that they are prepared to fulfill the function of their offices.” He paused, waiting for a response. When none came, he continued. “Perhaps we could go ahead and allow the investigation to be conducted locally, but put someone we know to be uninfluenced by the politics of the matter in charge—someone we can all trust.”
Walker seemed to ponder that suggestion for a moment. “Did you have someone in mind, Thomas? Yourself, for instance?”
“Myself? Oh, my, Judge, no, certainly not.” He shifted his eyes to the other end of the table. “I was thinking of young Mr. McConners.”
At first Micah couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He would be the last person he’d expect they would want. He was responsible for the accusations being made in the first place. Micah shook his head, fending off the idea. “No, Judge,” he said, “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” asked Blythe. “You wouldn’t be conducting the investigation; the sheriff would. You would merely be there to ensure everything was being done the way it should be. You’re already intimately familiar with the case. Who is there better than you to do this?”
For the first time since they entered the room, Judge Walker seemed to have relaxed. He reached to the ashtray in the center of the table and picked up a pipe. As he tamped tobacco into the bowl he said, “I tend to agree, Micah. I believe you are the man for the job. We’ll have Collins swear you in as a deputy. That will keep you close enough to watch over things, give you the power of arrest, but at the same time we can appease Collins’s pride as sheriff by at least allowing him to pretend to the townsfolk that he’s in charge.”
“Judge,” said Micah, not liking at all the turn this was taking, “I can’t work with Brad Collins on something like this.”
“Oh, why’s that?”
Micah considered for a moment how much he should admit. Deciding nothing could be worse than working with Collins in an investigation of Sonny Pratt, he said, “Well, Judge, I’d say there’s a basic dislike between Collins and me.”
“I guess you fellas’ll have to set that aside to get this job done.”
Micah shook his head. “That’ll be difficult, I think, particularly for the sheriff.”
“How so?”
“I’m the man who gave him the black eye he’s wearing today.”
Walker smiled as he struck a match and lit his pipe. “Excellent,” he said. “Then Sheriff Collins already knows you’re a man to be reckoned with.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Nervousness was not a condition that came upon Emmett Pratt any too often. He liked to think he was a man who made other people nervous, not the other way around. But nervous was how he felt when he came into Thomas Blythe’s office and Blythe explained the judge’s ruling that ended the trial so abruptly the previous day.
After listening to the lawyer’s rather long-winded explanation, Pratt nodded and acknowledged that the decision had been a fair one. It wasn’t the outcome of the trial that made Pratt uneasy—to the contrary. He was pleased that the case had been dismissed. That was what he had wanted all along. “I never wanted anything to happen to that young doctor,” Pratt said. “He’s a fine man. A little strange, I reckon, but a fine man all the same.”
Blythe smiled. “I never like to lose a case in court,” he said, “but I admit I wasn’t disappointed to hear the judge’s decision.” He waggled a finger at the ceiling to emphasize his point. “I think it was a blatant stretching of the law, but the truth is, I wasn’t surprised by what he did. In this case, it was the right thing to do. And McConners gave the judge enough to hang his hat on so that Walker could make his ruling without looking foolish.”
A box of cigars was on the corner of Blythe’s desk, and he offered Pratt one.
“No thanks,” Emmett said. He pulled the makings for a cigarette from his vest pocket and rolled one with a deftness borne from years of practice. When a man was used to rolling a smoke on horseback in the Wyoming wind, twisting one up sitting in a lawyer’s office was easy.
“There’s more, though, Emmett,” Blythe said.
“I figured there would be.” That flutter he’d come in with hit his insides again.
“The judge is demanding an investigation of Sonny. He’s ordered Micah McConners to oversee the whole thing.”
Emmett pulled a match from the holder on Blythe’s desk and lit his cigarette. He inhaled, filling his lungs, and let the smoke roll out slowly.
Emmett was no fool. He realized the law around here had been looking the other way every time Sonny rode by only because Sonny’s last name was Pratt. He realized that, and even though he knew Sonny was getting meaner and wilder all the time, Emmett had done nothing about it. He had never asked for any favors from any man, but if favors had come his way without asking, he’d never turned them down.
That, he knew, had been wrong.
He tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette, took another drag, and asked,“So, Thomas, do you think all the things they’re saying about my boy are true?” Blythe was both Emmett’s lawyer and his friend. But even with their friendship, asking that question was a hard thing for Emmett Pratt to do. By asking, he was allowing for the possibility that Sonny was what Polly and Cedra and all the others said.
For the first time Emmett could remember, Blythe had been posed a question without providing an answer. Instead, a look of compassion filled the lawyer’s eyes, and that look sunk into Emmett deeper than any words Blythe might have said.
“Damn,” said Emmett as he came to his feet. He was not a sitter. How these God-damned city people could sit in their stores and offices hour after hour, day after day, was beyond him. He walked to the window, turned, and came back to the desk. “I did the best I could by Sonny,” he said, “but somewhere along the line, he went sour. I could see it happening, but I didn’t know what to do about it.”
Blythe shook his head. “Emmett, I watched you raise that boy. You were a fine father to him. Alice was a fine mother, and so was Cedra when she came along.” Thomas’s cigar had gone out, but he didn’t make any effort to relight it. As he spoke, his voice sounded different to Emmett. It was soft, without the usual deep resonance. The words were simple, and they seemed to come from a different place than his usual lawyerly words. “Sometimes,” Thomas added, “people do turn sour. It’s nobody’s fault, but it happens, and there’s no way ever to figure out why.”
Emmett dropped ba
ck into the chair. “What does the sheriff and this McConners fellow have in mind for their investigation?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Nothing very complicated. I expect they’ll ask Sonny and Hank some questions—see what they have to say about all this. I heard Micah tell the sheriff yesterday when we left the judge that he wanted them to ride out to the Jones place this morning to talk to Hank and your place this afternoon.”
“Where is this McConners’s office?” Emmett asked.
“On the west side of Third, between Walnut and Main. Why do you ask?”
“Because,” Emmett said, snuffing out his cigarette, “I expect it’s high time I did the right thing.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Hank Jones pulled Lester’s saddlebags from beneath his brother’s bed. Being dead and all, Lester would not need them and, as it happened, Hank did. The bags weren’t very good. They were old and the leather stiff, but Hank could only take with him what he could carry, and he wanted to be able to carry as much as possible. With his own bags and Lester’s, he could haul most of what few clothes he owned and at least a couple of days’ worth of food.
Hank was not a man given to sentiment, but a part of him hated to be leaving the place. It was where he was born, where he grew up. Probity and its surroundings were all Hank had ever known. But since that damned Polly Pratt took the witness stand and spilled her guts at the trial the day before, there was no choice but to run. And that was what Hank planned to do.
He pushed himself up from the floor and threw the bags over his shoulder. He’d load Lester’s bags with some canned goods, jerky, and what was left of the batch of biscuits he’d made that morning. That should last him awhile.
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