With that, the judge set the offending letter beside him and called for the jury.
Beth was seated beside Dolly and Rose Halpenny in the front row of the side gallery nearest the defense bench, where she got her first and appalled glimpse of Richard Dougherty. He rose before her in a languid, agonized waddle towards the trembling lectern. Colonel Stanhope was back on the stand and reminded of his oath. To the surprise and delight of the crowded room, he stood proud in his regimental uniform, a near replica of the regular’s redcoat. Only the sabre was missing.
“Good morning, sir,” Dougherty began. “I wish to begin by asking you a question you may find offensive, but it is one I wish you to answer in the forthright manner you so ably displayed yesterday.”
The colonel acknowledged the compliment with a single twitch of his moustache, but his cold eyes were narrow and wary.
Dougherty’s pea-green eyes, however, had removed themselves from the witness to stare up at the letter lying harmlessly beside the judge. Stanhope, who had not been present for the ruling, blinked uncertainly. He followed Dougherty’s gaze up to the letter, then he glanced sideways at Thornton, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. If the judge noticed, he did not react to the impropriety.
“You are a man of honour, sir,” Dougherty said, “a military man to whom a sworn oath is sacred.” He peered up at the letter again. “And you have sworn to tell the—”
“Please put your question, Counsellor.”
“Did you at any time between May and the end of November of last year receive, directly or indirectly, a blackmail threat?”
The galleries drew in their collective breath.
Stanhope flinched and, as he was wont to do when discomfited, grew rigidly erect.
“Colonel?” Those tiny porcine eyes veered back up to the letter.
Beth realized what Dougherty was doing. If the colonel had been receiving blackmail threats about his wife’s alleged infidelity, then he had to presume that there were possibly many letters with incriminating potential in existence, one or more of which may have found their way into the hands of the defense, in addition to the one beside the judge.
“Yes,” Stanhope said in a hoarse whisper.
The onlookers stirred and craned to hear more.
“Tell me when they came and what they demanded, please.”
He has omitted any reference to the source of the threat, Beth thought, and smiled.
“The first came in September, while I was still here in Toronto.” The colonel’s voice had regained its confidence. “It was from Caleb Coltrane and demanded money. If I refused to pay him five hundred dollars, he threatened to reveal information to the press which he assumed would cause a scandal in my family. When I ignored the letter—I burned it—I received another two weeks later.”
“Now this may be painful, sir, but you must answer—”
“Milord!” Thornton was on his feet. “This has gone far enough. The witness has already denied any involvement in the murder and pointed out the incontestable fact that no one other than an enraged and aggrieved youth like the defendant would murder an already doomed man.”
Beth saw the respectable burghers of the jury nodding in sympathy.
“Mr. Dougherty?”
“Milord, I cannot show sufficient cause for a plausible alternative theory of the crime if I am not permitted to probe for that cause.”
Chief Justice Robinson, who had seen Caleb’s letter, paused for a second only before saying, “Take it step by step, Counsellor. And when I say stop, you stop, even if you are in mid-sentence.”
Dougherty’s massive head swivelled back to the witness stand. “What was the precise nature of the threat?”
The colonel was fuming but also attempting to smile at the jury to convey his unshakeable confidence. Even his ears stiffened. “Major Coltrane claimed that when my wife paid a visit to his sister in Detroit last spring, she had become romantically involved with him.”
The sensation in the room had to be gavelled down, while the colonel reddened to the colour of his tunic.
“The revelation of such a claim, if accompanied by sufficient detail, might well ruin you, is that not so, Colonel?”
“It would ruin any gentleman,” Stanhope said vehemently. “But as it was a vicious lie and its source an enemy of the Queen, I had no real fear of its being made public.”
“And how did you determine it was a lie?”
Stanhope looked over at Almeda, who, not being on the witness list, was sitting near Kingsley Thornton. He smiled with his teeth and said loudly, “I went to my wife and asked her.”
Murmurs of approval here from many in the crowd.
“So, satisfied that the claims were groundless, you simply ignored the threat. Did you receive a third letter?”
Thinking the ordeal was over, the colonel blinked and spluttered, “I did, sir. The fellow was insufferably bold and offensive, but I maintained my silence in the face of his insidious provocation!”
“But this is the man, you have already testified, whom you deliberately volunteered to imprison in your home, whom you coddled like a visiting uncle, to whom you ordered your daughter to serve breakfast each morning—”
“Milord! I must—”
“I told you that I did so out of a sense of honour and duty, sir! The fellow was a true soldier, whatever his other failings might be. Besides, I had no money to pay any blackmailer—my business has not done so well lately—and my wife’s behaviour in all this has been beyond reproach. If you don’t believe me, ask her!”
Dougherty swung his head slowly towards Kingsley Thornton, who was quivering with rage behind his lectern, and gave him a gelatinous smile. They both knew that the defense had just got what it so desperately needed: Almeda Stanhope would have to take the stand.
“That’s enough,” the judge said to Dougherty, who was already in the process of leveraging his bulk down on the bench behind him. “The witness, who is not on trial here, has denied acquiescing to blackmail, and unless you have more tangible evidence in that regard, please move on.”
“I have no more questions at this time, milord. But I would like to reserve the right to recall the witness later on.”
Dismissed, the colonel looked as if he’d like to produce his sabre and do something felonious to Dougherty. He stumbled as he came down from the stand, righted himself, and marched out. Beth saw Almeda staring after him, terrified. But her attention was brought back to the front when she heard the clerk call out the name of the next witness: Mr. Marcus Edwards.
• • •
Marc, of course, had been unable to see what had been achieved so far this morning, though he heard a full account later in the day. While sitting in the witness room with the assistant bailiff, Absalom Shad, and Horatio Cobb—and forbidden to talk—Marc whiled away the time by working on the coded membership roster of the Michigan Hunters that he had taken from Ephraim Runchey in Detroit. He had been too tired to scrutinize it until now. Next to him Cobb flexed his sore wrist, hummed, and rattled a newspaper. Shad stared at the floor, visibly nervous. Just before his name was called, Marc cracked the code.
The approach Marc would take on the stand had been decided in Robert’s office early the previous evening. If the two or three helpful things Marc wished to say in defense of Billy McNair were to be credible and persuasive, he would have to be seen as forthcoming and cooperative. Any attempt to evade Thornton’s questions or consciously manipulate the facts would be sure to fail. Even so, Thornton made Marc boil inside. His evidence, alas, was mainly supportive of the Crown’s case, and the prosecutor made it seem even more damning than it was. Marc was compelled to provide detailed accounts of his efforts to persuade the jailed Billy McNair to agree to the reconciliation proposal and visit to the prison chamber. The source and depth of Billy’s anger were repeated and sharpened for the jury. Dougherty’s hearsay objections were brushed aside by the judge as Thornton cunningly focused on Marc’s role in these discussions and
his description of Billy’s attitude and demeanour. Finally, when Marc was able to say that in the end Billy had agreed to the visit and a written apology, he was cut off before he could emphasize the genuine change of heart he had observed and Dolly’s part in it. Thornton then moved right to the fatal visit itself.
“You say you were able to hear the tone of the conversation between McNair and Coltrane through the partly open door of the cell?”
“I could.”
“At any time during your watch in the anteroom, did you detect a tone that might be termed confrontational or angry?”
Marc blinked. His candid discussion of these events with Chief Sturges while they had examined the crime scene and waited for Dr. Withers to arrive had unfortunately been passed along to the Crown, as they should have been. He did his best: “For the most part it was—”
“Answer my question, sir, not your own.”
“At one point, and one point only, I did hear their voices raised. But Coltrane—”
“What was the source of this angry exchange?”
“I could detect no words that I could put together coherently,” Marc equivocated, pretty certain that Thornton could have no inkling of the version that Billy had provided—and was forbidden by law to repeat in open court.
“Given your knowledge of the defendant’s violent history and penchant for duelling, did you consider getting up to intervene?”
Marc hesitated. “I considered it, but—”
“So you’re saying that this flare-up was so contentious that you actually thought you would have to forcibly intervene? And all this during a meeting designed to be conciliatory?”
“Milord,” Dougherty interjected, “the prosecutor is not a ventriloquist.”
“Try not to speak for the witness, Mr. Thornton,” the judge chided gently.
“Given this flare-up, this sudden, angry outburst on the part of the defendant, is it not possible, sir, that Mr. McNair was dissembling all the while, that he merely pretended to be regretful and compliant in order to get himself conveyed once more to face the man he hated and had threatened to kill?”
“At no time then did I think that, and I do not think it now,” Marc said. But he knew what was coming next, and the budding barrister in him perversely admired Thornton for omitting it earlier and coming back to it now.
“Then tell me why the defendant asked to be driven to his home, where he was permitted to spend several minutes unattended in his bedroom?”
Again, Marc squirmed and silently fumed, but the facts came out, and the members of the jury, sympathetic as they must be with young, brave Billy McNair, looked distinctly uncomfortable. Several frowned and stole worried glances up at the dock opposite them. No doubt they were thinking about the poison packet found in Billy’s coat.
What came next was not much better. Marc had to describe Billy’s wild exit from the prison chamber and his blind rush for the stairs and the front door. Once more, Thornton stressed the possibility of Billy’s dissembling and his need to find a way to dispose of the incriminating packet. Even Billy’s calls for a doctor were characterized as the actions of a cunning man, devoured by rage.
Dougherty did his best to undo the damage. As Thornton had introduced the matter of Billy’s demeanour and the negotiations that had preceded the fatal visit, Dougherty was able to elicit from Marc a more sustained and convincing description of Billy’s general character, his reengagement to Dolly, and its effects on his contrition and compliance with regard to the apology and the conditions of any subsequent parole. Thornton interjected often to disrupt the continuity but made no inroads. Marc finished up with his key point: both before and after the “flare-up,” the dialogue was congenial and, on Coltrane’s desk, he had discovered the signed document indicating an amicable settlement.
“As for Mr. Thornton’s unsubstantiated assertion that Sergeant McNair’s pleading cries for a doctor were part of an ongoing charade, do you suppose a murderer would try to plant an incriminating piece of evidence in the pocket of his own coat?”
“Of course not. It would be foolhardy—”
“Milord! The witness is—”
“Sustained. The witness will refrain from giving an opinion on matters in which he has no expertise. And Mr. Dougherty, you know better.”
In the redirect, Thornton went for the jugular. “If the defendant was able to deceive you into thinking he had given up his desire for revenge, did it not occur to you that it was in his own interest to appear conciliatory to Coltrane, to put him off his guard long enough to salt the snuff?”
“It did not,” Marc said, but the jury might think so now.
“Colonel Stanhope testified that the coats on the hall tree were tumbled about when the defendant fell into them. Is it not likely that, in those circumstances, the accused merely stashed the poison packet in whatever crevice he found nearest to hand?”
“It was not possible, sir, because he did not have the packet.”
Thornton flinched, frowned, then swung around to the jury box. “We should all have such loyal friends, eh?”
“Mister Thornton!”
“I apologize, milord. Now, one final question, Mr. Edwards. You have touchingly described the so-called reengagement of Mr. McNair and Miss Delores Putnam and its effect on the former’s attitude. But do you not find it passing strange that the same young romantic, just three days prior to the murder, strode into the garden at Chepstow and took up arms against the victim with the express intention of shooting him dead, before a witness?”
“My point was that the lad had had a change of heart.”
“Some heart!” Thornton spun around with his coattails flying and sat down with a theatrical flourish. “No more questions, milord.”
Dismissed, Marc squeezed in beside Beth. He reached over and patted Dolly’s hand. Robert turned towards them and mouthed, “You did what you could.” Then they all looked towards the witness stand, where Horatio Cobb was being sworn in.
Poor Cobb did his best also to minimize the damage to Billy’s defense. But he was no match for the wily, relentless Thornton. He forced Cobb to admit that the stopover at Billy’s house had been unauthorized and had come as an unwelcome surprise to his chief. He was tricked into suggesting that Billy, having stashed the poison packet, was on his way out the door to freedom when he had crashed into the sentries. And of course, he confirmed finding the packet in one of the coats and reporting it to Sturges. Then, even more troublingly, he had to give the damning detail of the duel and its aftermath, confirming the colonel’s account and adding to it. Billy’s wild and seething words about killing Coltrane were repeated by Cobb and echoed several times by the gleeful prosecutor.
The only angle of reentry for Dougherty was to have Cobb reiterate Marc’s testimony about Billy’s calm and serious demeanour before leaving the jail for the visit, and a vague reference to his good character and behaviour as Cobb knew it from casual contact with him over several years. Thornton made such short work of this effort that Dougherty regretted bringing it up. Stunned, Cobb stumbled out of the box.
“Don’t worry,” Beth whispered to Marc, “he’s gotta put Almeda on the stand—soon.”
At the moment, this seemed their best hope.
• • •
However, it was not Almeda Stanhope who was called at two o’clock, but Absalom Shad. Marc and the three lawyers had had luncheon in a comfortable chamber down the hall, where Marc was brought up to speed and where he handed Robert the Hunters’ Lodge roster with the code explained and several examples laid out and flagged. Dougherty, who had to be assisted down the hall by his wards and fed like an invalid by Celia, seemed well pleased with Marc’s effort.
Under Kingsley Thornton’s gentle guidance—for Shad was exceedingly nervous, not making eye contact with anything but his fingers on the railing in front of him—the butler of Chepstow denied any foreknowledge of the duel, corroborated his master’s account of the scene in the garden, and confirmed that Lardner Bo
stwick, erstwhile jailer, had stomped out the front door on the Wednesday evening without explanation. Thereupon he, Shad, had been ordered to replace Bostwick and took up his duties in the anteroom at dawn on Thursday. Yes, Miss Stanhope brought Coltrane his breakfast as usual at eight o’clock and stayed until nine-thirty. No, he was not privy to their conversation, the cell door being shut and secured from the inside. At ten o’clock Alderman Tierney arrived, signed in, and spent nearly an hour shouting at the major. But he came out chuckling, and Coltrane appeared afterwards to be in high spirits. Yes, there was freshly spilled snuff on the desk, and Coltrane had remarked, “I love disputing with a man who ain’t afraid of a pinch of snuff!”
Shortly after eleven, Shad was startled when the doorbell rang upstairs and he answered it to find a strange woman there demanding to see Coltrane. As the colonel was out of the house, Shad said he didn’t know what to do except to check with Coltrane. The newcomer was a middle-aged woman who claimed to be a Mrs. Jones from Streetsville who was known to the prisoner. She gave Shad a note to take in. Being unarmed and nonviolent, Shad said he was afraid to open the cell door but eventually did so, delivering the note. Whatever was in it did the trick, for Mrs. Jones was welcomed in and spent a half-hour with Coltrane, though, as he neglected to have her sign out, he couldn’t be sure of the time. After lunch, of course, Billy McNair and Marc Edwards arrived, but after letting the former into the prison chamber and settling the latter in the anteroom, he went straight to his own den, where he remained until the ruckus over the poisoning erupted. And alas, he could shed no further light on the business of the poison packet, as he had gone straight out to fetch Dr. Withers.
Death of a Patriot Page 25
