No matter how he craned his neck, she was nowhere to be seen. The tiff over his visit to Blanche Dumont’s house was obviously going to have a long-lasting effect on their relationship. Josiah sighed at the thought, fearing that his disappointment was only going to grow.
He didn’t see Milt Fulsum, either, but assumed the man was back at the jail, holding down his position as desk sergeant, maintaining his cover.
A wave of murmurs followed Josiah, McNelly, and Myra Lynn to the gate in the rail that separated them from the judge, lawyers, and Scrap.
McNelly stopped and squared his shoulders. “May I address the court?” he said.
“There had better be a good reason for this interruption, Captain McNelly,” Judge Dooley said.
“I object!” one of the prosecuting lawyers screamed out as he bolted to his feet. He was a middle-aged man, just starting to gray and grow a belly. It poked out of a vest over his tight belt.
“Sit down, Willard, the captain can speak.”
“But . . . this is highly unusual,” Willard said.
“One more word and I’ll hold you in contempt, sir. A day or two in the hole might teach you some respect,” the judge snapped. There was little in attitude to compare to Feders, but the sound of the judge’s voice was vaguely familiar.
“Thank you, Judge Dooley. May I enter?”
“As you wish, Captain McNelly. Far be it from me to restrain the voice of the Texas Rangers. You are speaking for the organization, I assume?”
“I am, Your Honor. The Rangers and Josiah Wolfe,” McNelly said, nodding back to Josiah.
“I am well aware who the man is, Captain McNelly. I will warn you that I am less than partial to anything concerning Ranger Wolfe. But I will respect his right to be in this courtroom and operate as a free man, even though my nephew no longer has that right. Am I understood, Captain?”
“Yes, I understand, Your Honor.” McNelly stopped in front of the judge, and the gate that had separated them swung slowly closed, latching with a loud gnash of metal against metal.
Someone coughed. Feet shuffled. The heat was unbearable, and Josiah began to sweat.
“Now, Captain McNelly, what may I presume is the cause for the interruption of this proceeding?”
“I have a witness, You Honor. A witness who saw what happened the night Lola Wellsley was murdered. It is my duty to present her to the court.”
“So that an innocent man can be saved.” Judge Dooley did not pose it as a question, but glared past McNelly, to Scrap.
“If that is the court’s decision, Your Honor. I am in no position to presume innocence.”
“Well said, Captain. Who is this witness?”
McNelly turned and motioned for Myra Lynn to come forward. She hesitated at first, tightening her grip in Josiah’s hand, but he urged her on. “It’s all right, nobody’s going to hurt you,” he whispered, still holding her hand. “Now, you remember what I told you. Nobody will come for you again if you do the right thing and tell the truth. You understand?” He let go of her hand.
Myra Lynn stared into Josiah’s eyes, obviously finding what she needed to understand that he meant what he said, and walked forward then, albeit slowly, to Captain McNelly.
“The witness is Myra Lynn Elliot, Your Honor,” McNelly continued. “She is the sister of the defendant, Robert Earl Elliot. He went to the Easy Nickel Saloon to seek her out after not seeing her for several years.”
The crowd, including all three of the attorneys for the prosecution, erupted. Judge Dooley began beating his gavel, and the bailiff stood, his hand sliding to his sidearm. It was so loud inside the courtroom that Josiah couldn’t hear himself think.
Scrap glared at Myra Lynn, and even though Josiah could only see the back of the girl’s head, he was sure she returned the look of distaste.
“Quiet. Quiet. Or I will have you all thrown out!” Judge Dooley screamed. It took several more gavel beats to regain control of the room, but it finally quieted down enough to hear.
“This is highly unusual, Captain McNelly,” Judge Dooley said.
“I understand. But Miss Elliot saw who killed Lola Wellsley.”
“Is that true, young lady?” Judge Dooley glanced over to the prosecutor who had objected before and warned him of doing so again. “Did you see what happened that night clearly and certainly, without any question at all?”
Myra Lynn nodded yes. “I did.”
“Is the man who killed Lola Wellsley in this courtroom, or possibly somewhere else?”
“Yes, sir, I mean Your Honor. That would be him right there,” Myra Lynn said as she turned and pointed directly into the crowd behind her.
CHAPTER 40
There was less than a second for anyone in the gallery to catch a breath and react to the shock of the what was implied by Myra Lynn’s accusation. Once again, the courtroom was enveloped in a deafening roar.
“No!”
“I object! I object!”
“No!”
The judge banged his gavel furiously, and his face turned red immediately with frustration and anger.
Josiah was sure the roof was going to come off of the courthouse, and he wanted to ask Myra Lynn if she was sure of her accusation. But he couldn’t bring himself to. Something in the deepest part of his stomach agreed with the girl. It didn’t take much thinking to believe that Myron Farnsworth was the killer.
Myra Lynn was pointing without question at the banker.
Abram Randalls had most likely figured out the same thing, which is why he was broken out of the jail and taken to be killed or held captive, for fear he would point his own finger at Farnsworth. There was also the matter of retribution for embezzling, too. Add that in with the time Josiah saw the banker leave the jail, demanding that his son, the sheriff, take care of something, and Blanche Dumont’s insinuation that Farnsworth had been a visitor and client of hers—it all just added up and made sense to Josiah. Especially considering the state of Blanche Dumont’s business and the coming of the new railroad. Myron Farnsworth had a lot to gain . . . and to lose.
There were still a lot of unanswered questions, but that’s what the court was for, to prove the accusation. If it got that far.
Half the crowd was stamping their feet now, and the thunder inside the building matched the storm that had passed by earlier and the report of the grenades that Juan Carlos and Miguel had thrown into the saloon to start the battle in the first place.
Josiah was surprised, and glad, that everything had come to a head in the courtroom instead of out on the street.
The crowd lurched forward, pushing Josiah against the rail that separated the judge, the lawyers, Scrap, Myra Lynn, and Captain McNelly from them.
When Josiah had turned to see who Myra Lynn had pointed to, he’d found himself face-to-face with Brogdon Caine and the two Rangers who were guarding him.
Caine’s face held no discernible expression about the accusation, other than that of discomfort. He looked past Josiah and said nothing. Even if he had, there would have been no way any of his words could have been heard. The judge had not yet regained control of the courtroom.
Myra Lynn stood still as a statue, her arm still extended, her index finger unwavering as it continued to point at Myron Farnsworth.
The man’s face had drained of color. He sat glaring back at Myra Lynn, his lips moving in a mumble, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the rail.
Rory Farnsworth’s face was flushed red from the surprise of the accusation and from the heat that erupted inside the courtroom. Even though it was spring, most of the men wore proper wool suits, including Rory, who was dressed as fancy as ever, outdone in style and expense only by his father.
The sheriff stood up, shaking his head, joining with the chorus of no’s, adding a new chant, “It’s a lie!”
Judge Dooley continued to bang his gavel, but the power of it was lost to the roar of the crowd.
“It’s a lie! It’s a lie! It’s a lie!”
As the crowd continued to push forward, Josiah became increasingly concerned about Myra Lynn’s welfare, since she was the object of everyone’s rage. But he could do nothing, knowing full well that the single show of a gun would send the courtroom into a stampede, instead of a standing-still frenzy. Captain McNelly stood at her side, his eyes darting about, concerned, too, about the girl’s safety.
Finally, the bailiff stepped forward and pulled his gun, threatening to shoot into the ceiling, then yelled as loud as he could, “Quiet or you’re all goin’ to jail!”
The gavel continued to bang as the voices subsided. Josiah felt the pressure of the crowd behind him pull back. He was relieved.
Myra Lynn relaxed her arm, dropping it to her side. She remained standing in her spot, staring angrily at the man she had just accused.
Captain McNelly stood motionless next to Myra Lynn.
Scrap and Woodrell Cranston had remained seated throughout the melee, the looks on their faces matching that of everyone else: shock and disbelief.
Josiah nodded to Scrap, who in return just took a deep breath. The boy still looked shattered, like the solitary time in the hole had changed him forever, like light of any kind was foreign to him, hurtful in some way.
“That will be enough!” Judge Dooley shouted. “Silence in the court!” He banged the gavel again. It echoed throughout the room with absolute finality, and everyone went quiet, waiting with bated breath to see what happened next.
“Do you realize what you are saying, young lady?” the judge asked Myra Lynn.
Before she could answer, the lead prosecutor jumped back to his feet. “I object, Your Honor! This woman is not under oath.”
“Sit down, Mr. Smith, or I will hold you in contempt of court. There’s a man’s life at stake here.”
The crowd murmured. Myron Farnsworth had remained seated, and the sheriff was unmoved. He looked like he was about to say something aloud but thought better of it.
The lawyer, Smith, sat back down with a disgruntled thump.
Judge Dooley turned his attention back to Myra Lynn, expecting an answer.
Josiah watched the proceeding curiously, wondering what Myra Lynn was going to do next, thinking back to the last few days, still trying to convince himself of Farnsworth’s guilt.
How could a man who could have anything he wanted be a killer? he wondered quietly. His son was the sheriff. He had more money than most men. A place in society. Maybe, Josiah decided, Farnsworth just thought he could get away with anything because of his money and standing in the community. His motive for killing whores remained unknown, at least for now, and his innocence was still a possibility. One thing was for sure, though, Myron Farnsworth was not the typical outlaw.
With a quick thought, Josiah turned to Brogdon Caine and whispered, “If you want to avoid that noose out in the yard, I’d suggest you speak up if you know anything about this. My guess is you answered to Farnsworth. You had a lot to gain if Blanche Dumont was out of the way. If you were an accomplice to the killings in any way, you’ll hang, too. I’ll see to it.”
Caine sneered at Josiah. “You think I’m afraid of dyin’?”
“I don’t know what you’re afraid of, but Myron Farnsworth has no power over you now. Think about that . . . and what you’re risking if you say nothing. Saying something could work in your favor. You’re a businessman. I’d consider all of your angles if I were you.”
Myra Lynn squared her shoulders, unimpressed with the judge. “I realize what I’m sayin’, Judge, I mean Your Honor. That man there killed Lola. He beat her the night before when she wouldn’t . . .” She stopped then and looked around her and up to the second floor, making eye contact with Blanche Dumont. “He beat her the night before in places no one could see her bruises unless she was nekkid. He come back the next night to see if she learned her lesson, would do what he wanted her to. That’s the way it was with them other girls. He just never knowed when to stop. He’s a scary, angry man. I’m just thankful he never took a shine to me, or I’d be dead, too.”
“That’s a lie!” Rory Farnsworth shouted as he jumped to his feet. “She’s just trying to save her brother.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about Robert Earl,” Myra Lynn shouted back. “Lola was nice to me. She didn’t deserve to die like a gutted pig.”
Judge Dooley banged his gavel. “That’s enough, Sheriff Farnsworth. And Miss Elliot, you need to watch your language. This is a court of law.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Your Honor, but I can’t see my mouth.” Myra Lynn smiled, then curtsied. The crowd laughed, then quieted immediately after the judge swept a wide glare across the courtroom. Even McNelly forced away a smile.
Brogdon Caine pushed up to Josiah so that he was visible to the judge. “Colonel Farnsworth killed them girls, Your Honor. This girl is tellin’ the truth.” He lowered his head then, avoiding Farnsworth’s gaze. “I’ll testify to it that that Ranger was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The crowd erupted again. It took the judge and the bailiff a good five minutes to get them calmed down.
Colonel. It made sense to Josiah then. The regimental discipline of the jailbreak and the pseudo-uniforms they’d worn all signaled that Farnsworth had been in the war. It also explained the Vigenere cipher. The attempt to kill Josiah at the Tree of Death had failed, and he was surprised that he hadn’t considered it before, that the elder Farnsworth might have been an officer in the War Between the States. Josiah was betting that the men in black, and Brogdon Caine, had been in the war, too, and served under Farnsworth in some capacity.
Myron Farnsworth stood up, unable to restrain himself any longer. “You’re a dead man, Caine!”
It didn’t seem like it was possible for Rory Farnsworth’s face to go any paler, but it did. He was as white as snow now, perspiring, his expression confused and certain at the same time. His father had given the first hint that the accusations might just be true.
“I need to see all of the lawyers at the bench now! And one more outburst, and we will empty the court. Do I make myself clear?” Judge Dooley said to no one in particular.
Woodrell Cranston leaned over and whispered something to Scrap, then joined the prosecuting attorneys in front of the judge.
Myron and Rory Farnsworth stood unmoving, shoulder to shoulder. There was no clear escape for the elder Farnsworth, if he was thinking of it. The doors were guarded by the remaining members of McNelly’s company of Rangers.
Caine’s addition to Myra Lynn’s accusation had sent Myron Farnsworth from absolute anger to ashen white. The younger Farnsworth, a shorter version of his father, looked like he just wanted to wither away and disappear.
Josiah felt sorry for the sheriff to a degree. It was only a matter of days ago that Rory had admonished Josiah for his lack of social grace when it came to courting Pearl publicly. Now the social standing tables seemed to have turned. The fall from favor in the circles that the Farnsworths traveled would be quick and painful.
The shadow of his father’s deeds would surely dampen, or even destroy, Rory Farnsworth’s political and social ambitions. There was no telling how things would play out, but if the accusations were proved true in a court of law, then nothing would ever be the same for either man. Josiah didn’t necessarily care for Rory’s attitude, but he hated to see a decent man undone by another man’s actions—especially if that other man was his father.
The lawyers huddled in front of Judge Dooley for what seemed like an eternity. The crowd behaved, remained quiet. Whispers and objections rose from the bench, but none were clear or decipherable. Still, it didn’t take a lawyer to understand what was at stake.
Josiah
looked up and made eye contact with Blanche Dumont. She forced a smile, and then a deep nod. He wasn’t sure what the nod meant.
Maybe Blanche Dumont was grateful for the apparent outcome, or something else, it was hard to say. But it looked like her business had a chance to survive now. Hopefully, the killings would stop, but her house was still in danger of being taken from her.
After a lot of haggling, all of the lawyers went back to their seats. Cranston was smiling, while the other three men looked like they had just been hit in the small of the back with a two-by-four.
“After much consideration,” Judge Dooley said, “all of the charges against Robert Earl Elliot will be dropped. Sheriff, take Myron Farnsworth into custody.”
The courtroom erupted in shouts of joy and a mixture of boos. Judge Dooley banged his gavel furiously, shouting, “Order in the court! Order in the court!”
It took a full five minutes for the crowd to obey the judge. In that time, Myron Farnsworth stood stiffly, glaring at his son. When silence did return, there wasn’t so much as a rustle of feet. All eyes and ears, including Josiah’s, were on the elder Farnsworth, a man of great stature and wealth, about to be arrested for the murder of a prostitute.
Rory Farnsworth was pale as a ghost. His fingers trembled, but his hands had not moved in any attempt to detain his father.
“I did this for you,” Myron Farnsworth said. “I had everything set up perfectly, and you bumbled it, like usual.” His disgust was unmistakable.
“Did what?” Rory asked.
“The jailbreak, all of it, so you could apprehend Randalls, put him away, and be assured of the next election. So we would continue to be the law and the purse-string holders in this town once the new railroad came through. It was a winning combination, you and me, and now you’ve ruined it all. Ruined it, I tell you.”
“‘We’? So ‘we’ could continue to be the law? I’m the sheriff, Father. And I know nothing of this partnership you’re suggesting.”
Myron Farnsworth continued to stare at his son, unwavering. Rory, on the other hand, was transitioning from fear to anger. His pale face was turning redder by the second.
The Coyote Tracker Page 26
