Braham wasn’t being truthful. There was no look of subterfuge, no averting of his eyes, but she could feel heaviness in the air. They’d been discussing her. Maybe she was overly sensitive right now, but she didn’t think she was completely off her game.
“I’ve asked Stanton what evidence the commission has against Jack, but he’s refused to tell me. I believe whatever he has is circumstantial. If Jack had sold at least one article to the newspaper, it would support his claim of being a writer. But he didn’t. Do ye know why?”
“He never told me,” she said, “but it probably has something to do with his writing style. His undergraduate degree is in journalism, but he writes differently than reporters do now.”
The muscles tightened around Braham’s eyes as if he were confused. “He told me he studied prelaw, not journalism. I asked specifically why he studied prelaw before going to law school.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re mistaken. It was journalism. In fact, he had a part-time job working for the Richmond-Times Dispatch.”
Braham leaned forward in his seat, both hands gripping his glass. “He said his mother arranged a position with a Richmond law firm. He worked in the file room and ran errands while in college.”
A sinking, twisting knot wrapped around her throat. “My mother didn’t have any friends who were lawyers.” She said it slowly, enunciating each one, as if he was a child who couldn’t hear or comprehend.
“Charlotte,” David said in a warning tone, and her head shot up. “This is what Elliott was talking about when he said ye’d have different memories.”
Braham glanced at her and repeated David’s statement as a question. “Why would ye have different memories?”
“Elliott believes it’s because of Jack’s execution—” David said.
Braham came up out of his chair. “His what?”
Cullen shoved a piece of paper into Braham’s hand. “Read this. It’s a copy of his death warrant.”
Braham read out loud, his face crumpling like the paper in his shaking hand: “Finding. Of the specification, guilty. Sentence. And the commission does therefore sentence the said Jack Mallory to be hung by the neck until he be dead, at such time and place as the president of the United States shall direct, two-thirds of the members of the commission concurring therein.” Braham grabbed the edge of his chair, swaying slightly, his face ashen. “How in God’s name is this possible?”
Faintly startled by his tone of voice, she said, “It won’t happen now, but it did happen. Let me ask you this. We found a letter Jack wrote to me, asking me to claim his body and bury him in the cemetery near the homeplace by the river he loved. Do you know what he’s talking about?”
Braham stared, fixing her with his brilliant green eyes, full of turbulent thoughts she couldn’t read. “Ye don’t?”
She shook her head.
He turned slowly red and seemed to swell. He opened his mouth in a futile search for words. After a long moment he asked, “Ye don’t have any memory of growing up at the plantation?”
“Why would I? I didn’t grow up there. We lived in Richmond a few blocks from Virginia Commonwealth University, where our parents taught history and philosophy.”
“Ah, lass, ye did grow up there.” His voice was scarcely louder than the beating of her own heart. “Yer parents weren’t teachers. They were United States senators. So were yer grandsires, back six generations. The Mallory name is the most prestigious name in the Commonwealth, and ye’re an heiress.”
She flapped her hand, dismissing him. “Impossible. Where did you hear this wild story?”
“I’ve been to yer mansion. Stayed there while I recovered after Chimborazo. I’ve seen the family portraits. I’ve read the history of the plantation from the mid-sixteen-hundreds to the deaths of yer parents.”
Silence filled the room until his words, short and brutal and impossible, echoed off the walls. Her brother was in prison for conspiring to kill the president, and the life she had known didn’t exist, according to Braham. As soon as they exonerated Jack, they would return to a life she knew nothing about, but if they lost the case and lost Jack, she’d return to the life she knew without him. Could anything be more screwed up? Although Elliott had warned her that could happen, she hadn’t truly understood the significance.
David came over to her with the whisky decanter and refilled her glass. “Drink, Charley. Ye said it didn’t matter if yer histories might be different. What mattered was freeing Jack. We’ll save the plantation, too, if we can.”
“I’ll send my man to Richmond to warn Doctor Mallory. If he knows there’s a plot to burn the house, he can be prepared. When does it happen? Do ye know?” Braham asked.
“Soon, I think,” she said. Then she realized what he intended to do. “But don’t you need Gaylord to help with the investigation here?”
Braham cocked his head in David’s direction. “I think that’s what David intends to do.”
Charlotte put down her glass and sat forward in her seat. With her fingers linked, her thumb rubbed nervously at the first joint of her index finger. “But Gaylord has contacts who might prove helpful.”
“It will only take him a few days to get there, warn Mallory, and return.” Braham nodded as though verifying something to himself. “David’s a very resourceful lad. I’ve seen it for myself. He’ll make contacts of his own. By the time Gaylord returns, David will know what needs to be done.”
Charlotte quit worrying the joint of her finger, picked up a small pillow on the sofa, and hugged it to her chest. “Elliott worked up an identity for me so I could appear in court as counsel, too. But I’ll need something to do.”
“I don’t know what Elliott had in mind, but ye will not go to court. Can ye imagine the trouble we’d have if ye were recognized? I beg of ye, for Jack’s sake, please don’t do anything rash. We’ll give ye assignments every day so ye won’t feel helpless, but I can’t defend yer brother if I have to worry about where ye are and what ye’re doing.”
She glanced up and caught Cullen’s eyes. He gave her a faint, tired smile. “I’ll need yer help in handwriting the motions we’re going to file. I intend to read all forty-six hundred pages of testimony, and I’ll need ye to summarize the documents.”
“Ye brought all those documents with ye? How?” Braham asked.
“David has a…” Cullen used his hands to form a longish square. “A magic box. Ye read the index, click on the document ye want, and magic takes ye there.”
“An iPad?” Braham said.
“A MacBook,” David said.
“I’ll read every page, too,” Braham said. Then he raised an eyebrow. “But don’t ye need a charging device?”
“We’ll use solar power,” David said.
“We know the identity of the one hundred ninety-eight witnesses the prosecution intends to call. We’ll interview the ones they haven’t sequestered,” Cullen said. “And file a petition for a writ of habeas corpus with Judge Wylie of the Supreme Court of the District of Columbia.”
“How do ye intend to get around the Habeas Corpus Act of 1863?” Braham asked.
“The act specifically states the president can suspend the privilege of the writ of habeas corpus under certain conditions during the present rebellion. Our position is the present rebellion should be considered over when the last battle is—was, by the time we file—fought on May 13, which lifts the suspension.”
“Let me see it,” Braham said. Cullen handed him a copy of the act and he quickly reviewed the short document.
“We have a three-pronged approach. One, Habeas Corpus Act of 1863 is no longer in full force and effect because the present rebellion is over; two, military tribunals do not have jurisdiction over civilians in states where civilian courts are operating; and three, torture is forbidden under the Eighth Amendment. We’ll be breaking legal ground with the cruel and unusual punishment argument.
“The petitioner in Ex parte Milligan prevails with the question of juri
sdiction. Here’s a copy of the case,” Cullen said, handing the document to Braham. “In writing the opinion for the majority, Justice Davis said, The Constitution of the United States is the law for rulers and people, equally in war and peace, and covers with the shield of its protection all classes of men, at all times, and under all circumstances.”
“What’s the date of the case?” Braham asked, flipping pages.
“The decision’s dated April 3, 1866,” Cullen said. “Elliott’s research team drafted a brief based on the Milligan case, but with facts relevant to ours.”
“If Stanton can exert power over the United States Supreme Court, then he’ll be single-handedly undermining the United States Constitution. The press should enjoy debating it,” Cullen said.
“Do ye think we could interest the petitioner’s attorneys in the Milligan case to join us?” Cullen looked through the copy in his hand. “The attorneys are James Garfield and Jeremiah Black. Black’s a former United States Attorney General and Secretary of State. He might be interested.”
“Garfield is a future president,” Charlotte said. “He’ll be assassinated, too.”
“I don’t remember anyone mentioning the lawyers’ names in our preparations,” David said.
“I took an undergraduate class in law and medicine,” she said. “We studied the case. The president was shot twice in the back. One bullet barely missed his spinal cord. There was testimony at the trial saying Garfield died because of medical malpractice.”
“Two presidents assassinated within…” Cullen said.
“Sixteen years,” Charlotte said with a nod. “Then, twenty-one years later, President McKinley is shot, and President Kennedy sixty years later. I only mention it because those assassins, or the ones who survived, had jury trials.”
“Were those presidents shot during times of war?” Cullen asked.
“No,” Charlotte said, “and arguably neither was Lincoln. Lee surrendered the week before the assassination. If you’d asked anyone on the street, they would have said the war was over. The official position, however, was even though Richmond had fallen, the Confederate government was on the move and still functioning.”
David flipped through pages of a yellow legal pad. “Elliott’s research team said not to file anything until after Jeff Davis is captured on May 10 and the last battle is fought on May 13.”
“I’m curious about Elliott’s research team,” Braham said. “What’d they think they were doing?”
“Helping Jack write a screenplay,” Charlotte said. “I told them two movie producers were waiting on script revisions before they agreed to invest millions of dollars. We were in a rush, and they worked overtime.” She swallowed a large gulp of whisky. She’d have to take out a second mortgage to pay the bill, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but getting Jack back.
“I don’t condone the actions of the conspirators,” she continued as soon as the whisky had burned all the way down her throat, “but I believe in the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. We’re a country of laws. And Stanton and Johnson are throwing them out the window to get quick convictions. I know their friend was murdered, but they’re not going to kill my brother in their thirst for revenge.”
Her breathing was loud and ragged in her ears. She glanced at Braham. His pain was evident in his sad eyes and the tightness around his mouth. “You were tried by a military court in absentia and convicted. The court had jurisdiction over you because you were a soldier. This military court does not have jurisdiction over civilians.”
“The argument didn’t get Mary Surratt anywhere,” Cullen said. “But if we file a writ earlier, and the judge decides the commission does have the authority to detain Jack, we’ll have an appealable decision.”
“What’s to stop Johnson from signing an order stating the writ is suspended in cases such as this, as he’ll do for Surratt?”
“If he does, we’ll take two actions,” Cullen said, “First, we’ll encourage Congress to impeach Johnson, arguing he acted outside the bounds of his constitutional authority. Second, we’ll file a lawsuit against the president claiming his authority to suspend the writ of habeas corpus expired at the end of war.”
“What’s our goal, other than to free Jack?” Braham asked.
“In the present climate, we won’t prevail with our legal challenges, but we’ll cause a serious debate in the legal community from here to New York, and we’ll try the case in the press, too,” Cullen said.
Charlotte gave Cullen a level look from beneath her brows. “Do you think we have any chance of winning?”
Cullen’s eyes never left hers as he shook his head. “No. It’s possible we’ll cause enough public debate the commission will reconsider its rush to judgment. Which will give us more time to move our case through the courts.”
She set down her glass and buried her face in her hands for a moment. Then she looked up, hot tears forming in her eyes “I get so frustrated thinking about what they’re doing to Jack. It makes me sick.” She sniffed and pressed the back of her wrist at the base of her nose. “The first person to see Jack has to take him back to the twenty-first century. I don’t care about history. I don’t care about the plantation. I don’t care about the trial. I want my bro…bro…ther back.”
David rose quickly and knelt in front of her, his knees cracking like a pop of a pistol. He took her hand in his. “We’ve gone through all of the arguments. We have to see the trial through and get Jack acquitted.”
She cast her eyes down and fixed them on their tightly clasped hands.
“Look, Charley, I’ve read every interview Jack’s given. I talked to his friends, his agent, those who know him best, and there wasn’t one of them who didn’t think he could withstand deprivation and torture for a limited time. Trust in him and have faith in his legal team. We’ll get him out.”
She put her arms around David’s neck and bathed his hard, muscular shoulder with her grief. There wasn’t anything soft about him but his heart. Although he was balanced on his haunches, his arms tightened around her. He didn’t try to calm her. He didn’t pat her. He simply held her. When she stopped crying, Braham handed her his handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Calmed now, she smiled at David, brushing at his wet shirt. “Thanks for the shoulder.”
Standing, he squeezed her hand. “Keep yer eye—”
She gave him a thumbs-up. “On the prize.”
Braham plucked at his mustache distractedly. “I’ll make discreet inquiries about the attorneys who will represent the petitioner in the Milligan case. Whether they want to join us or not, we need to have motions ready to file in the District of Columbia Court as soon as we’re appointed Jack’s attorneys.”
“When ye make an appearance, ye’ll get crosswise with Stanton. Remember, he’s yer boss,” Cullen said.
Braham sighed, making a brief gesture of frustration. “Former boss. I’ll not stand idly by while he abuses the constitution. I’ll resign prior to becoming attorney of record.”
Charlotte cleared her throat delicately. “How should we handle Gordon?”
Braham wheeled on her with a ferocious glare. “How the hell is Henly involved in this?”
She cringed as Cullen handed Braham a page from the record. “A man we believe is Henly’s personal driver is on the witness list. Here’s a copy of his testimony. Charlotte says it’s fabricated.”
Braham’s hand shook as he read the statement. “Booth was here? In my house?” His glare intensified. “Why didn’t ye tell me?”
A hot flush burned up her neck to her cheeks. She shot him a quick glance, not sure whether to apologize or duck and run. “Jack and I decided…not to. It was a mistake, I admit. But at the time you were bent on killing him.”
“It does explain why Jack and Henly showed up together at the bar at the Willard not long after Henly took ye home,” Braham said.
“It might be in Jack’s best interest if ye’re not the attorney of record. We might need ye to testify,”
Cullen said.
Braham scratched his chin. “We have two days to consider the ramifications. First we need to draft the writ.”
“Already written,” Cullen said.
“When’d ye find time?” Braham asked.
“I didn’t. Elliott’s research team drafted complaints, motions, and briefs based on mid-nineteenth-century law. When we start filing documents, the commission will feel blindsided, and Stanton will believe there’s a security leak.”
Charlotte’s empty stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten. “Let’s go to the Willard for dinner and show Washington Jack has a formidable force behind him.”
“No,” Braham, Cullen, and David said loudly, and in unison.
Charlotte jerked back away from the blast of testosterone. “I thought—”
“We’ve got to be inconspicuous,” Cullen said. “We don’t want to show our hand, especially to Henly. If he knows ye’re in town, he might conveniently manufacture an incriminating statement to get ye locked up in the Old Arsenal, too.”
“Do you mean I can’t leave the house without this disguise?”
“It’s exactly what we mean,” Braham said. “But wear whatever ye want inside. Yer identity is safe with the staff. David, however, can come and go as he pleases. The city is so crowded no one will be suspicious of a newcomer hanging around the hotels and clubs,” Braham said.
“Do ye think we should decamp to Georgetown where we’ll have guaranteed privacy to prepare for trial?” Cullen asked.
“Once you take on Jack’s representation,” Charlotte said, “you’ll be ostracized. It’s what happens to Captain Frederick Aiken, Mary Surratt’s attorney. I don’t think people will throw bricks through your windows, but you never know. Today you’re a hero. No one will understand how you could agree to represent one of the conspirators.”
“I’ll be yer ears on the ground,” David said. “I’ll follow up with the witnesses as well. And since Henly is a drug addict, I’ll push him a bit. Make him nervous.”
“Whatever you do, please be careful,” she said.
The Sapphire Brooch Page 55
