“We will,” Braham said. “We don’t need all of them, though. We only need five. To convict Jack, they’ll need a majority, and a two-thirds vote brings an automatic sentence of death. We’ll get five to vote for acquittal.”
Braham turned to Cullen “What day will the verdicts be sealed?”
“June 30,” Cullen said. “The prisoners sentenced to death will be told on July 6 and executed on July 7. We have less than eight weeks.”
Charlotte thumbed through the stack of papers, looking for the file with the commissioners’ bios. She had studied them on the train. “I’ve read all the members’ bios, and I think you should speak directly to General Wallace. He has a brilliant legal mind. But what’s more interesting about him is his reputation is tarnished because of what happened at the Battle of Shiloh.”
“I know Wallace. He’s a good soldier. What happened at Shiloh was a misunderstanding.”
“Which is my point,” she said. “He’ll be able to identify with it when you argue Jack’s been wrongfully accused. But you have to get his attention. Our research indicates he was distracted during the trial, drawing sketches and writing letters. He’s a writer and, in fact, will write a famous book titled Ben Hur. If we can find one of Jack’s articles, maybe we can get him to read it.”
“Have ye seen Jack’s journal in the safe, Cul?”
“I didn’t pay any attention to what was in there. I’ll look.” Cullen ducked under the desk, shuffled papers for a couple of minutes, and then popped up again with a leather-bound journal in his hand. “Is this it?”
Charlotte nodded. “I bought it for him to use when we made the trip last December. Here, give it to me. I’ll read through it to see if there is anything we can use for an article.”
Cullen handed it to her, and she quickly fanned the pages covered with Jack’s legible handwriting, so different from hers, with rounded letters and wide, looping Ls. Her throat felt tight, and she slammed the journal closed. “I’ll look at it later.”
Braham squeezed her shoulder and must have sensed she didn’t want to talk about something so intensely private as her brother’s journal, so he changed the subject. “We have to keep in mind this commission is not legally bound to follow the common law rules of procedure. They’ll rely on the laws of war instead. They could deny every motion we make. In fact, we should expect it.”
“Then we’ll feed the press,” Charlotte said. “Perhaps the only way Jack will escape this nightmare is by vanishing into thin air.”
“Let’s give the process a chance first,” Braham said.
“Do ye see a morality issue here, Braham? Are we cheating?” Cullen asked.
“We have an innocent client, and unless ye find a law we’re breaking, I intend to use every document we have. Nothing we do will impact the four who will hang or the four who will be sentenced to prison terms. In answer to yer question, Cul…” Braham sighed heavily. “I don’t know.”
“Well, if ye find evidence leading ye to believe we are, don’t tell me.”
83
Washington City, 1865
The next morning Charlotte rose early and dressed in the Union captain’s uniform she’d brought with her. She expected a full-blown battle with Braham the moment he saw her, and she was prepared to fight dirty if necessary. How dirty? Would she go so far as to lock the door between their rooms? No, but she’d threaten.
She tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the creaky boards, and stood at attention next to the front door. Braham and Cullen were arguing a point of law. It took a moment for her to figure out why their voices were raised and then she realized they were debating. Braham was arguing his case and Cullen was rebutting, pointing out flawed and irrelevant arguments.
Finally, Cullen said. “Ye’re ready.”
“Thanks for yer help. There’s no other lawyer I’d try this case with.”
Two handsomely dressed men, one in uniform and the other in civilian clothes, strode out of the room, both carrying leather briefcases. Their somber demeanor was one of confidence. There was no doubt in her mind Braham and Cullen would win Jack’s case in the press. Convincing the commissioners of his innocence would take more than a tailored suit and a well-prepared case. The generals would require indisputable evidence, and Jack’s attorneys didn’t have it yet.
“Good morning, Captain. I didn’t know ye were waiting. How can I help ye? I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Braham said.
Charlotte smiled inwardly. Braham had left her bed only a couple of hours earlier, and he didn’t recognize her. Confident she could pull this off, she stood a little bit taller. “I came to escort you to the Old Arsenal Penitentiary, sir. Secretary Steward thought you’d need an escort today.”
Braham crossed his arms, cocked his head, and glared. “Even if ye changed yer eye color, lass, I’d recognize ye. Ye’re not going.”
Her eyebrows shot up, and she took a step forward. “You must have me confused with someone else, sir. We’re providing escorts for all known counsel as a courtesy today.”
Braham snatched his slouch hat from the coat tree, frowning. “The third member of Mr. Mallory’s defense team will be down shortly. Ye can escort him. Good day, Captain.”
Charlotte backed up to the door and spread her hands, guarding the entrance. “Okay, I surrender. But please, let me go today for the arraignment. Jack will ask me later to describe the first day. You have to let me. I promise I won’t ask again.”
Braham glanced at Cullen, who had his fist pressed over his mouth, but failed to hide the smile peeking out on either side of his fist. Braham paused for a moment, and his frown deepened. “I’m not trying to be mean, lass, but—”
Cullen walked to Charlotte’s side in front of the door as if to join her in her plea. “It won’t be a full day of court, Braham. Let her go see her brother.”
“Never expected ye to abandon me, Cul.” Then Braham’s expression lightened a little. “Seeing Jack so disheveled might make ye worry more.”
She wrapped her hand around the porcelain doorknob, smelling victory. “But it might make me worry less.”
“Here’re the terms, then. Ye cannot signal Jack with a cough, sneeze, whistle, or whatever childhood signals ye have in yer repertoire. There’s too much at stake. I won’t introduce ye. Ye’ll sit in a corner and remain silent. Do ye agree with these conditions? And will ye give me yer word?” He narrowed his eyes, obviously watching for any tells signaling she was lying.
If she gave him her word, she’d have to honor it. Could she? Jack could recognize her sneeze in a group of five hundred people. Could she keep from sneezing or sighing or clearing her throat? If she couldn’t, she’d better stay home, which was unacceptable. Without trust, she and Braham had nothing but great sex. “Yes,” she said, taking a resolute breath, and then she experienced a shudder of annoyance over having to submit to his conditions in order to go to court.
He shoved his briefcase into her hands and stomped out the door. “Be useful, then. Don’t make me regret my decision.”
The carriage pulled up as they exited the house. As a senior officer, he climbed in first. She sat on the bench opposite him, studying his mood. His feathery brows were knitted in concentration. Over the last several months she had seen him dying, angry, depressed, forlorn, defeated, abused, aroused, tensed, and playful, but never this singularly focused. He was brilliant and formidable, and the most passionate man she had ever met. Without a doubt, he and Cullen would possess the best legal minds in the courtroom. Having the trial transcript gave them an advantage, but it was their ability to comprehend complex legal issues and apply them to the present situation that revealed their true genius. Her faith in both men was absolute.
They rode in silence down Pennsylvania Avenue, circled the Capitol to Delaware Street, and turned down the hard-packed dirt road toward the penitentiary. The closer they came to the prison, the more fear knotted every limb and squeezed her chest, making it hurt to breathe. She was no stranger to fear. She’d been
in a battle, faced Grant, gone into Castle Thunder, and run through the burning streets of Richmond. Any one of those experiences she’d prefer to face rather than the danger she now faced with mouth dry and heart pounding. There was so much at stake. If she were caught, all three of them might end up incarcerated. Then it would be up to David to blast his way inside to rescue Jack. She wiped her palms on her wool trousers, second-guessing her decision.
Braham took her hand, squeezing it lightly. “Don’t forget to breathe, lass. Focus on why ye’re here. If ye feel faint, bite yer tongue or pinch yer arm. We’ll only be there a short time. I’ve got to represent Jack. If I’m worrying about ye, I can’t give him my full attention. If ye don’t think ye can handle it, the driver will take ye home.”
She squeezed his hand in return. “You always know when I need a word of encouragement. I don’t know how you know, but you do.”
“I see it in yer eyes.”
“I didn’t know my anxiety showed.”
“Only to me,” he said.
Braham sat back in his seat and stared out the window, tugging on his chin thoughtfully. The corner of Cullen’s mouth tucked in, a small, secret expression indicating he knew more than he was willing to say. She had seen a similar look dozens of times over the last several days. Once Jack was out of prison, she would demand an explanation. Pressing Cullen now for one was pointless. During the hours they’d worked together, she’d learned he was as stubborn as Braham.
Their driver halted behind a long line of carriages near the gate. They alit and followed the crowd toward the entrance. Water surrounded the prison on three sides, making it one of the most secure and heavily guarded places in Washington. You could walk up the White House stairs and knock on the president’s office door, but you couldn’t get near this courtroom without a pass. Braham showed his pass, and they were allowed inside. They made their way across the entrance courtyard toward the cell block, the largest of three buildings inside the walled prison.
She had the floor plan memorized. She knew the layout and position of the newly constructed courtroom in the northeast corner of the third floor, and where on the raised platform Jack would be sitting.
David had a three-dimensional map of Jack’s cell on the second floor, and another one of the path from his cell to the courtroom. He knew how long it would take to scale the outer wall of the prison under cover of darkness, cross the yard to the cell block, climb the wall of Jack’s building, infiltrate the cell, and disappear with him. Just thinking about it made her shudder.
When she saw the crowds and squads of armed soldiers, the hair on her neck prickled at the palpable, almost physical expectation of vengeance swirling sickeningly in the air.
Cullen whispered, “Keep yer eyes…”
“On the prize,” she answered under her breath.
They entered the building to find General Grant arguing with a young private, who was looking cornered but bravely telling him, “Sir, new gas lines were installed in the courtroom. You can’t take your stogie upstairs.”
Grant was a bit taken aback and gave the young soldier a hard look, then said, “You’re following orders, and I commend you for it.” Grant turned toward the stairs, still holding his burning cigar, and came face-to-face with Braham. “Congratulations on your promotion, Colonel. Well deserved. I suppose you’re here to testify about what happened to Secretary Seward.”
“I’ve been called to testify, sir, but I’m here to represent Jack Mallory.”
The general shook his head. His expression was kind but serious, and there was no lack of conviction in his tone. “You’re making a mistake, Colonel. Your career in the military will be tarnished.”
“So I was told by Secretary Stanton, but my client is innocent, and I intend to prove it.”
Grant took one last puff on his cigar before extinguishing it in a silver-hinged ashtray sitting on a table next to the stairs. “Is your lofty goal worth your reputation?”
“It’s worth my life, sir.” Braham’s voice didn’t sharpen, but it resonated with strong commitment.
“I’ve never known you to be wrong about anything, Colonel. I pray this one mistake doesn’t haunt you for the rest of your life.” Grant nodded and preceded them up the stairs.
A hot numbness swept over her when she gazed into Braham’s eyes. What she saw there almost broke her heart, and she had to look away, fidgeting with the clasp on the leather briefcase. Cullen nudged Braham in the arm, and whistled a haunting melody from Bach or Mozart or Beethoven or one of the other classical composers she couldn’t keep straight. Braham shook his head wordlessly.
Bootheels and spurs thumped and chimed on the crowded stairs and sabers clanged as everyone climbed to the third floor. Braham led the way into the whitewashed courtroom, which was already packed with spectators lining the west side of the room. He rounded up three chairs and squeezed them in at the defense table, where several other lawyers had already claimed seats. Nodding, he acknowledged them but didn’t make introductions. Charlotte sat between Braham and Cullen, holding tightly to the briefcase in her lap. It was creepy being there. There were a few lawyers on one side and the whole United States on the other.
She glanced around the room, taking in the details. Later, Jack would want to know her first impressions.
The defense table was in front of a raised platform edged by a wood railing. The platform was constructed to accommodate eight prisoners and seven guards. Mary Surratt and her attorney sat at a separate table next to the defense lawyers. Additionally, there were two long tables. One was for the press. The other, a green-baized-covered table, was on the east side of the room with a clear view of the witness stand and the raised platform. In the center of the table was a stack of law books. Charlotte wondered if they would ever be opened.
The commissioners entered the courtroom, talking among themselves. Judge Advocate Holt, lead prosecutor, took his place at the head of the commissioners’ table, closest to the witness stand. Charlotte eyed him with suspicion, knowing he would write rules as the trial progressed and share them with no one, at least no one on the defense teams.
Once the commissioners settled into their seats, Presiding Judge General David Hunter ordered the prisoners brought into the room. With the exception of Mary Surratt and Dr. Mudd, the prisoners were heavily shackled and hooded.
Jack sat in the middle of the platform, only a few feet from Charlotte, close enough to touch, and she was so tempted to do just that she unintentionally cleared her throat. Braham shot her a don’t do it again look.
She visually examined her brother with a surgeon’s eye for detail. The wrinkled, sweat-stained linen of his shirt clung to his chest and shoulders. Although he was filthy, there were no bloodstains, and his clothes weren’t torn. He sat straight in his chair. His head didn’t wobble, and he appeared alert. He wasn’t trembling. His shackled hands were of normal color and rested easily on his knees from relaxed arms, although there was some redness around his wrists from the constant rubbing of metal against skin.
She’d been holding her breath without realizing it, and now she let it out with silent sigh of relief. If she could only see his eyes, she could get a better read on his emotional health. For now, though, his body language conveyed a strength which made her hopeful. At least he was visited daily by the arsenal’s army physician. Would the doctor understand Braham’s memorandum on sensory deprivation and encourage General Hartranft to dispense with the hoods sooner than he did historically? She would pray he did.
General Hunter read the charges against the prisoners and each was asked if he or she objected to any member of the commission. Charlotte held her breath again. Following the establishment of Guantanamo Bay Detention Camp in 2002, Jack had written several articles about the similarities between the trial of the conspirators and the treatment of the detainees. And he’d read the biographies of all the members of the military commission, and studied their war successes and failures.
When Hunter asked Jack
if he objected to any member, he said with a voice which carried throughout the room, “I object to the presence of General Hunter and General Howe. They have both just returned from a two-week tour of mourning with the president’s remains. I further object to General Hunter…”
Braham exhaled though gritted teeth.
“…who fought against Mosby’s Rangers in the valley, sitting in judgment of Mr. Powell. I further object to General Hunter on the grounds he might be seeking atonement for the embarrassment caused by General Early in 1864. Lastly, I object to General Wallace, who might be seeking redemption for his military blunder at Shiloh.”
The courtroom erupted. Several reporters jumped out of their chairs and raced from the room. General Hunter banged his hammer repeatedly, demanding silence, but the clamor continued. Both Cullen and Braham remained expressionless. Charlotte did not dare look at the commissioners.
Jack had sealed his death warrant.
“Your objections are noted and denied.” General Hunter’s voice rose several notches in volume.
When the room began to calm, Cullen leaned over and whispered. “Draw an accurate layout of the room. Identify who ye can, and where they’re sitting, and make a note if ye recognize any of the spectators.”
While the arraignments proceeded, Charlotte drew a floor plan, stretching her neck to see on the other side of the three columns dividing the room. Very little air came through the four barred windows, and it was already sweltering. By July, she knew the temperature in the room would reach a hundred degrees.
Many of the people in the room she recognized from photographs. A few of the female spectators looked familiar, but she couldn’t put names and faces together. Rattling chains drew her attention back to the platform. The prisoners were standing.
Cullen leaned over and whispered to her once again. “Don’t watch them leave. Show me yer notes. Now.”
The Sapphire Brooch Page 57
