The witness’s mouth dropped open. “Ah, ah…”
“No further questions,” Braham said, and strode back to their table.
91
Washington City, 1865
General Holt had a brilliant legal mind, and had been Lincoln’s chief arbiter and enforcer of military law. He knew not to ask a question if he didn’t already know the answer. Cullen and Braham had bet Holt wouldn’t ask Stroker what he and Henly had been doing at three o’clock on the previous afternoon. If he had asked, Braham and Cullen would have had to adjust their strategy, but as long as Henly was sequestered, they would still have the benefit of surprise during Henly’s cross-examination.
Since Gaylord had not sent a message, Cullen and Braham knew Henly wasn’t aware Charlotte had escaped. He was probably waiting until after his testimony to dispose of her. Just thinking about it had Cullen wishing he’d been given the assignment to cross-examine the colonel, but Braham had assured Cullen his emotions were under control.
Now it was showtime.
“Call your next witness,” General Hunter said.
General Holt pointed to the guard standing outside the witness room. “Colonel Gordon Henly.”
Henly limped into the room, grimacing, dressed in a clean, pressed uniform complete with saber and revolver. However, his boots were scuffed and muddy. When he had shaved, he had missed the whiskers close to his ears. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was pinched, and he was breathing heavily. He did not look well.
“Please state your name and current position,” General Holt said.
Unkempt wavy brown hair flowed loose over his collar. “Colonel Gordon Henly, on special assignment to the War Department. I’m currently supervising the discharge of our troops.”
“How long have you been on special assignment?”
“Since I recovered from the wounds I sustained at Cedar Creek and my regiment was given to Colonel Taylor.”
“Are you familiar with the defendant, Jack Mallory?”
His upper lip twitched in disgust. “Yes, sir, I am.”
“Would you tell the court how you met the defendant?”
“I was on my way back to the War Department one afternoon in late December when I saw the defendant’s sister on the corner outside the Willard Hotel. She was sitting on her trunk, left in the cold by the degenerate Mr. Jack Mallory.”
“Objection,” Braham said. “The statement is inflammatory.”
“Sustained. The witness will refrain from characterizing the defendant,” General Hunter said.
“Doctor Charlotte Mallory was sitting unaccompanied in the cold while her brother attempted to secure transportation. I ordered my sergeant to stand guard over her luggage while I escorted her into the hotel, where I subsequently met her brother.”
“And what happened during the meeting at the Willard?”
“Doctor Mallory told me they were staying with her cousin, Major McCabe, and I offered to escort them to the major—excuse me, the colonel’s residence.”
“Did she indicate which one of the colonel’s residences she intended to visit?” General Holt asked.
The spectators’ questioning eyes glanced at Braham. His affluence hadn’t been mentioned in the press before. Several women smiled shyly. A handsome and wealthy bachelor was always of interest.
“Doctor Mallory and her brother intended to travel to the colonel’s residence in Georgetown. I asked why they weren’t staying in Washington. They were unaware of his townhouse across the street from Lafayette Park, so I escorted them there.”
“And did you have an occasion to recommend Mr. Mallory as a possible contributor to an editor at the Times?”
“Mr. Mallory gave me a copy of an article, an unpublished article he had written following the Battle of Cedar Creek. He asked me to show the article to editors I knew who might consider buying one of his stories.”
“And did you have an opportunity to show this article to anyone?”
“I did, and the editor at the Times agreed to read it. He said he would consider purchasing articles from Mr. Mallory.”
“And did Mr. Mallory ever sell any articles which you are aware of?”
Beads of sweat dotted Henly’s face, and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “He has never sold one.”
“Objection. Calls for speculation. Unless the witness has read every newspaper around the world, he has no way of knowing how many articles Mr. Mallory has sold,” Braham said.
“Objection sustained. Your testimony is limited to your personal knowledge, Colonel,” General Hunter said. “Continue.”
General Holt picked up a sheet of paper and glanced at it briefly. “Tell us about the events of the evening in early February, when you attended the theater with Doctor Mallory.”
“Doctor Mallory agreed to accompany me to see the comedian J. S. Clarke. After the theater, we had dinner at the Willard, and then I took her back to Colonel McCabe’s residence.”
“And what happened when you arrived at the colonel’s residence?”
“Doctor Mallory and I were standing in the foyer when Mr. Mallory and Mr. Booth came out of one of the rooms, laughing and talking about an event in April. The men were in high spirits until they saw me. They immediately sobered and made quick introductions. Mr. Mallory and Mr. Booth then left. Shortly afterward, I said good night to Doctor Mallory and left.”
“Did you have an opportunity to see the Mallorys on other occasions?”
Henly’s eyes brightened. “I did. They attended the inaugural party. They approached me.” He glanced down at his nails and picked at them, as if the topic of discussion was painfully distasteful. “I felt uncomfortable and escaped their company as quickly as possible.”
General Holt set the sheet of paper aside and accepted another sheet from General Hunter. He perused it quickly. “Did you notice anything particular about their demeanor during the inaugural evening?”
“They spent an inordinate amount of time staring at President Lincoln and talking behind Dr. Mallory’s open fan.”
“Thank you, Colonel. No further questions.”
“Your witness, Colonel McCabe,” General Hunter said.
Braham sat still as calm water for a long moment. Then he pushed his chair back, scraping the legs across the hardwood floor. He stood, smoothed down his jacket, and approached the witness stand at a leisurely pace. “Colonel, what did ye and Doctor Mallory discuss over dinner at the Willard the night in February?”
“We talked about the show, I believe.”
“Were ye fond of Doctor Mallory?”
Henly flipped his hand in dismissal and rolled his eyes in disgust. “Not as fond as she was of me.”
“Why not? She’s a beautiful, intelligent woman.”
“Much too strong-willed for me. She lacks discipline.”
Braham folded his arms and his mouth twitched in what might have been a faint smile. “She’s a surgeon, and she lacks discipline? Would ye be more specific?”
Despite Henly’s obvious efforts at self-control, his frame was quivering with indignation. “She told me medicine was the most important thing in her life and she never intended to marry.”
Cullen was as enthralled with the testimony as was the rest of courtroom, which usually buzzed with side conversations. Now every eye and ear was focused on the exchange between Henly and Braham. Newspaper reporters were madly scribbling.
Braham shrugged. “Why did ye care whether she intended to marry or not?”
“Because I considered…” Henly paused before starting again. “I didn’t care. Considering how strong-willed she is, it’s best she doesn’t impose her will on any suitable gentleman.”
“Like yerself?” Braham asked.
“I will not tolerate such behavior.”
“Who do ye blame for not squelching her strong will?”
“Her brother, of course.”
Braham paused a moment to let the comment sink in. It did. The female spectators were cha
tting behind open fans covering the lower portions of their faces. Several commission members took deep breaths and eyed General Holt.
“Did ye speak to Mr. Mallory about his sister’s behavior?” Braham asked.
“I did. The same night, as a matter of fact.” Henly’s voice was unnaturally loud and angry. “I told him he should exercise more control over her.”
“When did this conversation take place?”
“In the carriage.” Henly wiped perspiration from his forehead. “I misspoke. It was later when I ran into him at the Willard.”
Braham steepled his fingers and tapped them together. “So ye returned to the Willard after ye left Doctor Mallory? If ye didn’t ride in the carriage with him back to the Willard, where did ye find him? In what room?”
Perspiration popped up on every inch of skin on Henly’s face. “In the billiard room.”
“Going back to earlier in the evening, was there any time during yer dinner with Doctor Mallory when ye left the table?”
He barked a laugh. “I don’t recall.”
“Isn’t it true ye had to restrain Doctor Mallory from going into the billiard room?”
Henly slammed his fist on the railing. “I told her brother she was out of line and should be punished.”
Braham turned toward the commissioners with a hint of a smile. “What did ye expect Mr. Mallory to do? Turn her over his knee and give her a whooping?”
“Of course not.”
The women in the courtroom giggled.
“Isn’t it true, Colonel Henly, ye said to Mr. Mallory, and I quote, ‘A slap never hurt any woman; it keeps her in line’?”
“No, I did not.”
The commissioners had all turned in their seats to face the witness stand, riveted to the testimony, even those members whose attention usually wandered. Braham raised his eyebrows but said nothing. It was a planned maneuver to keep Henly in an anxious state.
“Why did Doctor Mallory want to go into the billiard room?”
Henly roared, full of indignation. “To see you.”
“Why did ye object to Doctor Mallory seeing her cousin?”
“Ha. You’re not cousins. You’re…lovers.”
Cullen’s heart was thudding at a breakneck pace. The testimony was proceeding exactly as they planned. The next few questions and answers were critical.
“Why would ye think we’re lovers? Have ye spied on Doctor Mallory’s bedroom?”
“Certainly not.” He punctuated his comment with a wild gesture.
Braham walked over to the defense table and Cullen handed him a small bag. “If ye have no interest in Doctor Mallory, why do ye care who she takes as a lover?”
There was an audible intake of breath around the room. Braham was besmirching Charlotte’s reputation, but it couldn’t be helped. Cullen prayed she’d forgive them.
“I don’t care.” Henly’s voice was tight with suppressed rage.
“Between yer command position and when ye began yer assignment to the War Department, were ye offered other opportunities?”
Henly’s nostrils flared. “No.”
“Was there a position working for President Lincoln which ye applied for and were passed over in favor of another candidate whom ye outranked?”
“I wasn’t interested in the position.”
“I’m sorry.” Braham turned toward the commissioners. “Did ye say ye weren’t interested in a special assignment working directly for the president of the United States? Did ye tell him ye weren’t interested?”
Henly snarled. “Of course not.”
Braham twisted to look at the witness. “What did ye tell Mr. Lincoln?”
“That I’d be honored to accept the position if offered.”
Braham turned back to the commissioners. “So ye lied to the president of the United States. Is this what ye’re saying?”
“No, it’s not what I’m saying.”
“The court would be interested in yer explanation, Colonel. And after ye explain why ye lied to the president”—Braham then turned back to the witness—“maybe ye’ll explain why ye’ve lied to this court.”
“I haven’t lied.”
“Then tell the court when ye last saw the person wearing this.” Braham opened the small bag, pulled out Charlotte’s wig, and tossed it to Henly.
He fumbled, gasped, and then let it fall to the ground. “How dare you?”
Braham picked up the wig and nonchalantly straightened the hairs. “How dare I what?”
Henly’s rage was back now, rising, smoldering behind his eyes. “Insult me.”
“How much laudanum do ye take a day for the pain in yer back? I believe ye said ye were wounded at Cedar Creek. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why ye needed a henchman to grab Doctor Mallory from Lafayette Park yesterday? Because ye’re too impotent to do it yerself?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
Braham approached the witness stand, still holding the wig. “Isn’t it true, Colonel, ye hated Jack Mallory for having no control over his sister, because ye had intended to propose to her on the night in question?” Braham paused, allowing his question to thoroughly penetrate the observers’ consciousness.
“Isn’t it also true, Colonel, ye hated me for getting the job ye wanted, working for the president of the United States?
“Isn’t it true, Colonel, ye kidnapped Doctor Mallory yesterday afternoon and dumped her badly beaten body in a rat-infested cellar so I would have to choose between looking for her”—Braham paused and pointed toward Jack—“or representing her innocent brother?
“Isn’t it true, Colonel, ye framed Jack Mallory?”
The spectators in the courtroom erupted, and General Hunter banged his gavel. “Order. Order in the courtroom.”
Henly snatched his revolver from its holster, pointed it at Braham, and pulled the trigger.
92
Washington City, 1865
Charlotte waited quietly on the sofa in the parlor, reading an article in an old issue of Annals of Surgery. She’d read it five times and, while she didn’t remember much about the article, she did remember the first few words of the objective: “To evaluate the effect of implementing a multidisciplinary…” Well, okay, she didn’t remember it either.
She closed the magazine with a snap and stuffed it into her knitting basket, which contained balls of yarn, needles, and whatnots. She had dropped her great-grandmother’s cameo brooch into the basket several days ago after she had worn it so she wouldn’t forget it again.
Idly, she rose and ambled over to the window to lean out, looking up and down the sidewalk. Two men in the park across the street came to attention, watching her closely. Another guard standing near the front door glanced up, grimacing. The window might as well have had bars.
A scratching sound startled her. She jerked, gasping, but it was nothing more than a breeze coming through the window and skimming across the tabletop stacked with clipped newspapers. Her breathing eased, and she rubbed her arms against a slight chill. Rats. The memories of them crawling and nibbling all over her wouldn’t leave her alone.
Stir-crazy, she paced the length of the foyer—back and forth and back and forth, annoying Edward, who glanced up from his perch near the door every time her heels clacked off the edges of the hallway’s Oriental runner.
It was after five o’clock. The men had not returned, and there had been no word from the prison. No newspapers. Nothing. If she didn’t hear from Braham or David or Gaylord within the next thirty minutes, she was going to scream “fire” and dash out of the house.
On her next trip down the hall, she went into the office for the umpteenth time to see if Cullen might have left a list of assignments hidden under a law book or stuffed inside one. She opened a book titled, A Treatise of Legal Philosophy and General Jurisprudence and thumbed through the pages. Nothing.
The front door opened. She dropped the book and ran out, coming to
a sudden stop, her heart in her throat. When she found her voice, she shrieked, “You’re free. They did it.” She ran to Jack and threw herself into his arms, hugging him. She groaned as his squeezing arms tightened.
“I’m sorry, sis.” He loosened his grip. “Braham warned me Henly punched you.” He touched her face lightly. “I’m so sorry.”
“Forget about me. Where’ve you been? You look fantastic.”
He smirked.
“No, I mean you’re”—she brushed his lapels—“all clean and dapper.” The fragrances of a barber’s talcum powder and new clothes filled the air in pleasing waves. She stood back and scrutinized him. “Lost a few pounds. Ten, maybe. Food wasn’t so good, huh?”
He stared at her, eyes fixed wide, blue and unblinking above a small twitch of a smile. “Yeah, it was pretty bad. The hoods were worse. Thank God, I spent so much time with the monks. Without meditation and the ability to go into deep trances, I’d have lost my mind. I spent hours in my head sitting by the river, reading.”
“Knowing you could do that kept me sane. So Braham and Cullen accomplished everything they planned to do today.”
“You should have seen Braham. He was brilliant. I’d pay a million bucks for a video and pictures of the expressions on Hunter and Holt’s faces. True brilliance. When this movie is produced, it’ll win a dozen Oscars.”
Cullen and Braham opened the door and entered the house, laughing. Braham ambled toward her with a smile playing around his mouth, and he pulled her gently into his arms. “I told ye I’d bring him home or die trying.”
David and Gaylord entered behind Cullen. She waved her hand at the whisky fumes being exhaled by all five men. “If I lit a match, the house might explode. Y’all stopped to celebrate while I paced, dying for news.”
“We had to wait for Jack. He didn’t want to see ye until he’d had a bath and shaved. While he did, we”—Braham pointed, carefully but tipsily, to Cullen, David, and Gaylord—“shopped for new clothes for him.”
“We couldn’t bring him home naked.” David hiccupped.
They deserved to get drunk, smoke cigars, and tell tall tales until the wee hours of the morning, but when they started singing Scottish ballads off-key, which they were bound to do, she was going to bed.
The Sapphire Brooch Page 62
