Every now and then one of his sisters would glance his way with a look of hurt and betrayal.
It felt like a fist in the gut every time.
Faith, the youngest, sat next to her longtime beau, the scion of a prominent banking family who had come all the way from St. Louis to be by her side. Callie was clearly trying to fulfill her duty as the oldest by being strong for all of them, holding her sisters’ hands, trying to hold her own emotions in check.
And Eden... Eden, who had been his favorite when they were all young, who had always looked at him as if he could lasso the moon and stars and pull them down just for her, now refused to look at him at all.
It tore him up inside. And the worst part was that he knew what they were thinking: that they didn’t matter to him at all. That they had depended on him and he had failed them. Again.
There was so much he wanted to tell them. That things weren’t always as simple as they seemed at first glance. That he’d left here months ago determined to find a cold-blooded murderer and see her punished—and instead had found a woman who was nothing like what any of them expected, who was innocent of the charges against her.
A lady who had, day by day, earned his respect and his admiration... and claimed his heart.
The judge pounded his gavel to quiet the crowd, and Annie was sworn in and seated in the witness box.
Lucas kept his gaze on hers, seeing the courage in her eyes and trying to reflect it back, seeing the first spark of fear and trying to will it away. Legally, she didn’t have to testify—and her defense attorney had advised against it—but Annie had insisted. If she didn’t testify, she’d said, it would only convince everyone that she was guilty.
The prosecutor rose from his table. A tough, experienced attorney by the name of Drayton, he was an old friend and business associate of James—and it was obvious that he had taken a special interest in this case, that he personally wanted Annie punished.
Almost as badly as Lucas himself once had.
Drayton walked toward the witness box as he began his questioning.
“Miss Sutton, we have heard a great deal of testimony in the past days about your actions on the day in question. I wonder if you could clarify a few points for me?”
Lucas felt a muscle flex in his jaw. For two days, Drayton had called one witness after another to tell of Annie’s relationship with James—from hotel and railroad employees who had seen them together on various occasions, to friends and colleagues who had known about her, all of them recounting how well James had treated her.
Of course, the prosecutor had made it all sound like Annie’s doing, portraying her as a greedy, conniving tramp—neglecting to mention the fact that James had sought her out, that James had been cheating on his wife.
Then the prosecutor had retraced her every step on that fateful day, calling to the stand the family servants, who’d told how they overheard her argument with James, then the gunshot. Next had come the shopkeeper who had sold her the black dress she wore when she fled town, and later discovered her bloodstained clothes in an alley. The jury had even heard from the man at the stagecoach depot who had sold her a ticket west.
“My esteemed colleague Mr. Tanner informed us in his opening statement that this is all just a terrible misunderstanding,” Drayton said now. “But if the shooting were really an ‘accident’ as you claim, you could have turned yourself in at any time and explained to the authorities. Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t think anyone would believe me.”
“There you are correct, Miss Sutton. We have nothing but your word to verify your version of events. Nothing... but... your... word. There are only two people who might tell us the truth about what happened that evening—and one was shot in the chest at close range with a .38 caliber revolver—”
“Your Honor, I object,” the defense attorney called out.
“Mr. Drayton,” the judge said to the prosecutor, “I sustain Mr. Tanner’s objection. The coroner has already testified as to the nature of the wounds that caused Mr. McKenna’s death. There is no need to keep restating the testimony of your own witness.”
“Your Honor, I merely find it significant that the gentleman was shot through the heart,” Drayton said. “And since there were only two people in the room at the time, either his mistress committed the crime, or he killed himself.” He settled a steady gaze on Annie. “Is that your testimony, Miss Sutton, that Mr. McKenna committed suicide?”
“No—”
“You went there that evening to kill him, didn’t you?”
“No!”
“You were angry because he had decided to end your relationship. You wanted revenge. You wanted money. So you went to Mr. McKenna’s home where he lived with his wife and children and you shot him through the heart—”
“No!”
“Objection!”
The crowd buzzed with comments and exclamations. Lucas felt the anguish in Annie’s eyes, so intensely that he had to grip the arms of his chair to keep himself from going to her.
“There will be order in this courtroom.” The judge pounded his gavel on the bench. “Mr. Drayton,” he said in a warning tone, “again, I sustain Mr. Tanner’s objection.”
“I will move on, Your Honor.” Drayton turned away from Annie, folding his hands behind his back as he strolled toward the jury box. “Miss Sutton, your attorney, Mr. Tanner, has made a special point of stating that we do not have the murder weapon in our possession. And that is true. The gun was never found. Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know.”
Lucas hoped that anyone who didn’t know her as well as he did wouldn’t notice the slight waver in her voice.
Annie’s attorney had instructed her to answer Drayton’s questions as simply and succinctly as possible, offering no more detail or information than necessary. She would have the chance to explain her side of the story more fully when her attorney questioned her.
“You don’t know?” Drayton gave the jury a dry look.
“I dropped it. It fell—”
“And no one ever found it? Come, come, surely you do not have so low an opinion of our local officers”—he gestured toward the constables sitting in the courtroom—“as to believe that they would fail to see a gun lying in plain sight at a murder scene?”
Every time Drayton said the word murder he made sure to give it special emphasis.
“I-I don’t know what happened to it.”
“Normally if a murder weapon isn’t found, it’s because someone has disposed of it,” Drayton pointed out. “Such as the person who used it to commit the crime. The truth, Miss Sutton, is that you took that gun with you and threw it away as you fled, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“You disposed of that .38-caliber revolver the same way you disposed of your bloodstained clothes, didn’t you?”
“No!”
“You shot James McKenna and took fifteen thousand dollars from his safe and left town. Are those the facts or are they not?”
“I... I—”
“Fifteen thousand dollars,” Drayton repeated. “That’s five thousand for each year you spent with him. Rather a nice salary for a woman who earned her living on her back—”
“Objection!” Tanner shouted, rising from his chair.
Lucas felt sick to his stomach. Only after the prosecution rested would Tanner have a chance to present his case for the defense. Annie would be able to tell the truth. Lucas would testify about how she had taken care of him when he’d been shot, when she could have left him to die. Rebecca would vouch for her good character, her tender heart. Daniel would tell everyone about the miscarriage Annie had suffered, and how she had mourned for her lost little one.
At Lucas’s request, the headmaster from the orphanage that had received Annie’s donation had even traveled from Colorado to make a plea for leniency.
Lucas felt his heart beating hard against his ribs as he looked at her, so vulnerable and alone. He could clearly see her
trembling now—and knew that everyone else in the room would interpret it completely the wrong way.
All their testimony might not be enough. Enough to erase the vivid picture Drayton was painting in the jurors’ minds, the picture everyone in St. Charles was so eager to accept.
“Mr. Drayton,” the judge was saying, “I must remind you to restrict your editorial commentary to the pages of the newspapers. The jurors are instructed to disregard the prosecutor’s last remark.”
“I withdraw the comment, Your Honor.” Drayton walked slowly back toward Annie again. “Miss Sutton, after you took the fifteen thousand dollars from Mr. McKenna’s safe, and after you disposed of your bloodstained clothing, and after you left town, you went West, is that true?”
Annie looked like she couldn’t endure much more. “Yes.”
“You fled to Colorado. You were hiding from the law, living under an assumed name. And you only returned here to stand trial after you were forced to do so. Isn’t that the truth?”
“I... that wasn’t what... I didn’t mean to...”
“The truth is you fled because you knew that you had killed James McKenna. A respected member of this community. A business owner. A beloved husband. A father of two children. Isn’t that the truth?”
“I—”
“Yes or no, Miss Sutton—you ended his life. You were responsible. You and no one else. Isn’t that the truth?”
Lucas felt his gut clench, could see her eyes shimmering with tears, knew what she was going to say.
“Isn’t it?” Drayton demanded.
“Yes.” Annie lowered her head, one droplet sliding down her cheek. “Yes.”
A hush fell over the courtroom.
Drayton turned to the jury, looked at the twelve men for a silent moment, then walked back to his seat. “I have no further questions for this witness, Your Honor. The prosecution rests.”
~ ~ ~
“Weatherby, I’ve got no right to ask you to do this,” Lucas said in a low voice, as he and his deputy stood on the sidewalk at the bottom of the hill, looking up at the mansion, its windows gleaming in the late afternoon light. “If you want to walk away right now—”
“Sir, I know how highly you thought of your brother.” Weatherby kept his voice quiet. “And I damn sure know you wouldn’t be doing this for any outlaw. If you say Miss Sutton isn’t a murderer and a thief, then she isn’t.” He regarded Lucas with a slow smile. “I’ve known you for four years, sir, and never once seen you knotted up like this over a woman. She must be something special.”
“She is,” Lucas said gruffly. “You go on around the front and create a diversion.”
“Any particular requests?”
“Make it noisy, and make sure you keep the servants busy. Try to give me at least fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“Consider it done, sir.” Weatherby set off down the sidewalk, heading for the front gate.
Lucas circled around the back. Fifteen or twenty minutes should give him just enough time to do some investigating of his own. He moved through the hedges and into the gardens—retracing the steps Annie would have taken that day.
That fateful, tragic day that had changed so many lives forever.
Heavy clouds overhead made the afternoon unseasonably cool, damp with the promise of rain. He moved quietly through the gardens, glancing around, careful to avoid the gray-haired gardener who was tending mounds of daffodils and crocuses.
What he hoped—prayed—he would find was evidence. Not the kind of evidence he had once sought, to prove Annie’s guilt, but evidence that would set her free.
There had to be something. Some detail that the constables had missed. That he had missed. Some clue that would help him prove that Drayton’s portrait of a woman scorned bent on vengeance was all wrong.
When he reached the patio outside James’s office, Lucas glanced in through the French doors, tried the handles, and found them locked, as he had expected.
He slipped a small, steel tool from his coat pocket, and a moment later, he was inside, stepping into the room where it had all played out.
He felt his throat close up, his eyes burn as he glanced around the spacious study with its gleaming teakwood paneling, expensive furnishings, framed works of art. There were no marks anywhere, not so much as one spot of crimson to mar the carpets. It looked like Olivia had had the place perfectly cleaned, tidied, restored to order.
Lucas choked back the emotions battling inside him and forced himself to focus, tried to picture the events of that day in his mind: Annie tearfully telling James about her pregnancy, James tossing his pocket change on the desk and ordering her to get out, Annie reaching for the money... and instead picking up the gun.
And James grabbing for the weapon.
Lucas clenched his jaw as he stared at the desk, hoping that James had been trying to protect her in that moment. That he had realized that the vulnerable young woman who was standing there, carrying his child, meant to shoot herself.
That he had died while trying to do the right thing.
Lucas moved behind the desk and bent down to start examining the wall, the floor. The office door on the other side of the room opened. Startled, he stood up.
“Uncle Lucas?”
It was his thirteen-year-old nephew, peering in, the door open only a crack.
“Peter?” Lucas whispered, walking toward him quickly, afraid the boy would attract the attention of some servant or tutor. “You shouldn’t be here—”
Before he could finish, the boy stepped inside and immediately shut the door, leaning back against it, wide-eyed and pale.
Lucas halted, that look hitting him like another blow to the gut. He wondered exactly what Olivia had told her children to explain why they were no longer allowed to see their uncle Lucas.
“Peter,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not,” Peter whispered, shaking his head emphatically. “I looked out my window and I thought I saw you in the garden and... Uncle Lucas, I want to... I have to—”
“Peter, you really shouldn’t be here right now. And your mother doesn’t want me to see you—”
“I know.” The boy stepped away from the door, taking a deep breath. “Uncle Lucas, I’ll be fourteen soon. Mother keeps telling me that I’m the man of the house now...” He squared his shoulders, clenched his fists. “I have to talk to you.”
“All right.” Lucas noticed a grit and maturity in the boy he had never seen before. “What is it you want to say?”
“I-I tried to talk to you before,” Peter began haltingly. “That night when you left to go out west—but Mother stopped me. I came downstairs, remember, and started to tell you, but then Mother came over and she... she told me I shouldn’t.”
“Your mother told you before I left St. Charles that you shouldn’t talk to me?” Lucas narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I wanted to tell you about Father,” Peter blurted.
Lucas’s heart started hammering. “Tell me what?” He placed his hands on his nephew’s shoulders. “Peter, what was it your mother didn’t want you to say?”
~ ~ ~
It was an hour later before they returned to the courtroom. Mr. Tanner was already questioning his first witness—Rebecca—as Lucas pushed open the doors, flanked by the two constables he had sent Weatherby to summon. His nephew was close by his side.
A hum of whispers and curious questions came from the crowd as Lucas strode down the center aisle with Peter, gesturing for the two constables to wait a moment. “Your Honor, I apologize for the interruption.” He kept one reassuring hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “But evidence has come to my attention that I think the court should hear. Mr. Tanner, I believe this should be your first witness.”
Lucas slanted Olivia a hard stare, and saw that she was looking pale and panic-stricken all of a sudden.
Damn her, she did know. Olivia had known the truth all along. Had known before he left St. Charles.
Had been counting on his fearsome reputation to give her what she wanted: Annie, dead. He remembered how she had encouraged him to shoot without hesitation.
The West is an uncivilized place. No questions would be asked.
And he had almost done it.
“Who is this boy?” the judge demanded. “Marshal McKenna, this proceeding is no place for a child—”
“My name is Peter McKenna.” Though clearly nervous, the boy spoke up for himself in a firm voice. “I’m James McKenna’s son.”
Another round of gasps and conversation rippled through the courtroom.
Mother and son exchanged a look across the crowded court, and Lucas saw a flash of betrayal in Olivia’s eyes, felt Peter tense beneath his hand.
But even as he watched, all emotion in Olivia’s expression was replaced by an icy dignity that descended over her like a protective cloak.
“Your Honor, I object!” Drayton called out amid the disruption. “This is entirely out of order.”
“Your Honor.” Lucas glanced over his shoulder and signaled the two constables, who came forward with a dirt-encrusted cigar box and placed it on the judge’s bench. “I believe you’ll also want to enter this into evidence.”
“What the devil?” The judge opened the lid and his eyes widened, his brows arching. “Mr. Drayton, perhaps you will wish to submit this new evidence to your experts for review...” He tilted the box up so everyone could see. “But I believe this may be the .38-caliber revolver you’ve been searching for.”
Shouts and cries of disbelief filled the room. People were jumping to their feet for a better view.
“Young man,” the judge said sternly, turning to Peter again, “have you had this gun in your possession all this time?”
Peter nodded. “Yes, sir,” he admitted. “I have.”
“Very well, then.” The judge motioned him forward. “Let us hear what you have to say. Mrs. Greer, you are excused for the present, but you may be recalled at a later time.”
As Peter walked toward the witness box, Rebecca vacated it and joined Lucas to reclaim their seats behind the defense table. Lucas met Annie’s confused, questioning gaze with one full of warmth and reassurance.
After Sundown Page 34
