The Talisman - Crisscross

by Shaunna Gonzales

Trish hadn't counted on the judge stating the possibility of her guilt in open court. She must find a way to convince him and the jury not only of Quinn's innocence, but her own as well. Thoughts of doubt at her own ability leaked into her consciousness.

  "It appears that way. Yes, your honor." Trish knew she tread on dangerous ground. But if hanged, would she still be born in 1985? She didn't have the luxury of time to debate the possibility.

  "Do you wish to continue?"

  "Yes, your honor, I would, with your permission." People who represented themselves proved to be fools but she knew she must press on to save Quinn.

  "Even a condemned man is allowed to speak." The courtroom filled with murmurs. The gavel slammed down, not once but three times. "Order, I will have order in my court!"

  Trish's exterior of calm belied the nervous fear inside. But she stood firm. This unexpected turn could still prove favorable. She must think with nimble clarity.

  "Continue," Judge Fairbanks said, his compassion for her evident.

  "Thank you, your honor." She took a deep breath and opened the saddlebag. She withdrew the cross-pein hammer, handling it gingerly. Its balance surprised her, not an unwieldy tool she concluded, despite its bloody appearance.

  "Your Honor, I believe this is the murder weapon. The wounds to the deceased's head matched the shape here on this end." She hadn't examined Albert. She knew it unwise to lean on a witness's testimony and hoped Judge Fairbanks didn't call her bluff, but she recognized the hair color and tissue stuck to the balled end. "If you look closely, you can see hairs that are matted in the dried blood." She handed the hammer to Judge Fairbanks to examine.

  Judge Fairbanks handed the hammer to the bailiff to pass before the jury to examine, pulling his invisible veil of judgeship over his features.

  Bailiff Powell returned to the bench and placed the hammer on the table. Judge Fairbanks didn't seem too happy about this and exhaled loudly, as if to delay her continuing.

  "Your honor, I would like to ask for the court's indulgence."

  Judge Fairbanks deliberated for a moment before nodding his consent.

  "I would ask that all the men here in the courtroom that are wearing a vest or coat to please stand and line up here on your honor's right."

  "Young lady, it is only because I don't cotton to hangin' you or any woman that I'll oblige you. Don't you be wastin' this court’s time." Judge Fairbanks gave her a stern look. For a moment, she wondered if she might wither away on the spot. "You heard her, gentlemen. Come stand here."

  A mixed rumble of voices and chairs scraping on wooden floor planks sounded as men stood and gathered near the front of the courtroom, including two gentlemen from the jury. Trish stared at Sheriff Tuckett, motioning that he join the others. His loud exhale revealed his displeasure as he stood to do so.

  "If it pleases Your Honor further, I would like to examine these gentlemen's coats and vests, and share with the court my findings."

  "Gentlemen, make a straight line, hands behind your backs. Miss Larsen, I expect you to be a lady," he added gravely.

  "She's not a lady. She's a whore!" Milton Moore blurted out.

  Trish stopped in her tracks when Moore uttered his vehement accusation, realizing that the contrast of clothing from that of a harlot to a well-dressed lady hadn't disguised her.

  "Sir, you will do as the lady asks, and apologize."

  "I will not! I've stood for as much of this as I'm gonna." He moved to return to his seat.

  "Sheriff . . ." Judge Fairbanks began.

  Trish stepped to the bench with raised hand.

  "Your Honor, it's okay. When first I met Mr. Moore, I was dressed as a 'lady of leisure', thus he has a reason to believe such. If he would remain, though?" Murmurs grew loud as surprise filled the courtroom. One juror seemed to have already made up his mind, his expression one of complete disdain for her.

  "Order, order!" Judge Fairbanks brought his gavel down several times. "What a woman wears is not the issue here, and she will not be judged by your biased opinions, especially you of the jury. I warn you to keep open minds until we are finished here." His voice roared through the courtroom, no longer one of quiet regard.

  "Mr. Moore, get back here!" he thundered. Then, with a polite tone to Trish, he said, "Continue… as a lady."

  Trish approached the line of men, careful to remain at least a full arm’s length from each as she examined the coats and vests. When she spoke, it wasn't to the men but to Judge Fairbanks.

  "Please excuse these four. There is no need for them to remain."

  "You heard her, gents." Judge Fairbanks’ proper manner slipped for the moment.

  Six men remained, including one juror, standing less at ease than they had before.

  Trish knew she must use care as she moved forward from this point so as not to give herself away.

  She could see Judge Fairbanks in her peripheral vision and knew he watched her every movement as she slowly considered each man a second time. Her evaluation failed in its completeness, knowing that one wielding more legal power evaluated her motives to extreme degrees. She wondered what he perceived. Did he see through her to the truth as she attempted to reveal it, or did he perceive a wicked, devious nature in the woman before him?