“I have here a medical book written by a world renowned specialist on spinal injuries, a Doctor Linus Simmons, of Edinburgh, Scotland. Should I read what he has to say, or should I just tell you?”
He directed the question to the witness. The doctor didn’t have a ready answer. His eyes wide, he silently appealed for a clue from Mr. McManus, Beau’s lawyer.
The judge, however, knew what he would prefer. “Just tell us, Mr. Rhodes. I don’t want to be here all day.”
Nodding, Mr. Rhodes slapped the book shut, then went right to the desk for the defense and leaned in to get in Beau’s distorted countenance. “In short, it says…a man who has suffered trauma to his spinal cord and brainstem will lose all bodily functions and will be as a vegetable, unable to control his bowels, his bladder, he may even have trouble verbalizing. He most certainly will need around the clock nursing care to help him bathe, eat, and to help him relieve himself. Life expectancy for such a patient is short. Soon the organs of the body deteriorate and the patient dies. It is considered a blessing when the end comes.”
Whirling around, Mr. Rhodes marched over to the witness stand and slapped his hands on the rail. “Does that sound like your patient, Doctor Oldmen? Does your patient require assistance to relieve his bowels…his bladder? Do you dress him, bathe him, put him in bed and help him to his chair? Does he have a nurse?”
The doctor twisted in his chair, trying to see around Mr. Rhodes, trying to make eye contact with Beau. Pulling back, he raked one hand through his greasy locks. “Ah, yeah, I guess.”
“You guess?” Mr. Rhodes shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and leaned into the doctor, forcing the man to pull back farther, almost tipping over in his chair. “In truth you aren’t a doctor at all, are you, Jace Oldmen, alias Jackson O’Connor, John Olson, James Martin, gambler, hired gun, bunko artist?”
Mr. Rhodes whisked away, striding over to the table in front of Petra, grabbing up the sheaf of papers he’d set aside, then marched back to the witness stand, he fanned them in the witness’s face.
“If you are not Mr. Laski’s physician, then what are you? You are under his employ—everyone knows that. Under what capacity? What is it you were hired to do?”
The witness grinned, sweat rolling down the sides of his face. “I do what doctors do, I fix things.” The witness wore a dismissive sneer on his lips.
Disgusted, Mr. Rhodes turned his back on the witness. “Your honor, as the prosecutor for the county of Baker, I request we incarcerate this man until such time as extradition papers can be drawn up to have him removed to the state of Kansas where he will be tried for the murders of his mother, Susan Martin, his sister, Ruth Martin and his father, James Martin, Senior.”
In chorus, a gasp went up from the crowd, Petra included. She had expected chicanery, but not this foul.
“My God.”
The words had come from Beau—all heads turned in his direction. Leaning on the table, visibly shaking, he appeared the picture of someone stricken by severe infirmities. The ladies in the crowd cried in dismay, their hankies going to their bosoms as he struggled to express himself.
“I believed you. I believed every word Doctor Oldmen told me, Your Honor. He helped me adjust. You charlatan. Cruel. How could you use me, use my condition for your own gains?”
His words, delivered on a heart-wrenching sob, inspired his lawyer to do his part, by draping an arm across Beau’s heaving shoulders to console the man.
Petra felt a wave of nausea swamp over her. She feared Beau Laski would do what he did best; he would turn the odds back in his favor.
“Order. Counselor. Mr. McManus, control your client. Order in the court.” The judge delivered one more crack with his gavel and the room quieted.
“Sheriff Bollo, remove the witness. Mr. Oldmen, you will be held in the Baker County jail until extradition can be arranged.”
Addressing Mr. Rhodes, the judge asked, “Does the prosecution wish to call another witness?”
Mr. Rhodes straightened his suit coat and tugged the sleeves of his shirt down to his wrists. “We do your honor. The prosecution calls Beauregard Laski to the stand.”
Petra instinctively knew this was what Beau had been waiting for. She had no doubt he would give a great performance—the performance of his life.
The deputy positioned Beau’s chair before the witness stand as Mr. Rhodes approached the bench. “Your honor, I beg the courts indulgence with this witness. I apologize beforehand for the theatrics, but I must do what I can to bring an end to this trial…this farce.”
The judge growled and grumbled. “Just get on with it, Mr. Rhodes. I’ll grant you some latitude if you can end this before the mid-day break.”
Mr. Rhodes tapped the bench with his knuckles. “Done, your Honor.”
Turning to address Beau, Mr. Rhodes motioned to someone in the back of the room. Petra strained to see who it might be, but she couldn’t see over the heads behind her.
“Mr. Laski,” Mr. Rhodes said, “you heard Miss Yurvasi read from her diary. She witnessed the murder of a young man. I believe his name was Daniel Parks. You shot him in the back, did you not?”
Beau stayed mute. Mr. Rhodes continued. “You and your brother Kurt then disposed of the body by dumping it in the alley behind the Blue Bucket Saloon.”
Beau ignored the question by examining his cuticles.
“I have the sheriff’s report upon the discovery of the body. The young man indeed died from a bullet wound just below his shoulder blade. The sheriff, at the time, received the results from an autopsy performed on the deceased. The bullet that killed the young man was a bullet from a Colt 44. You own a Colt 44, do you not?”
Mr. Rhodes paused, then shook his head. “Yes, I know, as do fifty other men in town.”
A commotion erupted at the back of the room. People started to chatter and murmur. Petra couldn’t see what was happening, then Matt appeared, leading Kurt, bound hand and foot in shackles. Matt brought Kurt up to stand between the lawyer’s desk, facing the crowd.
Continuing, Mr. Rhodes ignored the disruption. “For a small community there have been a number of deaths in the last four months. Most of them we can draw a straight line that leads us right back to you and your brother, Mr. Laski. As a matter of fact, your brother has signed a confession to the murders of three coolies, Miss Yurvasi’s housekeeper, Ida Ridenhour, and Mr. and Mrs. Duckworth. He has also implicated you in the murders of Daniel Parks and Mr. Ben Ridenhour, Ida Ridenhour’s brother. He has given us information concerning extortion schemes in which you were the brains, and to back up this piece of evidence, I present to the court a journal, written in your own hand, outlining your plans.”
Mr. Rhodes retrieved a brown manila file from his desk and brought it to the judge.
Appealing to the judge, Beau roused himself, his voice achieving the quavering ring of one distressed. “Your Honor, my brother, after the explosion, has not been right in the head. I’ve tried to keep him secluded, but I’ve been unable to protect him, control him. He lives in another world, a world of violence and evil. He needs help, your honor. Alas, we have no more money, I can’t afford that help. What can I do, I’m a crippled man.”
Petra’s eyes were on Matt. He winked at her from across the room as he pulled a big rat from a flour sack he had tied to his belt. Kurt cowered, hunching in as close as he could to the judge’s bench and away from the rat. The women in the crowd squealed, the men barked with laughter, and Petra felt like clapping.
Mr. Rhodes insisted on Beau’s attention. “Was it your brother who shot and killed the young assayer, Mr. Laski?” Beau screamed when Matt dangled the rat in his face. He lurched back in his chair, nearly tipping himself over.
Going in for the kill, Mr. Rhodes ruthlessly proceeded with his questioning, while Matt waved the rat in Beau’s face, a face that had gone pale, a face full of terror and disgust.
“Was it your brother who raped the Dixon girl and threatened her father he would kill her t
he next time, if he didn’t sign over the deed to his mines and his home to you? Isn’t every foul deed Miss Yurvasi laid out before us in her diary, the manifestation of your brain—if not your execution, then your will to have it done, Mr. Laski? Isn’t it all true?”
At that precise moment, Buck dropped the rat in Beau’s lap and Beau leapt from his chair in a panic to get away from the rat. The judge set to pounding his gavel, his big voice calling for order.
As fascinating as it was to watch Beau, the supposed paralyzed victim, hop from one foot to the other, squealing like a stuck pig, it was equally bizarre to witness Kurt’s reaction. He burst out laughing so hard he actually started to cry hysterically, his face contorted, tears streaming down his red cheeks, clapping his manacled hands, clanking his chains.
Petra sat mesmerized, her gaze locked on Matt, who had his hands full trying to catch the frightened rat. The poor thing cornered itself between the judge’s bench and the witness stand. Matt stepped on the rat’s tail, returned it to the flour sack, where it no doubt was grateful to hide.
“Mr. Laski.” the judge shouted over the mayhem. “Answer the bloody question.”
“Shit. Keep that thing away from me, you hear. Yeah. All right, sure, just don’t set it loose again.”
The judge pounded his gavel and Beau gave the appearance of one surrendering. He went for his chair, stumbled, and when he righted himself, he held a gun, which he had pointed at Matt’s head.
Petra didn’t remember coming to her feet, but she had. She found herself standing a few feet from Beau when she came to her senses. “Beau.”
With the sound, his name on her lips, Beau swiveled around and grinned, the gun pointing at her heart.
“Ah, Petra, sweet little Pet. I loved you, you know. You should’ve been mine, not Kurt’s. You couldn’t see me, could you? I would’ve made you my queen. You were so pure and innocent, so willing to do whatever we asked you to do. Then you gave yourself to my brother and became impure. I couldn’t love you then.”
Petra stood stock-still, shaking, her teeth chattering. Matt inched his way closer to Beau—Petra had to find a way to buy him some time. The crowd had gone very still, not a single whisper came from the crowd.
“I didn’t know. You never told me, Beau.”
The gun barrel dipped down to the floor for a second. “I told your father. I asked him for your hand. He said you were too young. But I wanted you young and pure. I would’ve kept you pure, Pet. You would’ve been my virgin princess. Now, you’re just Kurt’s castoff whore. I have to kill you, Pet. I have to. You’re impure. I can’t let you live, you’re spoiled now.”
“You asked my father for my hand? When, Beau, when did you ask?”
“So many questions.” Beau shook his head. Wiping the sweat from his upper lip with the back of his wrist, he closed his eyes. Matt took his chance and sprang across the room as gracefully as a mountain lion, landing on Beau’s back, taking him to the ground. The gun went off and Petra stood frozen in terror. Matt lay limp across Beau’s body. Beau stayed deathly still, his eyes open with surprise, staring at the ceiling.
Kurt, who had gone silent while his brother held Petra at gunpoint, erupted into a fit of giggles and sobs, falling to his knees, his hysteria feeding on his insanity.
Petra went to Matt to put her arms around him. He rose, steadying himself with his arm around her shoulder. Beau lay dead, as evidence blood spilled over his chest and down onto the courtroom floor.
Now, at last, she could believe. Maybe now she could believe the nightmare was over. Petra sagged against Matt while the judge regained control of his courtroom.
“Order, order in the court.” The noise level dropped. “In light of all that has transpired here today, I’m going to dismiss the jury.”
The judge tried to get Kurt’s attention, but it was no use, Kurt was beyond reach, a broken man.
“Kurt Laski, two days hence, at sunrise, you are hereby sentenced to hang by the neck until you are dead. The hanging will take place out of the public view, with no witnesses, other than myself and the sheriff.”
The judge pounded his gavel twice. “This court is adjourned.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Groggy, Petra slowly came awake. It took her a moment or two to remember where she was: at Doreen’s, not at the hot spring, not at the sheriff’s house. She and Matt and Doreen had moved back in after the trial yesterday, making May Bollo a very happy woman, Petra felt certain.
Turning on her side, she expected to see Gabriel asleep in his cradle next to the bed. It sat empty. Looking behind her, Matt was gone too. Searching for the dressing gown Doreen had loaned her, Petra threw the covers back and hoisted herself out of bed, her body heavy with fatigue, shoulders aching and neck stiff. The bedroom door opened and Doreen glided in, looking well-rested and full of vitality, balancing a tray bearing a cup of tea and two muffins.
“Good morning. I bet you’re tired today. But you’re looking better than you did last night. You didn’t eat much. Matt thought you might be coming down with something, what with all the stress you’ve been under.”
Her hands fumbling with the ribbon to tie her robe, Petra asked, “Gabriel?”
Doreen set the tray down on the nightstand beside the bed, then straightened, her hands going to her hips. “Is bright as a button, playing on the floor in the parlor. He’s corralled with cushions from the sofa and chairs.”
Huffing, fumbling, all thumbs, Petra managed to tie a bow in the ribbon at her waist. She’d forgotten how complicated women’s clothing could be. She rather missed her simple blanket skirt and Matt’s flannel shirt. “Matt?”
Doreen gave her an indulgent smile. “He left early.”
Legs folding up like pickup sticks, Petra collapsed on the bed and put her hands to her face. He was gone. Last night then, was farewell. The kisses, long and deep, his touch so tender, all of it was goodbye. “Gone? He’s gone back to the hot springs?”
Doreen shook her head and held out the cup of tea. “You better have some tea. Buck said he had some things to take care of…some business, he said. He’s still in town.”
Disbelieving, Petra gave herself a little shake. “What business? When did he leave?”
Pushing off the bed, she came to her feet, took a sip of hot tea, closed her eyes, then breathing deeply, steadied her rocky emotions. “Lately, he’s never around when I need him. Where does he go, and why?”
Doreen laughed at her. “Men always have business. He woke up when Gabriel started to squeak. He said he wanted to let you sleep. I’ve never seen a man so natural with a baby before. I found him in my kitchen, with Gabriel cradled in the crook of his arm. He had cooked some mush. He thinned it down with some of my goat’s milk. The goat’s milk I use for my complexion, mind—and have to buy special. Anyway, he made this stuff and he cooled it down, blowing on it, testing it on the back of his wrist like a fussy old grandma. I thought I was seeing things. I watched him spoon that sloppy stuff into the kid, getting it all over himself, all over Gabriel, and both of them having the best time. Honey, what did you do to that man? I have to know. The Buck Hoyt I know and love is a grumpy old bear, testy, hairy and unsociable.
“After he fed the baby, he had me put the cushions down on the floor and said he was going out on business and he’d try to be back by noon. He told me to let you sleep as long as I could, and mind the baby. Mind the baby, that’s what he said.”
Petra picked up the tray and started for the kitchen, Doreen following close on her heels. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten o’clock. I didn’t want to wake you, but Gabriel is getting kind of fussy. I think he’s muddied his drawers. Probably the stuff Buck made him eat—poor thing. I’m not very good at changing muddy diapers. I’ll do wet ones, but muddy…yuck.”
Setting the tray down on the kitchen table and going to the mound of cushions in the middle of the parlor floor, Petra spoke over her shoulder, “You should’ve woke me sooner. I can’t believe
how late it is. Mush and goat’s milk, of all things.”
Getting down on their hands and knees, the ladies peered over the edge of the barricade. Gabriel appeared happy as a lark, on his back, playing with his toes, blowing bubbles and reeking of poo.
Crawling over the cushions, Petra set to work changing Gabriel’s messy diaper. After she’d rinsed it out, washed it and hung it up to dry, she sat down on the floor to nurse him, her legs folded Indian style.
Doreen joined her after she reheated the tea and retrieved the muffins. Petra could feel Doreen’s eyes on her, studying her. The woman had questions.
“What made you think Buck had gone back to the hot springs?”
Pressing her lips together, Petra fought for a tone of indifference. “I would imagine he’s anxious to get back to his livestock. It is his home, after all.”
“Hmmm.” Doreen narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, clearly not fooled. “Yes, but you have to know he wouldn’t leave without you. Without you and Gabriel.”
No, she didn’t know it. She didn’t know it at all. “Oh, I won’t be going back to the hot springs.” Petra hoped she didn’t sound as hurt and lost as she felt. “I couldn’t go back there.” Keeping her tears at bay proved a struggle. With her eyes down to Gabriel’s sweet, fuzzy little head, she hoped Doreen wouldn’t make her explain.
Doreen sat back, leaning against the sofa. “Ah, so it’s like that,” was all she said. “How would you feel if I told you Buck says he’s not gonna need me, or any of the other girls, come spring?”
The blood rushed up to set her cheeks on fire. Unable to meet Doreen’s eyes, Petra played with Gabriel’s fingers. “Is that what he told you?” Through her eyelashes, she saw Doreen confirm the question with a nod.
Enraged, Petra wanted to know how it was that Matt told Doreen his plans and not her. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
Unable to answer, Doreen shrugged her shoulders. “He will. I’m sure of it.”
Lifting Gabriel to her shoulder to burp him, Petra tamped down her ire. “Oh, I don’t think so. He’s been keeping to himself here in town. He’s been distant, only coming to my bed at night. He hardly talks to me at all. He certainly hasn’t shared his thoughts with me. He’s been down at the saloon a lot, too.”
Dance Hall Road Page 21
