by J. R. WRIGHT
With the opening statements out of the way, Judge Samuels looked to the prosecutor. “Call your first witness, Mister Wilson.”
“The prosecution calls Burr County Sheriff Preston Ames.”
With that a low roar came from the gallery and that prompted Judge Samuels to gavel them down. Preston went to the witness stand, as he had hundreds of times before over the years. The clerk came from the side with a bible and asked him to place his left hand on it. After that, Ames raised his right hand and rattled off the oath without any further coaching. He then seated himself — also without being told.
Prosecutor Wilson came forward. “Sheriff, how is it you are certain Yancey Burke killed Clyde Banyon?”
“Well, for one thing, he was trying to slip out of town in the dead of night, with all of his belongings. An innocent man doesn’t run.”
Katie wondered how things would have turned out had Yancey turned himself in, as he’d wanted to. Knowing Preston as she did, it would have made no difference, she was certain. They would still be here today, fighting for his life.
“But even before that, Sheriff, you knew he was the one that done the killing, right?” Wilson said.
“I did. You see, Yancey and Clyde had been at each other over at the tavern, earlier. Clyde had knocked Yancey’s hat off, and because of that, Yancey pulled a gun on him. At that time, Yancey vowed he’d catch up with Clyde later — and deal with him properly then.”
From where she sat behind Woody Clampett, Katie was taking notes of inconsistencies in Preston Ames’ testimony. She would share those with Woody upon cross examination.
“So, how was Clyde killed, Sheriff?”
“Clyde was accosted at his place of business and bludgeoned to death with one single blow of a horseshoe hammer. When he was found it was embedded in his brain. Poor Clyde was so pop-eyed his own mother couldn’t have recognized him.”
With that the gallery groaned in harmony.
“Objection!” Clampett jumped to his feet. “Your Honor, I don’t see a reason for this sort of graphic testimony. It certainly adds no evidence that may point to the guilt of my client, or anyone else for that matter. Therefore, I see no usefulness in it whatsoever.”
“The cat’s out of the bag, Mister Clampett,” Judge Samuels said. “What do you suggest I do?”
“An admonishment of Sheriff Ames may be a start,” Woody said and sat down.
But then the real reason for his objection was primarily to point out to the jury, they shouldn’t associate the gruesomeness of this killing with his client. His client was innocent.
“Sheriff, I understand Yancey Burke put up quite a fight when you and Deputy Kermit Striker first attempted to apprehend him?”
“He’d have gotten away if Striker hadn’t shot his horse,” Ames said. “Then Yancey there pulled a derringer he kept in his boot and shot Kermit.”
“Well, I see Deputy Striker is still with us, Sheriff.”
“I got him medical attention. Doctor Kromwede was summoned from home. He mended Deputy Striker without much difficulty. I guess the bullet must have passed on through him.”
“But he could have died, couldn’t he?” Wilson said.
“Your Honor, please …” Woody stood. “Talk about whipping a dead horse over a minor injury. I talked to Kromede. They’re blowing an accidental firing of my client’s gun way out of proportion. Isn’t that right, Doctor?” Woody turned to the gallery and saw Kromwede stand.
“That’s right,” the doctor said. “The wound across Deputy Striker’s rib cage was nothing more than a minor graze. There wasn’t a stitch taken and blood loss was minimal.”
“Jesus Christ almighty,” the judge was heard saying before slamming the gavel down numerous times. “What in the name of God do you think you’re doing, Clampett? Sit down, Doctor!”
“Well, sir, how else am I going to compete with this tirade of lies? The fact of the matter is Kermit Striker shot himself trying to get my client’s gun out of his boot … Give me that boot, Yancey.”
Yancey quickly removed it and handed it over. Woody soon had a finger poked out through an obvious bullet hole through the side of the boot, a few inches above the heel. “There, Your Honor … Do you see that?” Woody turned so both the jury and the gallery could see the wiggling finger.
Katie couldn’t help but laugh, as did everyone in the courtroom, until the judge gaveled them quiet again.
With that, Sheriff Ames gave Deputy Striker, standing near the jury box, the evil eye. “You lied to me,” he mouthed, with an angry red face. Woody saw but didn’t much care. He’d made his points and was satisfied they’d cast a shadow over most everything Sheriff Ames had testified to so far. What was left he’d do his best to tarnish in cross examination.
“What the hell just happened here?” Prosecutor Lane Wilson finally woke up and shouted to the judge.
“Well, Lane, when you find out, please let me know,” Samuels said, not wanting to take the time necessary to straighten it all out. “Time being, are you finished with this witness?”
Hearing that, Preston Ames stepped down and began walking away from the witness stand.
The judge grabbed the gavel, then realizing it would do him no good, dropped it and instead shouted, “Recess — fifteen minutes!” and disappeared into his chambers. Lane Wilson, soon thereafter, followed him in.
Katie noted this as highly improper. A judge just didn’t hold conference with a counsel without the opposing counsel being present.
Once they were gone the gallery was alive with laughter laced chatter. None of them made a move to leave the building, however, knowing full well there was an equal number of people outside, anxiously awaiting a vacancy.
Katie handed her notes over to Woody. “I think this covers most of it, unless Yancey has something to add. The sheriff’s description of what happened in the tavern between Yancey and Clyde was one sided … in fact he wasn’t even there at the time … his testimony was mostly hearsay.”
“He wasn’t there?” Woody said and tossed up his hands. “Then he personally saw none of what he testified to?”
“He didn’t. And according to Lester Kingsley, he never examined the body either … He stayed well back the whole time … him and Striker both.”
“Well, where did that description come from then … hammer in head, bulging eyes …?”
“Maybe whoever found the body told him that.” Katie cringed at the thought.
“Who did find the body?”
“I don’t know that either,” Katie said.
“The sheriff didn’t say, when you talked to him in the tavern?”
“Nope. He just said somebody found Clyde’s body.”
“Where’s Lester Kingsley?”
“He had yet to turned up as of eight this morning,” Katie said. “I talked to Marta at the telephone office. She promised to send him over as soon as he shows … if he does.”
“Does he regularly disappear like this?” Woody asked.
“I guess he does, but never for this long before. Where he goes nobody seems to know.”
“A real moon walker, huh?”
“What’s a moon walker?” Katie asked.
“In Texas that’s what they call someone that wonders off in the night for little or no reason.”
“Oh!”
Yancey then leaned in and told the two of them some interesting things that happened in the hotel’s barn while he was being apprehended. He was certain Striker would have killed him, had the sheriff not driven up in his Model T when he did.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Judge Samuels gaveled the court back in session at ten thirty. Sheriff Ames reluctantly retook the stand.
Prosecutor Lane Wilson approached him. “Sheriff, in your previous testimony you didn’t actually see some of the things you spoke of, did you?”
With that Woody leaned back to Katie, “I guess they’re one step ahead of us. I wonder who’s responsible for wising them up.”
“As sheriff, I have to rely on my deputies for a lot of the information gathered. I take that as if I’d witnessed it myself,” Ames answered.
“So, in other words, your testimony here today was an accumulation of information gathered by all persons in your office?” Wilson said.
“That’s correct. I speak for all of them.”
“Not so fast!” Woody came to his feet. “Your Honor, I find nothing in the law that will allow one person to testify for another. Not even in this instance, where the sheriff has established himself as some sort of know all see all, can he declare himself above the law. It’s still hearsay, through and through, Judge.”
Judge Samuels gaveled for silence as grumbling came from the gallery. “I’ll allow it,” he simply said, attempting a quick remedy to a sticky situation. “Sit down, Clampett!”
“I will not sit down! Not until you make the proper ruling, Judge!” Woody’s voice echoed throughout the room. “It is the law and that goes without exception!”
“Maybe you’d rather spend the night in jail for contempt, Mister Clampett?” Judge Samuels shouted back.
“A night in jail for insisting you follow the law? Your Honor’s threat will not persuade me to stand idly by while you allow bits and pieces of hearsay to be strung together and presented to this jury as fact! Not when that man’s honesty is in question anyway.” He thrust a finger at Preston Ames, who was glaring angrily back at him. “Not when my client’s life is at stake here.”
The gallery, finding it impossible to restrain themselves any longer, began to rumble. Judge Samuels gaveled them down one more time.
“Then you leave me no choice in the matter, Mister Clampett,” Samuels started, “Therefore, I hereby declare the entirety of Sheriff Ames’ testimony unfit. The jury is hereby instructed to disregard every word of it, as well as the rebuttal offered by the attorney for the defense. With that said it appears we are back to square one as far as this trial is concerned … Does that satisfy you, Mister Clampett?”
Woody wasn’t satisfied, but since he was confident he’d gotten his point across to the jury anyway, he said, “Only if the sheriff is instructed to be absolutely truthful in his testimony, from this moment forward.”
“Preston, you heard that,” Samuels said. “Now let’s move on. Mister Wilson, proceed.”
“I have no further questions of this witness,” Wilson said and seated himself.
“How can you have no further questions, when technically you have asked none?” Woody said primarily to antagonize a raw situation.
“Then I’ll ask none,” Wilson returned smartly.
“He’s your witness,” Woody pointed out. “Why did you call him if you have no questions? Wilson, you do know it was Sheriff Preston Ames that filed murder charges against my client. And that it is his and your burden, as sheriff and prosecutor, to prove his guilt. I might add, beyond the shadow of a doubt?”
“In due time, Mister Clampett … In due time,” Wilson said. “Your Honor, I exercise my right to reserve this witness for a later time,” Wilson said, cleverly. “The prosecution will instead call Deputy Kermit Striker.”
Striker came from the side, stepped up to the stand. Once he was sworn in and seated, Wilson approached. “Deputy, did you find the dead body of Clyde Banyon?
“I did.”
“And where was it you found said body?”
“At the town’s livery. It was in a room in the rear of the blacksmith shop.”
“Were you searching for Clyde at the time?”
“I was. The sheriff wanted to question him on another matter.”
At this point Katie began to write feverishly on her pad. It appeared to her one liar on the stand had been exchanged for another of the same ilk.
“Deputy, about what time of day was it when you found the body?”
“Close to nine at night,” Striker said. “I remember checking my watch before entering the livery; it was a quarter of nine.”
Katie made note of that as well. That would certainly come in handy when Lester was called to testify.
“Did you see anyone around the livery at the time?” Wilson asked.
“I saw Yancey Burke riding away on that white horse of his. It looked to me like he was in a big hurry … his horse was at a full gallop by the time it reached the main street, a block away.”
With that, Yancey looked back to Katie and shook his head disgustedly. Katie nodded in return. She’d also detected the inconsistencies in Striker’s testimony from what Yancey had told her actually happened.
“So, is that why the sheriff ordered Yancey Burke arrested?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what was the reason?” Wilson asked.
“We had an eye witness that saw him do it,” Striker said, then glanced to Yancey.
With that Katie gasped. Now she didn’t dare look to Yancey, even though from the corner of her eye, she saw him trying to get her attention.
“And who was that?”
“Lester Kingsley,” Striker said boldly.
With that the gallery became loud with chatter.
Katie’s heart took a leap and she screamed out: “That’s a lie! Lester is a friend of mine. He told me what he saw at that livery that night, and Yancey’s name was never mentioned! In fact he dictated and signed this!” She waved about the statement Kingsley had given her and signed.
Judge Samuels banged his gavel so hard the head broke off and flew across the courtroom. “Young lady!” he shouted. “You best shut your mouth or I’ll have no choice but to remove you! Quiet in the court!”
Katie looked disappointedly to both Woody and Yancey, who were glaring at her. “Lester will clear this up when we find him … you’ll see.”
“Do you have more questions for this witness, Mister Wilson?” the judge asked.
“I’m finished with him for the time being,” Lane Wilson said and went back to his table.
“Your witness, Mister Clampett.”
Woody took his time getting up from the table. He wanted the jury to get over the shock of what was previously presented before tackling Striker. When he finally got to his feet and ambled over, he had Katie’s notes in his hands, and was going through them. He hoped this would make Striker uneasy.
“Kermit … That is your name, isn’t it?”
“Most call me Striker.”
“But it is your name?”
“It is.”
“Kermit, was it your intention to kill Yancey Burke in that hotel barn, the night you came across him there?”
“No, sir,” Striker said and glanced again to Yancey.
“Then can you tell me how it happened that you shot Yancey’s horse, Hank, in the belly, causing the poor animal to suffer severely, before finally dying?”
Some in the gallery groaned.
Then before Striker could offer up an answer, Woody said, “I submit you were attempting to kill Mister Burke, as he scurried about that barn, avoiding your gunfire! And that’s when Hank was accidentally hit by one of your carelessly fired bullets! Isn’t that what happened, Kermit?” Woody spit the name out.
“What difference does it make?” Striker said, smartly. “He’s a killer.”
“Accused, Mister Striker,” Woody pointed out. “Shooting an unarmed man is considered a crime … even for an officer of the law. Do you know that, Kermit?”
Striker shrugged defiantly.
“If Lester Kingsley actually told you he witnessed the murder of Clyde Banyon, why didn’t you tell Sheriff Ames about it right away? The truth is, you never told the sheriff about in until days later … Isn’t that true, Kermit?”
Striker shot a look to Preston Ames, at the left side of the room, and saw the sheriff’s face redden. “How did you know that?” Striker asked. He threw his attention back to Woody.
“I didn’t, Kermit. Not at all. But I had a strong suspicion … Thank you.”
“Kermit, you were in the tavern Friday night, weren’t you?”
“I believe so.”
“Who were you looking for?” Woody asked.
“No one in particular.”
“Then why did you draw your gun as soon as Lester Kingsley entered the place? In fact you took aim at him. And if it wasn’t for the quick action of another patron, you would have shot him, wouldn’t you?”
“No!” Striker shouted. “I just wanted to talk to him!”
“Well, it appears Kingsley didn’t want to talk to you. Some witness he turned out to be. He ran for the rear door upon catching sight of you, Kermit. What do you have to say to that?”
With pinched lips Striker glared up to him.
“Kermit … what did you do with Lester Kingsley?”
The room was suddenly stone quiet. Only the ceiling fans made a swishing sound.
“Wha … What did you say?” Striker got to his feet and stepped from the witness stand.
“I said,” Woody near shouted this time, “what did you do with Lester Kingsley, Striker!” He turned and watched him go.
“Get back to where you were, Deputy Striker!” Judge Samuels barked from the bench and came to his feet.
“I’m done here …” Striker said as he continued toward the door at the left side of the courtroom, where Sheriff Preston Ames had stationed himself.
“Get back on that stand!” Sheriff Ames, red faced again, gave an angry shove to reverse Striker’s advancement.
At that moment anxious noises at the back of the courtroom got everyone’s attention. Then the door flew open and one of the deputies from outside stepped through it and shouted, “Lester Kingsley’s dead! He hanged himself down at the railroad trestle!”
“Oh, God! No!” Katie screamed and collapsed on the floor. Yancey jumped from his seat and dropped to his knees to comfort her.
Looking around at the disruption, the judge pounded the bench with a fist. “Clear the court! Clear the court! Everybody out!” he shouted, then came down to floor level. “We resume at one o’clock sharp! Preston, please see to it Striker is present. I plan to end this thing today if we need to go into the night. I’ve never had a trial that lasted more than a day, and this one won’t become the first.” Looking around he noticed the jury still seated. “I said everybody out! Be back at one o’clock.”
