“Next witness,” called the judge.
A handful of witnesses came forward, mostly passengers from the train who had given a statement to the authorities. Pierce hoped they would call for those who had witnessed the encounter between him and Volker when the bastard tried kidnapping him off the train. He could then offer up inquiries for Euan to ask, and help link Volker to the gang who were actually responsible for the robbery attempt.
Two of the witnesses were the man in the tweed jacket, Mr. Jack Conner, and the woman with the baby, Mrs. Beth Topper, both of whom spoke to Pierce just before the train explosions. They testified about Pierce talking to Robin. Pierce wrote out his next set of questions for his solicitor to ask.
“You overheard him speak about money to this unknown person?” Euan asked Beth. “What makes you believe he was speaking about the bank money on the train?”
“Well . . . I don’t, actually,” she admitted.
“So, for all you know, Mr. Landcross could have been talking about his own money?”
“I suppose so.”
Euan revisited the same question with Jack when he took the stand.
“I don’t know if he was talking about the bank money,” Jack admitted. “I only thought it was a coincidence.”
“Is that what you told the officers at the scene? That there was a possibility it was a mere coincidence”
“No.”
“What did you say?”
“I told the guard . . .” Jack thought a moment. “ . . . that I bet it was Pierce Landcross who robbed the train.”
“Do you admit to jumping to conclusions when you stated this?” Euan pressed.
The witness scanned the courtroom. All eyes, including Pierce’s, were on him.
“Remember that you’re under oath, Mr. Conner,” Euan reminded him.
So long as Pierce fed him the right questions, the nitwit acted like a real lawyer. Sort of.
“S’pose I did,” Jack admitted.
Next to be called to the witness box was First Lieutenant Jeffery Porter, who had been one of the officers guarding the money car. He spoke about the explosions and the aftermath.
“You questioned the bandits who were apprehended, yes?” the prosecutor asked.
“I am. I demanded to know who their leader was.”
“And what did they tell you, First Lieutenant?”
“They claimed Pierce Landcross was their ringleader.”
“I see. And what did you do afterward?”
“I was shown a photograph of Mr. Landcross, and my men and I searched, but it seemed he and the others he was with had fled the scene.”
“He left?”
“Yes. On stolen horses, it turned out.”
That looked bad, Pierce had to admit. Yet Jack’s statement from before had given him an idea, and so, he wrote it down.
“Mr. Landcross fled,” Matthew explained to the court. “That does not sound like the actions of an innocent man to me. No further questions.”
Pierce handed the paper over to the guard and whispered to Euan, “Ask him if people were around when he spoke to these robbers they caught.”
With a nod, Euan turned his focus on the witness. “Lieutenant Porter—”
“First Lieutenant Porter, sir,” he corrected.
By then, it seemed ol’ Euan was adapting to being spoken to harshly. “Ah, yes, many apologies, First Lieutenant. Can you tell me exactly what the robbers told you?”
“In the beginning, they barely cooperated. In fact, when I demanded to know who planned the heist, a robber quoted, ‘We work for a bleedin’ fairy.’”
“Did he? Where did you conduct the interrogation? Were you alone with these men or were you amongst others?
“Some passengers were about.”
“And when was it that the robbers claimed it was my client who was their leader?”
“Actually, now that I think about it, it wasn’t until after Mr. Connor mentioned Landcross’s name.”
“Yes,” Pierce said through his teeth.
People in the stands murmured, as did the jurymen.
“Order,” demanded the judge. “Order, I say.”
“So, these thieves were reluctant to talk until Mr. Connor, here”—Euan gestured to Jack, now seated in the stands—“brought up Mr. Landcross’s name?”
“He did.”
“It sounds to me that Mr. Connor unintentionally gave them the idea,” Euan slyly threw in. “No further questions, my lord.”
The tide seemed to be turning in Pierce’s favor.
Chapter Sixteen
Guilty or Not Guilty
Pierce was giddy with excitement. What he believed to be an utterly hopeless situation had begun to shift in his favor. If he kept this up, he might actually be acquitted!
The next witness was a loopy-faced man named Ryan Anker. He entered the courtroom in shackles. Pierce gritted his teeth in anger. The bugger had been inside the abandoned house when Volker had Pierce on the table, ready to torture him to death. Pierce scowled at him as he walked by.
“’Ello, great leader,” Ryan greeted him with a half-arsed salute.
The paper Pierce held crumpled within the fist he made. It caught the attention of one of the guards standing nearby. Pierce took a breath. He needed to remain calm if he was going to continue turning the tide.
Ryan took the oath on the Holy Bible. Pierce knew he’d break that oath the moment he opened his ugly mouth.
“How do you know Mr. Landcross?” Matthew asked.
“He came to me, lookin’ for a lot to rob a money train with him.”
“Were you acquainted with Mr. Landcross beforehand?”
“Aye. I ran with ’im years ago. Highway robbin’ and such. I retired and grew roots near the Mansfield area.”
“I see. And after years of retirement, you decided to join Mr. Landcross in the train robbery?”
“It was loads of money. Landcross promised thousands!”
Pierce gritted his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. He began writing.
“And did Landcross ever mention anything about being part of a rebel bracket? Perhaps cut from the revolutionary wave?” Matthew prodded.
Pierce’s eyes widened. The bastard prosecutor was leading the witness, feeding him the assumption that Darius had already given.
He turned to Euan and whispered, “Oi. Object.”
“Pardon?” the idiot murmured to him.
“Object,” Pierce repeated louder. “He’s leading the witness.”
“As a matter of fact,” Ryan mused while rubbing his chin, “he did tell me he was working for a band of revolutionaries.”
“In France?” Matthew pushed.
“Aye. France. He was on a mission to get them money for weapons, but when the robbery went to pot, he convinced us to come with him to assassinate the monarch.”
“Objection!” Pierce yelled out. “That’s a bloody lie, and if it were true, you were already arrested. How would you have known about an assassination plot, eh?”
“Hey!” Euan yelled at Pierce. “I’m supposed to say ‘objection.’”
“Then say it, you arse!” Pierce fired back. “That pissant prosecutor over there is bloody well spoon-feeding a false testimony to that cocker!”
The gavel slammed down multiple times. Pierce was surprised that the blasted thing didn’t break.
“I take offense at you disputing my credibility, Landcross,” Ryan said with a smirk. “And I thought we were mates.”
Pierce completely lost it. Between the blatant lies and the incompetence of his attorney, his anger surfaced as though it were underground lava. He hit the dock railing with a bandaged fist before pushing the gate open. He stepped out of the dock and marched toward the witness box.
“That’s a lie and you know it is, you fuckin’ knobhead!” Pierce bellowed. “Never did I do or say any of that shite!”
The guards were quick to snare him. It took three men, for his rage always added to his strength. Two of the
m held him by his arms, pulling them so far back the wrist chains pressed against his belly, while the third guard pushed against his chest. Other guards surrounded them, aiming their rifles at him. People stood and spoke loudly over the magistrate’s shouting.
“Order! Order, damn you!”
His loud shouting helped Pierce see what was happening, and he stopped resisting. When the audience finally quieted down, all that remained was the banging of the gavel.
Ol’ Judge Spencer eventually stopped and pointed the gavel at Pierce. “Mr. Landcross, this is your final warning. One more outburst from you and I shall remove you from this court. Is that what you want?”
Pierce realized that left to his own devices, Euan Wood would surely lose the case. Therefore, getting tossed out would be his death sentence.
“No, Your Honor.” He breathed deeply. “I apologize.”
“Good. Now get back into your box.”
The guards relaxed their hold and the rest lowered their rifles. One of the guards pulled Pierce by his arm toward the dock.
“Anything to add, Mr. Beckham?” the judge asked the peckerwood prosecutor.
“No, Your Honor.”
Pierce stepped into the dock and smoothed out the crumpled paper he’d had clutched in his hand the entire time. He handed it over for the guard to give to his attorney. Euan read it over quickly. At least he was a good speed-reader.
“Mr. Anker, have you ever met anyone by the name of Volker Jäger?” Euan prodded.
“Never heard of ’im,” Ryan quickly answered.
“Are you sure?” Euan pressed. “He is . . .” He read the description that Pierce had written. “. . . an albino German with a mechanical arm. Ring any bells?”
“Nope. I think I’d remember the likes of someone like that, eh?”
“Yes. I suppose you would,” Euan granted. “Allow me to indulge you. Volker Jäger was a general-turned-criminal who carries with him a lust for revenge for those he feels have failed or betrayed him. He’s described as a psychopath, once a member of the British Guardians, responsible for torture and for leaving scorched bodies hanging by roadsides. You say you never heard of him?”
This was a long shot. After all, Volker was dead. But Ryan wasn’t in the courtroom when that nasty business was briefly discussed. For all Ryan knew, Volker was still out there somewhere. Pierce figured Ryan would deny any association with the real leader, so he figured he’d use a scare tactic on Ryan to prompt the sod to start talking. It seemed to be working.
“N-no,” stammered the witness. “As I said, never heard of ’im.”
“You appear nervous, Mr. Anker. Is there something you wish to get off your chest?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” called the prosecutor. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“Mr. Beckham has a point, Mr. Wood,” agreed the judge. “Again with this Volker fellow? How is this relevant to the case?”
“Erm,” Euan muttered, reading the paper. “Um, yes. My client claims that Volker Jäger is the true leader of the gang responsible for the train robbery.”
“The same murderer whom Landcross has also claimed to have crushed to death in the train factory?” the judge threw in.
Dammit!
“Yes, my lord.”
“Wait, he’s dead?” Ryan said, perking up.
“Until the body is recovered and identified, I see no reason why he should be included in this case,” good ol’ Spencer added.
Pierce wanted to argue otherwise but knew better.
“Any more questions for the witness, counselor?” the magistrate chided.
“No, my lord.”
Ryan was then excused.
The trial, as Pierce had expected, was a bloody waste of time. There were just too many details left out and too many angles left unexplored. If the prince hadn’t demanded a trial right away, there would have been more time to gather the right evidence to prove his innocence. He needed help.
The next witness that the court called nearly made Pierce fall out of the dock.
“We the court call Robert Jones to the stand,” announced Matthew.
When Pierce saw him, a sickness twisted his stomach.
Robert Blackbird walked by him. He made little eye contact with Pierce, most likely to keep from drawing too much suspicion. Pierce hated that he had to be here. The risk of anyone discovering his past made Pierce very edgy. However, there was nothing he could do about it, so he worked to keep his own shock in check.
Robert went straight to the witness stand and took his oath.
“State your name for the court,” said Matthew.
“Robert Jones.”
After a few basic inquiries, the prosecutor got into the meat of it. “What did you see in the Circle Theater on the night of the attack?”
“My wife and I were seated in the box seat when shots were fired during the first act. Mr. Pots shouted that the Queen was being attacked, and I rushed out just as another man stopped me.”
“He stopped you?”
“Yes.”
“And who was this man? Is he here in the court?”
“Yes.”
“Point him out, please, sir.”
Robert pointed to Pierce. “It was Pierce Landcross.”
“What happened after he stopped you?”
“He ran into the loge and, moments later, two more shots rang out. I went in to find one of the assailants deceased and Landcross kneeling by the Queen.”
“Was the Queen wounded at this time?”
“She was. It appeared she had banged her head against the wall. Mr. Landcross was holding a handkerchief to the wound.”
“A handkerchief?” Matthew repeated, sounding surprised. “Are you sure it wasn’t a gun or a knife?”
“No, it was a handkerchief,” Robert stated firmly. “My own wife can confirm it. Mr. Landcross was helping her. Not trying to kill her. And I’m convinced that it was Landcross who killed the assailant before he could carry out his dreadful deed.”
“Yes, well,” the lawyer snarled, “you claimed you came in after the shooting?”
“Yes.”
“Then you did not see how the Queen was wounded.”
“I told you, it appeared as though she had hit her head.”
“Yes, appeared. You’re not certain, are you?”
“No,” Robert admitted.
“For all you know, it was Mr. Landcross who hit her when he ran out of bullets. His gun— seized by Lord Javan—was found with an empty chamber.”
“Then why was he assisting her?” Robert challenged.
“Could it be that he got scared, Mr. Jones?” Matthew turned to address the court. “After all, it’s common knowledge that Mr. Landcross returned Her Majesty’s necklace when she caught him stealing it several years ago. Could it be that he simply lost his nerve?”
People in the stands chattered.
“I disagree,” Robert said.
“You do?” the prosecutor challenged, turning to him. “You say this with a dash of vigor, sir. Do you know the defendant personally?”
Pierce dreaded the answer Robert might give. Certainly, he could admit that they were mates without mentioning how they were once thieving partners, but it would shine a dangerous light on him. And after the investigation into Robert in France, there was a greater risk that someone might discover his previous life as Anatolie Hagi. If Robert confessed about his past life, they might be able to sway the jury. However, it would come at a steep price.
Robert eyed him, and Pierce shook his head ever so slightly.
“No,” Robert finally answered. “I’ve never met him before.”
“Then how can you be sure he did not do the things he’s accused of?”
“It is just something I gathered from the books I’ve read about him, and—”
“Those books were based on true events, Mr. Jones,” Matthew interrupted. “They’re not one hundred percent factual. Those novels are nothing more than propaganda material
idolizing an outlaw who should have met his Maker at the end of a rope many years ago.”
“That is your opinion, sir,” Robert seethed. “Personally, I feel—”
“No more questions, Your Honor,” the prosecutor stated, taking his seat.
Pierce snarled at the lanky louse.
“Your witness, Mr. Wood,” said the judge.
Euan glanced over at Pierce, who had written nothing down this time. There was nothing he could ask of his friend that wouldn’t jeopardize his life. Pierce sighed and bowed his head, his hands clutching the railing of the dock.
He didn’t expect anything from his lawyer, so it surprised Pierce when Euan said, “Mr. Jones, how do you view Mr. Landcross?”
Pierce raised his chin and looked over at Robert, who took a moment before answering.
“I view him as a kindhearted man. Brave and loyal to those he cares for.”
“And you don’t believe he aimed to harm our Queen?”
“No. In fact, I believe he saved her life.” Robert turned to the jury. “Now, here he is, standing trial, struggling against all hope to convince you to find him innocent and grant him his freedom. And I beg the court to do just that.”
Silence settled over the room.
Euan nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Jones. I have no further questions, Your Honor.”
The next witness called to the stand was Penelope, who told her side of the story, which supported her husband’s.
“And there was another woman there?” Euan asked after Matthew finished his inquiries.
“Oui. She came in shortly after Mr. Landcross ran after the German who killed Mrs. Katz. She stayed for a little while, and when she was gone, the Queen lost consciousness.”
Her testimony immediately caught Pierce’s attention. He jotted down questions on what little room he had left on his last piece of paper and handed it to Euan.
After his defense attorney read it, he asked, “Can you describe this woman?”
“She was tall with red hair and violet eyes.”
Freya. Of course. That explained Victoria’s abrupt coma. She must have done something to her. The only way out for him would be if Victoria woke up and told everyone what really happened. To prevent that from happening, Freya had had a hand in keeping her quiet until the noose snapped his neck.
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