by Robert Knott
“I have been a judge longer than well water, and in that time I have never come across anything as despicable and atrocious as you.”
Ben Salter’s chin was on his chest.
“I needed the money,” he said quietly.
“Come again?”
Ben looked up, making eye contact with Callison.
“I needed the money.”
The judge shook his head in disbelief.
“You testified in that room out there,” the judge said with a point toward the courtroom, “to send an innocent man to hang.”
Ben Salter looked to the three of us, then back to the judge.
“It was him or me,” he said.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I was over my head in debt,” he said.
“Go on.”
“Gambling debt, to some very unsavory men that were going to kill me. They’d killed others. I knew this, but I . . . had no choice.”
“Where was this?”
“Saint Louis.”
“You did not come here from Denver?”
“No, I did come in from Denver, I made the trip to Denver before I came here. I went to the police in Denver and told them I was an eyewitness, that was part of what I was supposed to do and then I came here, but I’m from Saint Louis.”
“Why did you not just leave Saint Louis and get away from these men instead of doing what you did?”
He shook his head and started to cry.
“I have a wife and kids.”
Callison shook his head.
“How was it this . . . anonymous . . . opportunity came about for you?” Callison said.
“I received an envelope with half the money that I owed,” he said.
“How much money?”
“Twelve hundred dollars.”
“Continue,” Callison said with a roll of his finger.
“In the envelope was a letter with instructions on how and when, if I performed convincingly, as I had performed in . . . in the play, I would receive the other half.”
“An additional twelve hundred?”
“Yes.”
“And what made you think that there would be the money waiting for you?”
“There was the promise of a five-hundred-dollar bonus.”
“And you believed this?”
“Yes, the fact there was twelve hundred was good enough for me.”
Callison looked to us and shook his head dramatically.
“For the life of another man?”
He nodded.
“I fucked up.”
“Oh, yes, you did,” Callison said.
Callison glared at him for a moment.
Callison turned in his chair and pointed to the painting.
“This is not yours, I presume?”
Ben looked at the painting and shook his head.
“And you are not a painter?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“So how was it you acquired the . . . this Bloom Where You Are Planted painting you showed here as evidence?”
“The note had instructions for me and what I was to do.”
“Which was what, exactly?”
“Arrive here,” he said. “Check into the hotel and I would find further instruction. If I performed convincingly, I would get the rest of the money and the bonus.”
“And what was the instruction?”
“There was the painting and a note detailing what I was to do with it.”
Callison shook his head again.
“What is your profession?”
“I’m an actor,” he said.
Callison’s eyes got big.
“My God,” he said. “A thespian?”
“Yes,” he said.
“In Saint Louis?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you receive this letter?”
“At the theater,” he said. “In Saint Louis. The Saint Louis Theater.”
“Explain,” Callison said.
“I was doing a play,” he said. “And after an evening performance I went back to my dressing room and I found the letter, with the money.”
Callison turned and looked to us and shook his head slowly from side to side, then looked back to him.
“Where did you have this gambling debt?”
“All over town, really,” he said. “I would borrow money, and I just kept borrowing, and I thought I would get ahead, but I didn’t. For a while I was in very good favor, but then my debt got bad and I was kicked out of most places.”
“Did you gamble in the casino that was opened by Mr. Black?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you did not know Mr. Black?”
“No, I never met him. He was gone from Saint Louis before I ever went into the place.”
“You say you were in good favor? What do you mean by that?”
“I had a credit line, but then it was called and I was barred from going into most places, including Pritchard’s place.”
“And you did not go to the police, I take it?”
He stared at Callison.
“No.”
“You are in serious trouble,” Callison said. “You understand this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said.
74.
July Fourth was a day of celebration. Judge Callison sat in his office with Virgil, Bill Black, Juniper, and me, and reviewed Black’s history. He listened patiently and without expression to Juniper’s exceptional but long-winded oratory regarding Black’s wrongful incarceration, persecution, and sufferings.
When Juniper finished, Judge Callison stared at him for a long moment, then gazed out the window. Then he looked back behind his chair as if he heard something. After a few seconds he turned back to Black. He stared at Black for an enduring amount of time before he said anything.
“To say there is a litany of wrongdoing on your part, Mr. Black, would be a gross understatement.”
Black sat, stoically looking at the judge.
“What you have done,” Callison said, “what you have left in your wake cannot be reversed. Though I cannot hold you directly accountable for everything that has happened in your wake, I can, of course, not dismiss the direct disregard you have shown to the law and to the sanctity of the law and of this courtroom. So I find you guilty of destroying city property and charge you with a fine in the amount of however much it will cost to replace the bars you pried from the windows of the jail and the bed frame you ripped out of the floor . . . fair enough?”
“It is, Your Honor,” Juniper said.
“I was not talking to you,” Callison said.
Black held his head upright, smiled, and said, “Thank you.”
That afternoon, I walked with Allie to the hospital to get Daphne.
“You’re smitten,” Allie said.
“You think?” I said.
“I do,” she said.
“I like her.”
“Like her,” Allie said with a grin, then elbowed me in the ribs. “You’re smitten.”
“Maybe a little.”
“I know she likes you.”
“What’s not to like,” I said.
“That’s true,” she said. “You’re a pretty fair catch.”
We were approaching the hotel, where the chief was sitting on the porch with Detective King.
“Good afternoon,” the chief said.
“It is,” I said.
“Word?” he said, then scrutinized Allie a little and offered a crooked smile.
I glanced to Allie.
“Oh . . . go ahead, Everett,” she said. “I want to get some clothes for Daphne, anyway. I know she’ll appreciate it.”
The chief watched as Allie wal
ked up the steps past him and into the hotel, then leveled a harsh look at me.
“So the sonofabitch got off the hook?” the chief said.
“Obviously should have never been on the hook,” I said.
“It’s bullshit.”
“Not.”
“Oh, bullshit,” he said. “If he did not do it. Then who the hell did?”
“I could ask you the same question,” I said.
“And you think I would have an answer?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Do you?”
“He tricked you,” the chief said.
I looked off down the street, smiled a bit to myself, then looked back to him, but didn’t say anything.
“He can’t fool me,” the chief said.
“No?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t care what happened with the fella that lied about what he saw.”
“That seems apparent.”
“He won’t get away with this.”
“Judge commuted his sentence,” I said.
“So.”
“So?”
“It’s bullshit.”
“No,” I said with a smile, “it’s not.”
“It goddamn sure is,” he said, getting to his feet aggressively.
Detective King got quickly out of his chair and put his hand on the chief’s chest as a precaution to keep the chief from physically attacking me, which he was close to doing.
“Look,” I said, “I know you lost your son and daughter-in-law, and I’m sorry for your . . .”
“She was nothing but a goddamn tramp,” he said with red face. “A goddamn tramp.”
Allie came out the door with a suitcase in her hand, looking at me like she had just seen a ghost. She glanced to the chief briefly and came down the steps in a hurry.
She hooked her arm in mine and said, “Come on, Everett.”
I moved off with Allie as she practically dragged me away from the chief and Detective King.
I looked to her as we crossed the street in a hurry and tears were running down her cheeks.
“What is it, Allie?” I said. “What’s wrong?”
Allie pulled me around the corner and we walked a ways farther until we got to an alley. Then she pulled me into the alley.
“What is it, Allie?”
She let go of me and continued to walk in the alley, and when she was ten feet in front of me she turned on me and said, “She did it.”
“What?”
“She killed the woman in Denver.”
“What?”
“Daphne,” she said. “She did it, Everett.”
Allie dropped to her knees and opened the suitcase. Inside the case were tubes of oil paints, brushes, and a tintype photograph of Bloom’s Inn.
75.
Though it was not direct proof, it was proof enough that Daphne was in part responsible for the death of Ruth Ann Messenger. Allie did not accompany me to the hospital, nor did I go with Virgil. I went alone. I wanted to go alone. When I entered her room she was sitting up in bed smiling, and sitting with her, with his back to the door, was Bill Black. He turned and smiled at me.
“Howdy,” Black said.
I nodded a bit.
“Everett,” she said, “I’m so happy to see you today. Happy Independence Day.”
Black’s big frame blocked Daphne’s view of the suitcase I held in my hand.
“Guess what?” she said.
“What?”
“Bill has asked me to marry him,” she said.
Black nodded and looked back to me and smiled.
“I was stupid enough to let her get away before,” he said. “Not this time, though.”
“And you have accepted?”
She smiled.
“I have,” she said.
I moved into the room, and when I did she saw the case in my hand. She stared at it as if I were holding something dead.
“No,” she said, and shook her head.
“No what?” I said.
She stared at the case for a moment longer, then looked to Black. Black looked to the case, then looked to me.
“What?” he said with a grin.
I set the suitcase on the foot of the bed and Daphne recoiled like the thing that was dead was now alive.
“Found this in your room,” I said. “In your closet.”
“No,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
She started to shake her head back and forth like a child refusing to listen to her parents. Then tears started to fall from her eyes.
“What’s . . . what’s going on?” Black said.
“I won’t let you do this,” she said. “I won’t let you do this. I won’t let you do this.”
“I didn’t do anything, Daphne,” I said.
“What?” Black said. “What is it?”
“This is your doing, Daphne,” I said.
“What’s going on here?” he said, and reached for the suitcase.
“No!” Daphne screamed, and kicked the suitcase off the foot of the bed. It hit the wall next to the bed and opened, spilling the contents across the floor.
Black stood up and moved around the footboard to see the paints and brushes. He looked to me with a confused look on his face.
I walked to the case, bent down, and picked up the tintype photograph of Bloom’s Inn and handed it to Black.
“You might want to reconsider that proposal,” I said.
Black shook his head in disbelief and looked to Daphne.
“You?”
She smiled.
“It’s not what you think, sweetie,” she said.
Black looked to me.
“I just want to know if you did this alone,” I said.
“Why,” she said, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“You did this?” Black said.
“No, sweetie,” she said.
“You did,” he said. “Didn’t you?”
She stared blankly at Black but said nothing. Then she backed up, curled into a ball at the headboard, and cowered like she was about to be beat.
Black looked to me slowly and said, “My God.”
I moved toward her, and her eyes were wide with fear. She turned her head to the side but remained looking at me out of the corner of her eye.
“Daphne,” I said.
She cocked her head a little.
“Yes, Daddy,” she said.
I moved closer and she smiled.
“Daphne?”
She looked away.
“Daphne?”
She did not respond. She stared off, looking at nothing. It was now very clear to both Black and me that she was not well.
Black stared at her, but she did not look at him. She kept looking away, staring at nothing. He shook his head and moved the chair back away from the bed and sat.
“Daphne?” he said.
She did not respond.
“Are you not listening?”
She did not respond.
Black shook his head.
“My God,” he said.
I moved around to the other side of the bed, in the direction she was staring. I moved close to her and it was clear she was in some kind of shock. I looked to Black and he shook his head.
“Before,” he said, “I met this beautiful woman, I never knew anyone brighter, smarter, or kinder . . . but then there was always . . . I don’t know, something unusual. There were glimpses of someone other than her, within her, someone other than the bright, smart, and kind woman I got to know and love. I never was certain why I moved away from her but I knew there was something . . .”
“You left her?” I said.
He nodded and leaned over with his elbows on his knees and
stared at the floor.
“I’d seen this before. Not like this, not this bad, but some. I also sensed a grave jealousy within her, but she never really, truly acknowledged it or acted out about it . . .”
“Think she’s done that now,” I said.
76.
A tiny light whistled up high into the dark night, followed by an astounding kaleidoscope of bright red, white, and blue light that exploded in the night sky.
“Oh, my,” Allie said.
An enormous boom immediately followed.
“Oh!” Allie said, placing her hand to her chest. “That was loud.”
“Sure was,” Valentine said.
“So interesting how the boom happens after,” she said.
“Happens at the same time, Allie,” Valentine said. “Just sound travels a hell of a lot slower than light.”
Virgil, Allie, Valentine, and I were sitting on the front porch of Virgil and Allie’s house, watching the fireworks display that was being put on by Pritchard’s grand opening of his casino.
Earlier in the day, after Daphne had rested from her confrontation with me, and her subsequent mental lapse, she came to, not really remembering everything that had happened really clearly, but remembering enough.
Black and Pritchard remained with her throughout the afternoon as we made arrangements with the Denver contingent to take her back to Denver, where she would be charged with the murder of Ruth Ann Messenger.
Another tiny light whistled up high in the sky, followed by an exploding circle of bright sizzling white light and a boom.
“A dandelion,” Allie said.
“Big one,” Virgil said.
“That is so beautiful,” she said.
“It is,” Valentine said.
Another big one exploded, sending red twinkling streamers falling from the sky.
“Oh . . . look at that,” Allie said.
The fireworks kept coming.
“And that,” she said. “Would you look at that?”
“Another good one,” Virgil said.
“That one had some spread,” Valentine said, “and some kick.”
“Did,” Virgil said.
We watched as the fireworks continued. A huge exploding blue one lit up the evening expanse very brightly, followed by an enormous loud boom.
“Oh, my,” Allie said. “Gosh . . . that one was really loud.”