It turned out to be a waste of time going to the place where Lester’s body had been found. Apart from some blood-soaked sand, there was nothing to see. A bad feeling gnawed at Micah about this though. He felt there was a connection between the murder and his and Lester’s conversation the night before. It had been dark, and as far as Micah could tell, the street had been deserted. But who knew? It was possible Lester had been seen talking to Micah and had to pay a price. But that was nothing more than a guess, and Micah was tired of guessing. He was also tired of a client who refused to tell him the whole truth about what happened. As he headed from the stable toward Chester’s house, he was determined to get to the bottom of what was going on.
Lights burned in the parlor, so Micah gave a couple of quick knocks to the back door, then walked in. “Chester,” he called as he stepped into the kitchen, “it’s Micah.”
After a pause, Micah heard, “We’re in the parlor. Come on in.”
Micah walked down the hall, turned the corner, and saw Chester sitting with Polly and Cedra.
“So,” said Chester, “the great detective returns.” Chester lifted the glass he was holding as if in salute. “Care for a drink?” he offered. “Or a cup of tea?” He jabbed the glass in the direction of a pot and cups on the table.
“No,” Micah said. “Nothing.” He came into the room and sat down, nodding hello to Cedra and Polly.
“So, Mr. Holmes,” Chester asked, “how are things on Baker Street?”
Micah was not in the mood. “Stop the shit, Chester,” he said, snapping. Polly’s eyebrows flew up. A smile flickered at Cedra’s lips, but it lasted less than a second. Micah never used harsh language in the presence of women, but he expected that at least Cedra had heard the word before. If it was a new and shocking experience for Polly, he was sorry, but so be it.
“A young man died last night,” Micah said. “I can’t prove a thing, but I’m guessing he died at the hand of Sonny Pratt and maybe even his own brother, Hank Jones. It’s been clear to me since the day they dragged you to jail that there are things you’re keeping from me. Now it’s time you told me the truth, all of it. What’s going on here?”
Chester’s eyes darted to Cedra and Polly. “Funny you should ask,” he said, placing his glass on the table next to the tea service. “The ladies and I have been spending the afternoon discussing that very thing.”
“I told Polly as far as my case is concerned what Sonny did to her doesn’t matter,” Chester said. “Am I right?”
Micah took a sip of the Scotch he had relented and agreed to accept. As always, his anger at Chester had evaporated quickly.
They had spent a half hour listening to Polly’s story about her encounter with Sonny and the Jones boys by the river. Micah was numb from the hearing of it. And just as numbing was having his suspicions confirmed regarding the murder of Lester. Still there was no proof that Sonny had killed the boy, but Polly’s description of Sonny’s standing at the entrance to the alleyway earlier that afternoon and slicing his index finger across his throat chilled Micah to the marrow.
“Yes,” he said, “you’re right, Chester. It doesn’t make a bit of difference as far as the statute regarding abortion is concerned. Even if we could convince a jury that Polly had been raped—and that’s not very likely. Rape is a difficult thing to prove under any circumstances—it wouldn’t make any difference. Aborting a pregnancy because it’s come about as the result of rape is not a defense to the crime.”
“Even if it can’t be proven, I want them to know,” said Polly. “I want the whole town—the whole county—to hear about it. I am not going to be frightened and shamed by this any longer. Even if there isn’t enough proof to send Sonny to prison, I want everyone to know what kind of person he is. I want them to know what kind of an animal he is.”
It was a difficult thing to believe that this was the same young woman as the terrorized creature Micah had seen in Chester’s surgery only a month before. There was a different set to her jaw, a new glint in her eye. Micah could now see in the girl a resemblance to her mother that he had not noticed before.
“This is not a case we should take to trial,” Micah said.
Chester leaned forward in his chair. “But you were the one who insisted I plead not guilty.”
“That didn’t mean I thought we should stand trial. We have no defense, and they have a witness and a confession.” Micah swirled the liquor around in his glass until he had created a tiny tornado. “I’d say our legal position is not one to be envied.”
“All right,” asked Cedra, “let’s get it out. What’s the best thing for Chester to do? The best thing for Chester, I mean—no one else.”
Micah lifted his glass with its whirling tornado and took a drink—too large of a drink. As smooth as the whisky was, it stung on the way down. “Of course, the best thing to do is make a deal, but Anderson isn’t willing to bargain.”
“So he’s made our decision for us,” said Chester. “The prospect of a trial doesn’t bother me. It never did. I wanted to plead guilty in the hope of protecting Polly from that madman Sonny Pratt.” He looked to the girl and smiled. “Now it seems maybe someone needs to protect Sonny from her.” Polly didn’t return Chester’s smile, and Micah wondered how long it would be before she would.
“Besides,” Chester went on. “I think that’s a damned bad law, that abortion statute. It’s high time someone took a position and pointed that out. It’s an antiquated concept, and it should be changed.” He shrugged and gave a resigned look. “I admit, rather than standing trial for the crime, I’d prefer to bring it to everyone’s attention by going to Cheyenne next January and lobbying our elected buffoons, but it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?”
Micah had to agree. It was too late for many things. Even if Micah were an attorney with ten times his experience, there could be nothing gained in taking this case to trial. It was even possible that going to trial and losing—which was inevitable—might make matters worse. Everyone had a constitutional right to a trial by jury, but Micah suspected that a judge forced to sit through a jury trial of a defendant whose guilt was obvious would tend to hand down a harsher sentence than if the accused had pled guilty in the first place. That was not officially the case. In fact, it was never even hinted at, but Micah believed it was true.
“I’m worried,” Micah said.
“You worry too damned much. You always have.”
The first day of Chester’s arrest had been difficult for him, but since that time Micah was amazed at how well Chester had been dealing with his situation. His mood now, though, could be described by no better word than ebullient. Micah could see the change in his expression, his smile, the way he sat in his chair. Chester Hedstrom was a fighter, and it was the fight and, even more, the message carried through the fight that mattered most to him. The idea that he was doomed to lose didn’t seem to matter.
“Maybe I do worry too much,” Micah said. “But better to worry too much than not at all.”
“Well, that’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it? What nettle’s in your boot this time?” Chester asked. He lifted the Glenlivet bottle and refreshed their drinks. He set the bottle down and wrapped his palm around the teapot to see if it was still warm.
“I’m worried about Polly and Cedra,” Micah said. “Once the word gets out that Polly’s prepared to testify, Sonny’s going to be after her in earnest.”
Chester’s smile faded, and his eyebrows knitted together. He looked at the women and nodded. “He’s right.”
“Let him come,” said Polly. And, though Micah admired the strength in her voice, that worried him too. Polly was finished with her fear of Sonny Pratt. She’d had enough. Now Micah was afraid she would become reckless.
Micah watched Polly, but he spoke to Cedra. “I think you’ll be all right at the boarding house until we can make some other arrangements.”
“They can stay here, of course,” Chester said.
“No,” said Cedra, “after
the boarding house, this would be the first place Sonny would look.”
“She’s right,” Micah agreed.
“Where then?” asked Chester.
Micah spun his glass again and watched the liquor swirl. “I have an idea where they can stay,” he said. It was not an idea he liked, but it was the only idea he had.
Micah began the next morning by cleaning his rooms. When he wasn’t seeing clients he needed something to stay busy, so he straightened things up and cleaned. Since for Micah seeing clients was a rarity, he figured he had the tidiest place in Probity.
He was in the back changing the sheets on the bed when he heard the jingle of the bell above his front door. He shoved the dirty linens into the bag that Sam Lung’s Laundry provided its regular customers, and he stepped through his office into the reception area.
It was Thomas Blythe, wearing a wide smile and filling the small room with his regalness. “Micah, how good it is to see you again.” He took Micah’s hand and gave it one good, solid shake. He glanced around the office. “My, but you’ve accomplished a great deal in a short period of time. The offices look fine. Very fine, indeed.”
“Thank you,” Micah said. He was proud of what he’d done, and for a moment it pleased him to hear Blythe’s compliments, but he remembered what a word-artist the man was and forced himself to deflate. “I think I’m about settled in.”
“Good. Good.” Blythe hung his Homburg on the rack and said, “I’ve been meaning to stop in for a visit for weeks now, but you know how it is.” He held his hands out, palms up, and gave an expression and shrug that suggested he was a victim of his own success.
“Well,” Micah said, “I don’t know how it is, but I hope to someday.” They both laughed louder than the little joke deserved.
“Do you mind, Micah, if we talk for a bit?”
“Of course not. Come into my private office.” They stepped into the next room, and Micah felt a little awkward sitting in the large desk chair and motioning for Blythe to take the straight-back used by clients. For some reason Micah couldn’t put his finger on, he felt it should be the other way around. It seemed if a room held a chair representative of authority, it should be occupied by the noble and distinguished buttocks of Thomas Blythe, Esquire, rather than his own paltry backside. He suppressed the smile that thought brought and said, “What may I do for you, Mr. Blythe?”
“Please, Micah,” the man said, crossing his legs in a grand show of making himself quite comfortable, “call me Thomas. After all, we are now brethren in the same fraternity of attorneys.” It was clear that Thomas Blythe enjoyed the sound of his voice, the flow of his words. “Not to mention that we are now adversaries in the same case.”
“Yes,” Micah said, “the Pratt divorce. I thought it was interesting, Thomas, that you were the attorney who filed the answer to my complaint in that matter when you referred Mrs. Pratt to me because you didn’t accept cases of divorcement.”
Micah thought for the briefest instant he saw a shadow pass over Blythe’s bright smile, but the man’s recovery was fast.
“It’s not my practice to do domestic relations, but you must understand, Micah, over the years I’ve charged Emmett Pratt substantial fees in various matters. When he was served with a summons and complaint by his wife, and he came to me for help, I couldn’t very well turn him away.”
Blythe’s explanation was quick and convincing. He was good. Micah had to give him that. A lot could be learned from this lawyer.
“But it’s not the Pratt divorce to which I was referring, Micah, when I said we are now adversaries in the same case.”
“No?” Micah was confused. His file drawer of cases was not so overflowing that he was likely to forget what attorney opposed him.
“Earl Anderson has requested my assistance in the prosecution of Dr. Hedstrom.”
When Micah realized how long the silence was that followed Blythe’s statement, he assumed it was up to him to fill it, but he was lost for what to say.
“You appear nonplused, Micah, and I assure you, that was not my intent. I can appreciate your surprise at this turn of events.” He flicked an invisible piece of lint from his trousers’ leg, then ran his finger along the crease. “It came as something of a surprise to me as well.”
Once Micah found his voice, he asked, “Why would Anderson bring you in on this? It seems unlike him.”
Blythe looked toward the ceiling as though his thoughts were written there and he was reading them aloud. “Mr. Anderson is blessed with an eagerness,” he said. “In many instances—most instances—eagerness is a fine quality.” Now he aimed his gaze at Micah. “But there are those who feel, and in my opinion rightfully so, that Anderson showed too much eagerness in his effort to prosecute the doctor.”
Blythe was not a man of few words, but he offered Micah no more explanation for his involvement than that.
“So,” Micah said, “which of you is lead counsel?”
“Mr. Anderson, of course. After all, he is the duly elected prosecutor for this county.”
“Yes, so he is.”
“I may be wrong, Micah, and, please, correct me if I am, but I infer that your question is not so much who is lead counsel but with whom are you expected to deal.”
“All right,” said Micah. He spoke with caution. Micah felt caution was necessary in a conversation with Thomas Blythe.
“I would never presume to infringe upon Mr. Anderson’s authority, but let me assure you that any question you might have regarding our position in this case may be directed to me. In fact, it is only with me that I suggest you do deal.”
Micah tugged on his earlobe as he considered what it was Blythe was saying. “That’s twice, Thomas, you’ve used the word deal. I was under the impression from Anderson that there would be no deal.”
“Yes, I am aware that he’s given you that impression. All I can say is that Earl, in his eagerness to perform the duties of his office, spoke in haste. I feel confident we can work something out that is satisfactory to everyone.”
Micah felt his stomach flutter. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. As a matter of law and as a matter of fact, his and Chester’s position was untenable. They had nothing in their favor, and a trial would be a guaranteed conviction, even without Thomas Blythe assisting in the prosecution. With Blythe prosecuting, Micah wondered if the jury would even bother to retire to the jury room. Micah had this image of them reaching their decision right there in the box.
This talk of working something out was an interesting turn. Micah did his best to keep his excitement from showing. “Did you have something specific in mind, Thomas?”
Blythe stood and with his hands behind his back began to walk about the room. “I did have something in mind, yes. I would love to make this case go away, Micah. I’ll tell you that right now. If the situation was different, I would dismiss the charge. I have the greatest respect for Dr. Hedstrom and a real fondness for Polly Pratt. I do not wish to see harm or embarrassment come to either of them. But as you know, the mere filing of an action like this inflames a certain segment of the population. There are even people who feel the doctor has done murder and should be punished accordingly. It’s true, that is a very small group, but nevertheless the group exists.”
Micah knew what Blythe said was true. The attitude of the largest portion of the community was in Chester’s favor, but there were a few who felt he should be hanged.
“The point to all that,” continued Blythe, “is that this case, as much as some of us would like it to, cannot disappear.”
Again Micah couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Perhaps there was going to be a way out of this mess after all. The excitement began to churn in him, and it was difficult to sit still. He held himself at his desk, though, and watched as Blythe walked about the room.
“Dr. Hedstrom will have to serve some time,” Blythe said. “I’ve thought about it long and hard, and there is no way around it. But if he is willing to plead guilty and we can avoid a t
rial, I’m prepared to recommend to Judge Walker that the doctor serve one year and no more. I will even recommend that he serve the time here in the county jail rather than the state penitentiary.” He sat back in the chair and leaned toward Micah as he said, “I wish I could do better than that, Micah. I really do.”
Now Micah was at a loss. He had no idea why Blythe was making this offer, but he didn’t care. “Do you think Judge Walker will agree to only a year?”
“I’ve been a friend of the judge for almost two decades. I’m confident he will accept my recommendation.”
Ever since Micah learned of the charge and subsequent confession, he had felt that if he could keep Chester’s sentence below ten years it would be a victory. Eight years would be a miracle. What Blythe offered was beyond anything he could have imagined.
“And,” added Blythe as he raised an index finger to his lips and lowered his voice, “between you and me, Micah, after a few months, if you want to move the court for a sentence reduction, we will not resist. I won’t guarantee Walker will go along with that, but he might. It’s worth a try.” He leaned back in the chair, folded his hands in his lap, and assumed the expression of a man who had successfully completed a chore. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can do,” he said. “I hope those conditions are satisfactory.”
Satisfactory? Yes, Micah imagined they were quite satisfactory.
Micah sent messages to Chester, Polly, and Cedra asking them to come to his office at two o’clock that afternoon. When they arrived, he couldn’t contain his excitement. In one torrential gush of words he told them of Blythe’s involvement in the case, his visit to Micah’s office earlier in the day, and the offer Blythe had made.
The women were also excited—Cedra in particular. First she gave Micah a hug, and then she hugged Chester. After holding Chester for a long moment, she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and blotted her eyes. For some reason, Micah found this strong woman’s dabbing that lacy linen to her eye to be an especially beautiful act.
He cleared his throat and looked away.
Out of the Darkness Page 14