Fair Play

by Deeanne Gist

  “I’m one of the doctors in the Woman’s Building at the World’s Columbian Exposition.”

  “And prior to that?”

  “I was connected with the New England Hospital for Women and Children in Boston.” The view from the witness box was much different from the view from the gallery. She was higher up than all but the judge, and the five boys were in her direct line of vision.

  Kruse curled his lip. His brother gave her a wink. She quickly moved her focus to the attorney, determined not to look their way again. But in her periphery, she could see the two brothers smirk.

  “In what capacity was your work at the hospital?” Hood asked.

  “I saw every patient in the hospital at least once a day. I did a third of the surgical operations and assisted in the others. I conducted all abnormal baby deliveries. I kept their daybook. I attended their private clinic two times per week. And I was responsible for the teaching and deportment of six medical students.”

  Complete stillness fell onto the room. The judge, attorneys, jury, and gallery stared at her in shock—Hunter not the least of them.

  Hood gave a startled chuckle, his long teeth giving him an equine look. “That’s quite a list of duties you had there. Now tell me, were you the first doctor to reach Miss Weibel after her brutal attack?”

  “I was.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “There was no pulse and no sign of life.” She described the amount of blood loss, the gunshot wounds, and the lacerations.

  “Would you say the lacerations were caused by a fist?”

  “No. Those were definitely caused by something sharp.”

  “Like a knife?”

  “That would certainly be my guess.”

  “What kind of knife?”

  “It’s hard to say. I imagine the doctor who performed the autopsy would be able to give you a better indication of that.”

  “But in your best opinion, could a pocketknife make that kind of laceration?”

  Her breath hitched. A pocketknife? Was he, was he referring to Derry’s pocketknife? Surely the man was not going to suggest Derry used his pocketknife against Miss Weibel.

  She cleared her throat. “It was dusk, sir, and Miss Weibel was fully clothed. I would not be able to answer that without having given the body a proper exam.”

  “I see.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Did you see any knives cast down in the dirt?”

  “I did not.”

  “Were any of the defendants holding knives?”

  “I wasn’t looking at them. I was looking at the patient.”

  “Were you aware a pocketknife was found on Derry Molinari?”

  “Course she knows that,” Derry said, rolling his eyes. “She’s the one what gave it to me.”

  A groundswell of exclamations filled the courtroom. Her hands became clammy.

  The judge pounded the gavel. “Defense counsel, you will control your defendant, please.”

  Derry’s attorney pinched the boy’s ear.

  Hood eyed her speculatively. “Is that true, Miss Doctor? Did you give Derry Molinari the murder weapon?”

  “Objection.” Derry’s attorney stood. “No murder weapon has yet been established.”

  Hood immediately retrieved the pocketknife and handed it to Billy. “Did you give this pocketknife to Derry Molinari?”

  She turned it over in her hands. Bloodstains had seeped into its pine handle. Initials she didn’t recognize had been carved into its side. “There are someone else’s initials on it.”

  He peered at the markings she indicated. “The arresting officer carved his initials into it once he’d confiscated it from Mr. Molinari. Then he gave it to his corporal, who also engraved his initials into it before turning it over to his commanding officer. That way we know this is the actual weapon that was seized.”

  “I see.”

  “So is this the pocketknife you gave to Mr. Molinari?”

  “I don’t know if it is this exact one or not.”

  “But it looked like this one?”

  She rubbed her gloved fingers along its edge. “Yes.”

  “Exactly like that?”

  Of a sudden, she realized this pocketknife, the one in her very hands, that she was stroking with her fingers, no matter who it belonged to, had been used to murder Miss Weibel. Sweet, dear, much-loved Miss Weibel.

  Before she could stop them, images of Miss Weibel’s brutalized body merged with the woman herself. The professional distance Billy had maintained up to now collapsed as she stared at the knife and thought of the pain her friend had suffered. The terror. Terror so much worse than what Billy had experienced at those same boys’ hands.

  Nausea settled in her stomach. The room tilted. Opening her hand, she watched the knife clatter down the steps of the witness box and to the floor. The sound loud in the quiet of the room.

  Reaching down, Mr. Hood picked up the knife, then held it aloft. “Did the pocketknife you gave to Derry Molinari look exactly like this one?”

  The man appeared double, his voice coming from far away. Sweet heavens, she was going into shock. And though she recognized the symptoms, she could do nothing to slow them.

  She forced herself to focus on the question. What was it again? Oh, yes. Did this pocketknife look like Derry’s? “Yes,” she breathed.

  She needed out. She needed out from behind this box. Out of this room. Out to where she could get some air.

  “What would you say killed Miss Weibel? The knife wounds or the gunshot wounds?”

  Mr. Hood’s features blurred, morphing into one of her professors from medical school. She answered as if she’d been called on in class. “I’d have to do an autopsy.”

  “You can’t hazard a guess?”

  “Objection.”

  “Sustained.”

  Mr. Hood lowered the knife. “I have nothing further, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Seacoat?” the judge asked the defense.

  “No questions, Your Honor.”

  The judge furrowed his brows, then turned to her. “You may step down, Dr. Tate.”

  Without conscious thought, she took the hand the clerk offered, then walked past Derry, past Hunter, past the gallery, and straight out the door. She was going to be sick.

  CHAPTER

  44

  Hunter remained in his seat, his expression neutral. He wanted to go after her, but someone needed to stay in here with Derry. Still, she hadn’t looked good. She’d lost all her color and acted as jumpy as a bit-up bull in fly time.

  He knew the D.A. was trying to establish the murder weapon was owned by Derry. And if Hunter hadn’t known Billy, the lawman in him would have been convinced she had, at the very least, something to hide. And he’d have been on her like the first rattle out of the box. It gave him a great deal of pause to realize just how quick he’d been in the past to make snap judgments.

  The police officer who made the arrests was called to the stand. He described the scene and verified the pocketknife had been found on Derry, but the gun had been in the possession of Kruse’s brother, Ewald.

  Men from the West Side who’d first arrived on the scene took the witness box one after the other. Their stories were all the same. They heard the gunfire. They raced to the playground. They grabbed the boys who were fleeing the scene and held them until the police arrived. But none had witnessed the murder.

  “What about Mr. Molinari?” Derry’s attorney asked. “Was he running away?”

  On the stand, an unkempt man’s stooped spine and cramped hands were evidence of the many hours he spent in a clothing sweatshop. “No, sir. He beside missy. Hands bloody. Knife . . .” He made a clutching motion with his hands.

  Hunter had interviewed this man, and all the others. He waited for the defense to ask about Derry’s demeanor while he was next to Miss Weibel. Waited for the moment when the jury would learn of the boy’s distress and sobs and anger at those who’d killed her.

  But he waited in vain. A
ttorney Seacoat asked a few clarifying questions, but nothing to highlight Derry’s innocence. And between the language barrier of the men on the stand and their fear of being in a court of law, Derry’s actions were never brought to light.

  Frustration gnawed at Hunter. He almost wished Derry would come to his own defense, even if the judge threw him out. But the boy had curled up in his chair and fallen asleep. Considering the conditions of the jail, Hunter could hardly blame him for taking advantage of a clean surface to rest his head.

  The final witness of the day was the doctor who did the autopsy. The man testified the knife wounds could have been caused by a pocketknife and that both the gunshot and knife wounds were equally responsible for Miss Weibel’s death. Hunter frowned. He’d have to ask Billy, but it seemed to him as if there was only supposed to be one cause of death. But the defense didn’t challenge the doctor’s testimony, so perhaps he was mistaken.

  “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  The doctor was excused from the witness box and the court recessed for the day. All in the gallery were instructed to keep their seats. Judge Phinney and the jurors filed out, followed by the tipstaff and boys.

  Rubbing his eye with one fist, Derry waved and Hunter gave him a nod of acknowledgment. After all had cleared the court, the gallery rose, their voices loud as they rehashed all they’d seen and heard.

  CHAPTER

  45

  Billy wasn’t in the courthouse, at least not that he could find, so he went to the Women’s Dormitory and sent the matron to fetch her. She came out onto the landing in her calico, her face pasty.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Where’d you go?”

  “Home.”

  “So you didn’t come back to the courtroom?”

  She shook her head.

  He’d wondered. He thought she might have sneaked back in to hear the rest of the testimony. “Are you planning to go tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You should, Billy.”

  She scrunched up her face. “Why?”

  “Because Derry needs us.”

  A long tendril fell across her shoulder. “I can’t even remember those last few minutes on the stand. Was I coherent?”

  Of its own volition, his hand came out of his pocket and hooked the tendril behind her ear. “You were fine.”

  Her lower lip quivered. “Are they going to find him guilty, Hunter?”

  “I don’t know.” As much as he wanted to soothe her, he wasn’t going to lie. Anything could happen in that courtroom.

  “I feel so helpless. Like I should be doing something. But I have no idea what. I can’t call any witnesses. I can’t tell the lawyers what questions to ask. I can’t tell the jury the things they need to know.”

  “We can pray, Billy. We always pray. Now, get on back in there and get some rest. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

  Swallowing, she crossed the landing, then stopped at the door. “Hunter?”

  He waited.

  “Thank you.”

  And then she disappeared inside, leaving him to wonder exactly what she’d thanked him for.

  CHAPTER

  46

  Eighteen-year-old Rody Lonborg could not sit still in the witness box. He crossed and uncrossed his arms. He jiggled his legs. He thumped his thumbs. His wide face and thick neck hinted at the power behind his tall frame.

  “I never meant to do nothing. We just wanted Miss Weibel to leave so we could have the playground to ourselves. But there were babies in there and she wouldn’t leave ’em.”

  “So you killed her?” Attorney Hood asked.

  “Not on purpose. I mean, we pushed her around, but instead of leaving, she pushed us back, then Derry comes running over and pulls a knife on us, telling us to get back.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Miss Weibel told him to put it away. That’s when Fred grabbed it.”

  “Fredrick Kruse? He grabbed Mr. Molinari’s knife?”

  “Yeah. Then everything went crazy. Fred started waving it at Miss Weibel. Derry tried to get it back. I grabbed Derry. Ewald put a hand over Miss Weibel’s mouth and held her back against him.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It all happened so fast.”

  Hood gave the boy a minute to collect himself. “Well, there’s no need to rush now. Just go slow. Think back. What was Mr. Shiblawski doing?”

  “Olsen? Nothing, I don’t think. Just standing there. I don’t really know. But then I seen Fred grab Miss Weibel’s, you know, grab her.” He looked at Hood and gave a shrug. “Well, we all wanted to take a turn at that, but I still had Derry, so I couldn’t. But Olsen could and Fred could. She kicked and fought and scratched and elbowed and bit and . . .” Lifting his brows, he shook his head. “None of the other gals had ever fought like that before.”

  Billy slid her eyes shut.

  “There were other women?” Hood asked. “You’ve done this to other women?”

  “Not killed them. Just, you know . . .”

  Looking down, Hood composed himself, then took a deep breath. “What happened when you boys weren’t able to subdue Miss Weibel?”

  His shoulders slumped. “Fred got tired of it and sliced her with the knife. After that, he said if any of us wanted to have our turn, we’d have to slice her, too. So we did, but we never got nothing ’cause Ewald decided he wanted to shoot her instead. Four times. Then everybody came running.”

  The scratching of reporters’ pencils offered the only break in the sudden silence. Billy hugged herself, trying again to block out what had happened to Miss Weibel. And what could have happened to her when Kruse and his friends had cornered her at the water pump. Thank goodness Hunter had come.

  She looked at him. His face was stoic, but not shocked. She thought of the outlaws he dealt with as a Ranger and wondered how a man could do that day after day after day and not become jaded. It wasn’t a job she envied.

  “What was Derry Molinari’s part in this?” Hood asked.

  Lonborg glanced at Derry. “After the shooting, Fred dropped the knife and cuffed Ewald pretty good. I was so surprised, I forgot to hold on like I should. Derry broke away and grabbed the knife. Then he turned it on us and threatened to use it if we didn’t leave.” He looked at the attorney. “All of us. He was thinking him and that puny knife of his would make all of us run scared. And Ewald still with his gun, though he didn’t have any bullets left. But Derry didn’t know that.” He gave a huff. “Molinari’s become a regular little tough.”

  Mr. Hood looked at the judge. “I have no further questions.”

  Rising, Mr. Seacoat came forward for cross-examination. His back-combed blond hair puffed up over his forehead, adding a couple of inches to his height. “Are you sorry it happened, Rody?”

  The boy looked down. “It’s an awful feeling to know you killed somebody. You don’t feel the same after killing them. You’re not the same person you were after you do something like that.” He raised his head, sorrow etched on his face. “I wish I was my same person again.”

  The youthful arrogance Seacoat had entered the courtroom with dissipated. He turned to the judge. “I have no further questions.”

  When seventeen-year-old Olsen Shiblawski took the stand, the story changed some, but not dramatically. The court had already heard testimony from the doctor who’d performed the autopsy, so Billy knew the location of the knife wounds involved vital organs. Neither attorney attempted to establish who was responsible for which specific wound.

  Shiblawski said he’d wished he’d had something to do other than spend his free time in the saloons and with the Kruse brothers. Unfortunately, he didn’t substantiate Lonborg in saying Derry didn’t have anything to do with the murder.

  “He was one of us.”

  “I am not!” Derry exclaimed.

  The tipstaff grabbed Derry’s arm, yanked him close, and whispered fiercely to him
while tapping the club on his belt. Billy stiffened. Hunter started to rise, then caught himself and settled back onto the bench.

  “Mr. Molinari was part of your ring?” Mr. Hood lifted his brows. “That’s not what Mr. Lonborg said.”

  “Rody likes Molinari’s sister. He’s just saying that because of her. But Derry’s been following us and watching us and just waiting for a chance to be part of the fun. That’s why he pulled a knife on us. He was trying to show Kruse he could be one of us.”

  “Did he use the knife on Miss Weibel?”

  Shiblawski shrugged. “Sure. That’s what I’m telling you. He was just as much a part of it as we were.”

  Derry opened his mouth. The tipstaff whacked him on the back of the head. Finally, Hood took a seat. To Billy’s horror, Seacoat made no cross-examination and Shiblawski was excused from the witness box.

  Ewald and Fredrick Kruse confirmed Shiblawski’s story.

  Fredrick slumped in the witness box, his elbow hooked over the back of the chair.

  “Sit up, Mr. Kruse,” the judge snapped.

  The boy gave his brother a smirk, then pushed himself up. “Derry spends just as much time at the saloon as the rest of us. He drinks, he smokes, and, like Olsen said, he’s been spying on us.” Fredrick gave Attorney Hood a knowing look. “He’s been getting an eyeful, too. Decided he was interested in a closer look. So we let him have his chance with Miss Weibel. I have to say, the little tough did all right.”

  “Did you kill Miss Weibel, Mr. Kruse?”

  “I sure did. Me and the boys all did.”

  “Why?”

  “We had nothing against Miss Weibel. It was the playground we were after. Not her. All she had to do was leave—after we were finished with her, anyway.”

  Mr. Hood’s jaw tensed. “No more questions.”

  Seacoat took his time approaching the witness box. When he arrived, he studied Kruse for a minute. “Your testimony is different from Mr. Lonborg’s. He claims Mr. Molinari wasn’t part of your gang and that he did no harm to Miss Weibel. Why should we believe you instead of him?”

  “I put my hand on the Bible, didn’t I?”