Destiny of Eagles

by William W. Johnstone

  “Thank you,” Roosevelt said to the clerk. Then to his witness: “You may answer the question.”

  “I would say that Creed Howard was responsible for the bullet holes in the mattress.”

  “Thank you,” Roosevelt said. “No further questions.”

  Woodward walked over from the prosecutor’s table, then took off his glasses and polished them for a moment while he formed his question.

  “You have testified that Falcon MacCallister is an excellent shot,” he began.

  “Best I ever seen,” the witness replied.

  “As an expert witness, would you say that some men can shoot very well at a still target, and yet those same men, as good as they might be, would have a more difficult time shooting at a man?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. It happens all the time,” the witness replied.

  “So, such a man might hit a target four times out of four, but in a life-and-death situation, firing against an armed adversary, his accuracy might be impaired.”

  “His accuracy might be what?”

  “He is less likely to hit an armed man four times out of four than he would be to hit a stationary target.”

  The witness nodded. “Yes, sir, that’s true.”

  “Thank you, no further questions.”

  “But if you’re a-thinkin’ that MacCallister missed three shots out of four, you’re dead wrong. He ain’t—”

  “Thank you,” Woodward said again, more sharply this time. “I have no further questions.”

  The witness, mindful of Judge Heckemeyer’s admonition to say nothing except in response to a direct question, stopped in mid-sentence.

  The succeeding witnesses substantiated the testimony of the first, insisting that Falcon would not shoot four times but manage only one hit.

  “Your Honor, defense recalls Mr. Elton Bowman,” Roosevelt said.

  Elton Bowman had been one of the guests in the hotel who had come to the room in response to hearing the shots.

  “Mr. Roosevelt, from all I’ve heard about you, you’re a good man. But I’m a-tellin’ you right now, I ain’t a’goin’ to change my testimony none,” Bowman insisted when he took his chair. “I seen what I seen, and that’s it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bowman,” Roosevelt said. “In fact, I don’t want you to change your testimony. But I’m less interested in what you saw than I am in what you heard.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The gunshots. I want you to tell the court about the gunshots you heard.”

  “I heard four of ’em.”

  Roosevelt returned to the table and picked up a piece of paper.

  “Yes,” he said. “I wrote down your testimony. And, of course, so did the court clerk. But I want to read this back to you, and I would like for you to verify if it is correct.”

  “All right,” Bowman agreed.

  “I am particularly interested in the rhythm of the gunshots,” Roosevelt said.

  “The what?”

  “The rhythm.”

  Bowman shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

  “By rhythm, I mean the pattern of the shooting, the way the sound happened. You said you heard the gunshots like this, I believe. ‘Bang, bang, bang,’ a short pause, then ‘bang.’ Is that correct?”

  “Bang, bang, bang . . . bang. Yes, sir, that’s exactly the way I heard it.”

  “Thank you. No further questions.”

  Two other witnesses testified that the sound pattern was exactly as Bowman had said. Bang, bang, bang . . . bang. Only Fillmore, the hotel clerk, stuck to his original story that it was bang, bang . . . bang, bang.

  “Very well, Mr. Fillmore, I know that these things can be confusing,” Roosevelt said. “So, let’s get on to something else, shall we?”

  “All right.”

  “How did Creed Howard get into Falcon MacCallister’s room?”

  “He used the key.”

  “Does the key to room twenty-three also fit room twenty-five?”

  “No, of course not,” Fillmore answered. “If that was the case, there wouldn’t be no need to lock the doors.”

  “So somehow . . . perhaps by mistake, Creed Howard had the key to MacCallister’s room. Is that your understanding?”

  “Yes.”

  “In fact, there was a key found in the door, was there not?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you suppose that key got there?”

  “I don’t know, unless Mr. MacCallister left it in the door when he first arrived. That happens from time to time.”

  “When a guest signs in, how many keys do you give him?”

  “Why, I give him one key, of course.”

  “Do you have more than one key to a room?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you give one key to the guest, what happens to the second key?”

  “There are a bunch of hooks just behind the desk. Each hook has a number that corresponds to the room number, and the extra key is hangin’ on them hooks.”

  Roosevelt returned to the defense table and picked up a sheet of paper. “This is the inventory of things that Falcon MacCallister had on his person when he was arrested.” Roosevelt mumbled through a few items, then he read, “One room key, fitting the lock of the door to room two-five.”

  “Yes, the one in the door. He must’ve left it there,” Fillmore said.

  Roosevelt shook his head. “No, Mr. Fillmore. This inventory covers only those things that MacCallister had on his person. It was not until the next day that Sheriff Dennis returned the key to you. The key in the door was a second key, was it not?”

  “It . . . yes . . . I suppose it was,” Fillmore said.

  “So much for the keys. Let’s move on to something else. All the witnesses testified that the lamps in the hall were dark. Why didn’t you light the lanterns that night?”

  “What are you talking about? I did light them!” Fillmore declared resolutely. “I light them every night. Why, that’s just as regular as windin’ the clock.”

  “I can understand one lantern burning out. But all of them? Is that very likely?”

  “Well, no, it isn’t,” Fillmore admitted. “But I did light them,” he insisted.

  “Oh, I believe you, Mr. Fillmore.”

  “I should hope that you believe me.”

  “So, if you lit them, what happened? Why were they all out?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Is it possible that someone extinguished them?”

  “Objection! Calls for speculation.”

  “No . . . I think I will let this one go,” Judge Heckemeyer said. “Mr. Fillmore is the night clerk at the hotel. Who would be better qualified to hazard a guess as to whether or not the lanterns had been extinguished? You may answer, Mr. Fillmore.”

  “Yes,” Fillmore said. “It is not only possible that someone extinguished them, now that I think on it, that probably is what happened.”

  “Why would someone extinguish them, do you suppose?”

  Fillmore shook his head. “I don’t have the least idea why anyone would do that.”

  “Suppose all the lanterns were extinguished. Would it be possible for someone, like Creed Howard for example, to sneak into Mr. MacCallister’s room, shoot him, then use the cover of the dark hallway to slip into another room without being seen?”

  “Yes!” Fillmore said, seeing where Roosevelt was going with his question. “It was Creed Howard put out them lights.”

  “Objection! That’s a conclusion not in evidence.”

  “Sustained. Mr. Roosevelt, you have been cautioned about this before. Jury will disregard.”

  “That’s not enough,” Woodward said. “How is the jury going to disregard what they just heard? That’s like trying to unring a bell.”

  “That’s enough, Mr. Woodward,” Judge Heckemeyer said. “I have sustained your objection. Any further discourse on your part and you will be flirting with a contempt-of-court citation.”

  “I’m sor
ry, Your Honor,” Woodward said contritely.

  “Continue, Mr. Roosevelt,” Heckemeyer said.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Roosevelt said. Then to his witness: “Mr. Fillmore, if someone wanted to see who was in the hotel, indeed, determine even the room, could they do it?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “By looking at the registration book.”

  “Can they see it from the customer side of the desk?”

  “No, not unless . . .” Fillmore started to answer, then he stopped in mid-sentence. “It was turned around,” he continued. “Damn! It was turned around. I didn’t think anything of it, but the book was turned around, toward the customer side.”

  “Thank you. No further questions, Your Honor.”

  Woodward tried hard to undo the damage Fillmore had done to his case, but Fillmore stuck by his guns. He was convinced that someone had extinguished the lanterns in the hallway, and that someone had turned the registration book around. He also insisted that there was a key in the door lock, in addition to the key the sheriff took from MacCallister.

  When a frustrated Woodward took his seat, Roosevelt rested his case.

  Roosevelt’s summation was short and sweet. He made each point with geometric precision and clear logic.

  “Gentlemen of the jury, Creed Howard came into Falcon MacCallister’s room, not by mistake, but with the clear intention of murdering him in revenge for the death of his two brothers, Thad and Bob. He believed, and rightly so, that MacCallister was responsible for both of them, and it made no difference to him whether or not those deaths were justifiable.

  “In order to carry out his scheme, he first had to learn which room MacCallister had taken. A perusal of the registration book . . . which Mr. Fillmore found turned around toward the customer side of the desk . . . would reveal that to him. The fact that MacCallister was in the adjoining room was a convenient coincidence.

  “Next, he had to have the key. This he got by reaching across the counter and taking the key from its hook, unobserved by Mr. Fillmore.

  “Then, as he climbed the stairs and walked down the hall, he extinguished all the lanterns. This would have afforded him the opportunity to slip back into his room without being seen. His plan was to shoot Falcon MacCallister, use the cover of darkness to go back into his room, from which he would have emerged a moment later to join the others as if drawn to the scene by the gunfire.

  “And finally, gentlemen of the jury, I ask you to consider the rhythmic pattern of the shots fired. Three out of four witnesses report the same rhythm. Bang, bang, bang, a pause, then bang.

  “I submit that Howard fired three times in quick succession, bang, bang, bang, at the bed where he thought MacCallister was sleeping. One of his shots missed entirely, but two of them hit the bed where, but moments before, Falcon MacCallister had been lying.

  “Unfortunately for Creed Howard, MacCallister wasn’t in his bed. When Howard began firing, MacCallister had no recourse but to return fire . . . which he did by shooting one time, and one time only. We have already heard expert testimony as to the accuracy of Falcon MacCallister’s shooting. One shot was all he needed.”

  Woodward’s summation was almost an exact duplicate of his opening remarks. He had thought that Roosevelt, not being a lawyer, would be an easy adversary. He was wrong, he had been outclassed, and the beads of sweat on his upper lip as well as his body language showed that he knew it.

  With both cases rested, Judge Heckemeyer charged the jury with their responsibility.

  “Gentlemen of the jury, you have now heard both sides in the case of the Dakota Territory versus Falcon MacCallister on the charge of manslaughter. And while you are not being asked to decide life or death, your decision is a weighty one because it could deprive a man of his freedom for as long as twenty years.

  “Consider the arguments carefully, discuss the case among yourselves, and come to a conclusion based upon the fact that to find for the prosecution, you must be convinced, beyond a reasonable doubt, as to the guilt of the defendant.”

  At the conclusion of the charge from the judge, the bailiff led the jury out of the courtroom; then court was adjourned.

  Chapter 18

  Roosevelt and Anna were having lunch at Bessie’s Café. During their lunch several came over to speak to Roosevelt, congratulating him on his job as a defense attorney.

  “I tell you what, if I ever get in trouble, I’d be proud to have you represent me,” one man said.

  “Thank you, but you are a bit premature in your congratulations. The jury’s decision isn’t in yet.”

  “You’ll win,” the man said. “I ain’t got me the slightest doubt but that you’ll win.”

  Roosevelt had stopped eating during the conversation, and he waited until the man left before he continued.

  He was interrupted two more times in the next few minutes.

  “I think it’s just awful how people won’t let you alone,” Anna said. “Why, they won’t even let you eat your lunch in peace.”

  Roosevelt smiled. “I’ve chosen the life of a politician, Anna,” he said. “This is the price one pays for that choice. In fact, if people weren’t interested in talking to me, I’d be totally ineffective.”

  Anna shook her head. “I have no idea why anyone would choose such a life for themselves,” she said.

  “Some might think it’s because of a streak of vanity,” Roosevelt said. “And if I was to be honest with you, I’d have to say that there is some . . . no, there is a lot of truth to that.”

  “I don’t consider you a vain man, Teddy. Why, I think you are very unassuming.”

  Roosevelt held up his index finger. “Ahh, that just means I am a skilled politician, able to cover up my streak of vanity,” he teased. “But seriously, there is more to it than that. I love this country, and I feel an obligation to serve the public in whatever capacity I can.”

  “In whatever capacity?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about President? Would you like to be President of the United States?”

  “What politician would not want to be President?”

  Anna shook her head. “I don’t know, Teddy,” she said. “That would be an awesome responsibility. I don’t know how anyone could rise to that task.”

  “I know. It is not a decision I would make lightly,” Roosevelt replied.

  “On a more immediate subject, what do you think is going to happen in the trial?”

  “I think he will be acquitted,” Roosevelt said. “But I hasten to add that it isn’t because of anything I did. The wonder is that he was charged in the first place. It was clearly a case of self-defense.”

  “I agree with you,” Anna said. She sighed. “But Mr. Woodward did make a telling point, I think, when he pointed out that while the normal person is never called upon to kill another in self-defense, it has happened many times with Mr. MacCallister. Why do you suppose it has happened to Falcon MacCallister so many times?”

  “Falcon MacCallister is a man who lives life on the edge,” Roosevelt said. “And because of that, he is often challenged.”

  “I’m sure that is so. But that is also why my father does not like him. Father believes that a man chooses his path and could change his life so that there are no more challenges.”

  “I know,” Roosevelt said. “And he does have a point.”

  * * *

  “Is that her?” Percy Shaw asked.

  Shaw, Childers, and Yerby were also at Bessie’s Café, sitting at a table in the back corner of the dining room.

  “That’s her,” Childers said. “That’s Heckemeyer’s daughter.”

  “She sure is a pretty thing,” Shaw said. “If you ask me, this could turn out to be fun.”

  “No!” Childers said. “We’ll snatch her, but we ain’t goin’ to do nothin’ to her ’cept use her to force Judge Heckemeyer to order Frank released.”

  “Well, now, wait a minute here,” Yerby said. ”You’ll get Frank back, b
ut what do me’n Shaw get out of the deal?”

  “Frank is your cousin,” Childers said. “That makes him blood.”

  “Yeah, well, he ain’t no kin to me,” Shaw interjected.

  “But he’s your pard. Ain’t that enough?” Aaron asked.

  “I reckon it might be, but he’s your brother, so it’s more important to you than it is to either Dalton or me to get him back. But the thing is, me’n Dalton’s takin’ the same risk as you, and we ain’t getting’ nothin’ in particular for it.”

  “Frank ain’t the only reason we’ll be snatchin’ her up,” Childers said.

  “What other reason is there?”

  “Well, look over there for yourself,” Childers said. “Do you see the way she’n Roosevelt is sparkin’ it up? The way I figure it is, we’ll grab her, then we’ll send a message to Roosevelt and the judge tellin’ ’em that we’ll let her go when Frank is out of prison and Roosevelt pays ransom.”

  “What’s ransom?” Shaw asked.

  “It means that if Roosevelt wants her back, he’s going to have to pay money for her.”

  “Yeah,” Yerby said. “Yeah, well, if you put it that way, it sounds like a good idea.”

  “I hope it turns out better than your other two ideas,” Shaw said. “The bank robbery didn’t work out none too good, and neither did robbin’ Roosevelt on his way into town.”

  “This one will work,” Childers promised. “And as long as we’ve got the girl, there ain’t nobody goin’ to be comin’ after us, on account of they won’t want to see the girl hurt.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “So, you can see why there can’t nothin’ happen to the girl,” Childers said. Then he smiled. “Until afterward.”

  “Afterward?” Shaw asked, perking up a bit at the suggestion.

  “After they let Frank go and pay us the money.”

  “What then?”

  “After I’m finished with her, you two boys can have a little fun with her,” Childers said.

  “What do you mean after you are finished with her? Why should you be first?” Shaw asked.