The Talisman - Crisscross

by Shaunna Gonzales

The courthouse bell tolled, calling jury, accused, and galley to return to court.

  "Your lucky day, Jackson." Tuckett turned his sneer to Trish, letting his features take on his brand of wolfish debauchery. "This ain't over. There'll be time later. You can count on it, darlin'."

  Trish relaxed slightly. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

  Jed pushed through the door. "Ya want me to help ya, sheriff?"

  "You." Tuckett pointed at Trish before unlocking the cell door. "You in front. Moore, you follow 'er at Jed's side. And you, yeah, I'll parade you all the way to the courthouse, Jackson. I'm gonna enjoy it, too."

  Trish watched Quinn glower, shouldering past Tuckett before she stepped through the door to lead the procession to the courtroom.

  She paused before stepping off the jail's thin porch to smooth her hair and stepped into what might prove the last walk of her reasonable freedom. She walked slowly, knowing both Moore and Tuckett hoped the jury would find her guilty.

  Trish found herself seated next to the other accused parties directly in front of Judge Fairbanks with Jed between Milton and Trish, and Sheriff Tuckett between Milton and Quinn. Tuckett removed her handcuffs with calloused insensitivity, bruising her wrists. The formalities of the trial resumed without preamble.

  Judge Fairbanks got right to the matter.

  "Miss Larsen, your comments this morning have been rather insightful. Thank you for your presentation." Judge Fairbanks glowered at his nephew before turning to the jury. "I'll not tell you how to decide this case. Mister Quinn Jackson has had no real evidence presented against him. Jackson, you are excused but required to remain here for the time bein'. The court apologizes for Sheriff Tuckett's error."

  Quinn glanced at Trish before taking a seat in the galley.

  "Now, as I see it, we really only have two possibilities. Either Milton Moore is guilty of this crime or Patricia Larsen is." Fairbanks turned from the jury to address the defendants. "Mr. Moore, Miss Larsen, you are still under oath. I will ask the questions and you will answer."

  Trish nodded, sensing that she might now stand at the executioner's door. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, hoping that somehow she would emerge from this with an assurance of her continued life. Never had each breath lingered with such bitter sweetness. For the first time, she had an understanding of what the innocent, falsely accused, must feel. Now she understood the absent look on their faces as all hope for justice fled.

  Fairbanks continued, "Miss Larsen, was Albert alive when you found him?"

  "Yes, he was alive, but just for a moment. There was evidence…"

  "Thank you. You are no longer at liberty to offer more than a simple answer." Judge Fairbanks uttered his curt warning.

  "How long was he alive?"

  "Not more than a minute."

  "What did you do when you found the deceased?"

  "I gathered him into my arms and held him." Her gaze lowered to the table. Her vision glazed, taking her to that ugly scene of darkness and blood. She knew the stench and Albert's final gasps would haunt her memories. A cold shiver slithered up and down her spine.

  "You didn't go for help?"

  She shook herself, but didn't look up. "He was gone so fast. I meant to but there was no way to help him."

  "And how do you know that?"

  Trish took a deep breath. If she mentioned the future, she knew she would hang. A future she knew would be forever changed with her haunting memories. "There was too much blood and he died almost immediately." The courtroom grew ominously quiet.

  "I see. Why are you here?"

  She knew that pausing too long to answer might bring ghastly results for her. "I came here today to prove Quinn Jackson is innocent."

  "Was Albert Jackson special to you in some way?"

  "No sir, no more than a friend."

  "And his brother, Quinn Jackson?"

  Her heart sank. If she divulged the truth, she would hang. Was it worth lying? Would a political trick succeed in court? In 1887? "I only want justice."

  Judge Fairbanks didn't respond, allowing her words to linger in the stagnant air. "Is there anything else you would like to add to these proceedings?"

  "Your Honor, there was evidence of a scuffle and the button was found hanging by a thread on the east doors of the livery. If I were guilty, would I have come forward to shift the court’s findings from one innocent man to myself?"

  "Who found the button?"

  "I did," Trish answered quietly. A few mutters filtered through the gallery. She ignored them, knowing it only mattered whether or not Judge Fairbanks and the jury believed her. She doubted they did.

  Judge Fairbanks nodded. "Mr. Moore, where were you on the day in question?”

  “I--was at my bar.”

  “Can anyone collaborate that?”

  Moore seemed to rack his brain for several minutes. “No, my bar was rather slow that day.”

  Judge Fairbanks analyzed his answer. “Can you explain why your vest has blood on it?"

  "I — there was a fight at the bar."

  "And who was fighting?"

  Moore seemed temporarily stumped. "Just a couple of customers."

  "Names, Mr. Moore."

  "I don't know, just a couple of drifters."

  "What were they fighting about?"

  "I don't know. I try not to get involved."

  "Yet you got involved enough to get blood on your vest. Do you have anything to add in your defense?"

  "I didn't do it!"

  Judge Fairbanks shook his head. "It is still early. We will adjourn until the jury comes to an agreement and shares its findings."

  The gavel came down again.

  Trish found herself returning to the jail from which she had come. She had succeeded in saving Quinn from the hangman's noose, but what of her own neck?

 

 

  Chapter 45