by Ron Schwab
“Yes, sir,” she replied in a near whisper.
“Good girl.” Thad took the knife and sliced open the pig’s belly, opening a cavern that framed the animal’s internal organs. “What we’re doing here is called a post mortem,” he explained to Elizabeth, “but vets often call it ‘posting.’ You can often tell what killed a dead animal by examining the internal organs. This might help us know what to do for the others.”
He reached into the mass of organs and clutched the bulging, snake-like intestine, slit it open and spilled the contents of that portion onto the tarp, slopping some of the waste on his trousers in the process. “More light,” he mumbled, and the lantern moved closer to his hands, lighting up his workplace considerably. He put down the knife and manipulated the gut between his fingers. “This should be smooth. See all the sores? Some are full of pus.”
“What are they called?” Elizabeth asked.
“Ulcerations. Look carefully. They tend to be in clusters.” He dropped the intestine on the gilt’s sliced belly and looked over his shoulder at Quincy who stood behind him, sober and silent. “It’s swine fever,” Thad said. “It’s also known as hog cholera.”
“Oh, no,” Quincy moaned. “What can we do?”
“They’re likely all going to die. Even if one or two survived, you wouldn’t want to mix them with the rest of the herd. Your biggest risk is having the disease spread to your other hogs. That has to be your priority.”
“And how do we do that?”
Thad spoke as he got up and washed his scalpel in the bucket and then plucked a bar of lye soap from his saddle bags and scrubbed his hands. “You’ve heard of it, I know, Quincy. Swine fever’s been a scourge for hundreds of years. We’re just starting to learn something about the disease . . . but not enough. It’s very contagious and can become an epidemic when it strikes a farming community. We need to try to stop it here . . . at this pen. The first thing we do is kill all of these Durocs, sick or not. Tonight. Then we scoop out the manure from the pen and throw it in the pit with the dead animals, before we bury everything. Our shoes and boots should be burned. There’s strong evidence the disease gets spread by farmers tracking the manure from a diseased pen to another. I don’t have any medications for this. We just have to anticipate anything that might carry the contamination from the sick animals to the others.”
“Does this disease live in the soil?”
“I don’t know, but I would tear down this pen and never use it again. I’ll do some research and see if one of the new chemicals might be applied to the ground. The important thing is that this gets immediate attention.”
Quincy said, “I’ve got a pit down the hill where I’ve been mining limestone rock for building. It won’t hold all of the hogs, but it’s a good start. I can widen and deepen it, but it will take time.”
“I’ll help.” Thad turned to Elizabeth. “We’ll need shovels and at least one pickaxe . . . a wheel barrow would be useful. Could you scout those up while your father and I do what has to be done?”
“I’ll have to get my Winchester,” Quincy said.
“I’ve got an old Army Colt in my saddle bags and enough bullets. I’ll do this. Why don’t you go on down the hill and see if you can start clearing loose rock out of the pit?”
“But—”
“We don’t need two for this. Go ahead.”
Thad watched the big man plod away from the pigpen, his shoulders slumped dejectedly, and waited until he disappeared into the darkness before, one by one, he carried out the executions with a single bullet in each brain.
Afterward, he joined Quincy and Elizabeth at the burial pit, and they labored until after sunrise readying the pit, dragging the dead animals to their burial place and covering them. When they were finished, Elizabeth recovered Cato from the horse’s guest stall in the barn and led him to his owner. “Saddled and ready to ride,” she said.
“Thank you, Elizabeth. You are a remarkable young woman. You’ll make a fine veterinary surgeon someday. The work is not always as unhappy as this.”
He could see the exhaustion in her face, but she beamed at his words. He turned to Quincy, who had said little the entire night. “Reverend, I’m sorry. Get ahold of me immediately if you see signs of sickness in any of the other pens. I understand incubation on the disease is about two weeks. If none of the others come down with swine fever in that time, you can rest a bit easier.”
Quincy stepped forward and offered his hand. “Please call me ‘Quincy.’ You’re a true friend, Thad, and I will never forget that you fought through this night with us. You may not visit the Lord’s house often, but you carry on His work in your own way. Count on me if you ever need a friend.” Their eyes met, and Thad nodded. It had not gone unnoticed by him that he had been addressed by his given name, and that Quincy’s wariness of him had melted away.
42
CAMERON LOCKE SAT at the library table, studying the thirty-member jury pool list. He expected his father and Serena Belmont to arrive together, since she was staying at his father’s house while she was in town. The Judge had obviously taken a liking to the young woman, and Serena was safely nestled under Vedette’s protective wing for the duration. That was fine. Vedette would relieve Serena of any responsibilities beyond the trial.
He had spoken only briefly about the case with Serena after her visit with Kirsten Cavelle, but she had shocked him with the suggestion that Kirsten might testify at her trial. This was a rare occurrence and a decision not to be made lightly. He had opened his mind to the idea, though, and was interested to hear Serena’s reasoning on that point. He wondered what his father might have to say about it.
He heard a key rattling in the office outer door and the door closing and then footsteps moving his way. Serena appeared in the doorway, and the Judge followed. Serena was attired casually in denim britches—not often worn by city women—and a long-sleeved, turquoise blouse, which he bet had cost a pretty penny. He knew because Pilar did not have cheap tastes, either—nor, he admitted to himself, did he. His father, on this Sunday afternoon, had abandoned his tie, but otherwise casual was absent from his wardrobe.
When they were all seated at the table, Cam said, “I’ve been going over the jury list and your notes, Dad, but I’d like to talk about something that might have a bearing on our jury preferences.” He nodded toward Serena. “You spoke about the possibility of Kirsten testifying at her own trial. I, frankly, had considered this but tossed the idea aside. Convince me.”
”First, what evidence can the state put forth? The sheriff and the county attorney arrived at the Cavelle-Brannon home in the midst of a Locke family reunion.”
Cam smiled. “Clever. Continue.”
“They entered the bedroom and found Max Brannon dead with a bullet hole between his eyes. The prosecutor cannot be sworn as a witness, so that leaves the sheriff to testify that Max was dead. Thad will testify that Max was dead with a wound between his eyes. The county coroner will testify Max was dead and will produce a bullet that is of the same caliber as a pistol in the house and that there was an empty chamber in the revolver. Pilar and Thad and, I guess, the ranch hand will testify that Kirsten admitted Max had died. She did not say she killed him . . . never, as near as I know, did she even state he had been shot. There are zero witnesses other than possibly . . . and I say, possibly, the defendant.”
“That’s true, but the jury can convict without a witness, if the circumstantial evidence weighs heavily enough . . . and there is motive or prior incriminating statements made by the defendant.”
Serena replied, “I know how it looks, but I think Kirsten would be a compelling witness, and if she testifies she remembers nothing of any killing, you plant a seed of doubt . . . was someone else there who did the shooting and then escaped? How can you have intent if you don’t even remember doing something? There are other places we can take this to chip away at the prosecution’s case.”
“Frank Fuller is smart as hell. When you put Kirsten on the st
and he could twist and turn her testimony to get everything but a confession . . . and maybe even that. And what if she loses her temper? That could kill any sympathy she might garner from the jury.”
“I admit there’s risk, but this woman is smart and much more in control than you might think. I don’t mean this in an evil sense. She’s just very thoughtful and capable of doing what she has to do. She can play a role if called upon to do it. I think we risk more by not having her testify.”
“You’re not suggesting she didn’t kill Max?”
“Oh, she probably killed him. It sounds to me like the son of a bitch needed killing.”
Cam was taken aback for a moment. “Do you think she’s telling the truth . . . that she doesn’t remember killing Max?”
“She might be. I don’t know. Anyway, I favor Kirsten testifying, but you’re in charge; it’s your decision. Kirsten will follow our advice.”
Cam looked at his father, who had been silent throughout the exchange. As usual, he wore his poker face. “What do you think, Dad? You’ve met the woman.”
“I’m not going to try the case.”
“But?”
“I’d have her testify.”
Serena had already nearly persuaded Cam that downside risk was minimal. “I’m uneasy about this, but I’m convinced. I’ll tell her tomorrow morning to keep thinking about what happened that night. Now let’s talk about the jury. Do you know most of the jury pool, Dad?”
Myles nodded, “I don’t know them all personally, but most of those I haven’t met, I know by reputation.”
“Are there some you definitely would not want to see on the jury from Kirsten’s standpoint?”
“Gilbert Slade is a violent man . . . he drinks a lot and is a tavern brawler. No proof, but I’ve heard he’s a chronic wife beater.”
Cam looked at Serena. “We can strike three without cause. I don’t think he’d admit to beating his wife in voir dire. Strike?”
Serena nodded in agreement. “Strike.”
Myles continued. “There are two known Klan members . . . Jake Coble and Emil Jensik. That doesn’t mean there aren’t other unknowns, but I don’t think it’s too likely. There are three colored people in the pool, and a lot of the other names have Free State roots.”
“Klan members would likely resent Serena as a defense attorney. Would they admit to Klan membership in open court?”
“No,” Myles replied emphatically.
“Regardless,” Cam said, “Klan or no Klan, you wouldn’t expect these assholes to be open-minded jurors. Are there others we should be particularly wary of?”
“I wrote up a summary on each prospective juror. I had Reva type it up. It’s in my office. Approximate age, marital status, education, religion that sort of thing. I’ve noted those with possible troubled marriages and alcohol problems . . . interestingly, most of the noted persons score on both counts. Now, if you’re finished with me, I’ve got other work on my desk, and I’ll take my leave and fetch the list for you.”
Myles got up and went down the hall to his office, returning with the summaries. He put it on the table between Cam and Serena and, without a word, departed again.
Serena picked up the notes and began perusing them, as Cam watched silently, his mind racing ahead to the trial. They needed to decide today how the responsibilities are going to be divided, he thought.
His mental strategizing was quickly halted by Serena’s voice. “Your father’s very thorough. This will be a huge help when we question the potential jurors during voir dire. I see several we can probably get dismissed for cause . . . others we’ll have to question thoroughly, for instance, one Milton Haldeman. He’s a Quaker, so you would assume he would not think kindly of violence . . . but that cuts both ways with victim and accused. And how would he feel about putting a young woman to death?”
Cam shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about jurors anymore. “I don’t know. We’ll have to talk about that. What I’d really like to go over is how we’re going to divide up the trial work.”
“This is still your case. What do you want me to handle? I’ll tell you if I have any reservations about it.”
“Okay. I’ll do the opening statement and do cross-examination of any of the state’s witnesses who aren’t my family members. The sheriff and the coroner come immediately to mind . . . perhaps the undertaker. I suppose Kirsten’s hired hand, Chet, will be a witness, and, possibly, the bank officer on the question of motive. I don’t think they’ll call Pilar or Thad. From the prosecution’s standpoint Fuller will want to talk as little as possible about Kirsten’s beating. I don’t see the county attorney’s case taking more than a day, if that.”
“So I shouldn’t be involved until after the state rests?”
“No. I thought I would handle the voir dire examination of the jurors. You can observe their reactions, and we can consult on any motions to strike. You’re going to carry the burden of the defense case. I assume you will be responsible for Kirsten’s testimony . . . you seem to have established a rapport with her, and, obviously, you have confidence in her. I want you free to prepare the defense witnesses. I’ll leave it to you whether you want to do the closing argument or not. I can do it if you prefer.”
“I think I’d like to. And if I’m examining the defense witnesses, there would be some continuity in my doing this.”
“If you change your mind, let me know. We have a week to get ready. You need to talk to Thad and Pilar soon. I’ll ask Pilar to come in to the office tomorrow afternoon. I’ll track Thad down and see if we can work out something for Tuesday. You’ll need at least a half day with him.” For the first time he caught some uneasiness in her eyes.
“There’s something you should know about Thad and me.”
“I know you’ve met Thad.”
“It’s more than that. It’s very complicated, and I don’t want to get into any details. But we thought we were in love once . . . it’s been over ten years.”
“Ten years. You were kids.”
“Yes, we were. But our parting wasn’t a happy one, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“Is this going to be a problem?”
“No. But as far as I know he isn’t aware I’m participating in the case. I think he should be forewarned before he meets with me.”
“I’ll ride out and make the meeting arrangements. I’ll warn him that his old girlfriend is back in town. The rest is up to you.”
“Thank you. Thad and I have issues to deal with while I’m in Riley County, but they’ll hold till after the trial. Nothing will get in the way of that.”
The woman was staying at his father’s home, she was his brother’s former lover and now she was a soon-to-be member of the Locke & Locke firm. She had very quickly entrenched herself in their lives. Cam hoped this was the end of Serena Belmont surprises.
43
THE NEMESIS UNTIED the end of the burlap sack, pulled it apart and dumped the two small copperheads at his feet, knowing they would have no interest in biting him. He watched them slither away in opposite directions along the creek bank. He felt morose and depressed at the departure of his young reptilian friends. He had reared them since they were mere babies, having plucked them from the same nest several years earlier. Since Aldo’s murder by the bitch woman in the county jail, he had feared the discovery of his fondness for snakes, venomous ones in particular. It would not do for his friends to be discovered at his home in the event of suspicion of his involvement in the incident. So farewell, Caesar and Anthony. He knew there would be others, but it was still difficult to release them.
“Don’t be sad, my son,” came the raspy voice from behind him.
He did a quick about face. “Father, what are you doing here?” His father’s presence startled him, because it was not preceded with the usual warning odor of smoke and stale sweat. He found himself troubled and confused by this development.
“Son, I sensed you needed me, and I came quickly. You are feeling great stress, and
the pressure builds.”
“Yes, the slut has another lawyer, a nigger woman who has a reputation for great skill and cunning. It is a bad sign.”
“You’re afraid of a nigger wench?”
“Afraid? No. If she wins her case, she will die along with Max’s assassin. She may anyway. They both may die before the trial. I am not certain I can wait. I am called to render justice. Soon.”
“Don’t be a fool. Yes, you must kill them, if necessary. But the trial must happen. There will be others for you to avenge in the years ahead. You must not take unnecessary risks. If the law puts the Brannon bitch to death, you can still kill the nigger woman . . . but you can choose the time and place. Do you understand? Wait for the right time and place.”
“I feel the need. It is tearing at me.” The Nemesis began to sob.
“Listen to me,” Father said. “Be a man. The time is near. One way or another, it will all be over soon.”
44
THAD LEFT CATO at Cantwell’s Livery and walked the three blocks to the Locke offices. He felt a little foolish, but he was attired for a social occasion, wearing his brushed leather jacket and pale blue shirt sans tie and freshly polished dress boots. He had trimmed the ragged hair that was hanging over his ears a bit the previous night and taken extra care with his morning shave.
His mind still reeled. Serena Belmont had reappeared as suddenly and unexpectedly in his life as she had left it. He found himself conflicted. On the one hand he was excited at the prospect of seeing her, but on the other he was a little annoyed at the disruption she brought with her. And according to Cam, she was returning permanently to Riley County, to join the Locke law firm of all things. He was incredulous that this could be happening. He certainly had no notion they would take up where they left off ten years ago. They were mere children then, he realized, and they had followed very different paths. He was prepared for the likelihood that the Serena of his nostalgic fantasy was not the Serena of today’s reality. Certainly, he was not the boy of those idyllic weeks of their romance. They had both taken roads they had planned before their meeting that summer ten years previous, although when Cam related the level of Serena’s success, he found himself somewhat in awe.