by Ron Schwab
As he reached the law office door, he wondered how one greeted a former lover—a polite handshake, a quick nod of the head? A wave of queasiness gnawed at his stomach, as he entered the office.
Reva smiled warmly when she saw him and got up from her chair and hurried over to give him a warm hug. “Thad,” she said, stepping back. “You never stop by anymore. I’ve missed you.”
He returned her smile. He loved Reva—almost everyone did unless they tried to cross his father. “Busy. Between the vet work and the ranching, I only get to town for quick supply runs. I’ll try to do better.”
“See that you do. I know you’ve got business here today. Let me see if Serena’s ready to see you.” She turned and headed down the hall.
Momentarily, Reva returned with Serena close behind. The coffee-brown eyes met his, and she moved briskly past Reva to give Thad his second hug of the early afternoon. Only this one was brief and perfunctory. At least he didn’t have to worry about whether to shake her hand.
“It’s good to see you, Thad. It’s been a long time.”
Thad caught a glimpse of Reva watching them with interested and inquisitive eyes and a mischievous, tight-lipped smile on her face. He’d have to slip out quickly or face an interrogation when he left the office.
“It has been a long time,” he agreed. A brilliant turn of phrase, he thought, feeling like a tongue-tied fool.
“Come back to my office,” Serena said. “Such as it is.” She led him back to the spartanly furnished office.
He noted that the desk and her chair comprised an island surrounded by a sea of law books and scattered papers. The books on top of the desk were stacked with some semblance of order.
“Sit down,” Serena invited, gesturing toward the single chair across the desk from hers.
She pulled her own chair up to the desk, and they faced each other across a barrier that separated them by little more than three feet. This felt beyond strange, and he waited for her to initiate the conversation. Her dusky beauty hadn’t waned, he observed, although she looked a bit tired and gaunt. She wore a charcoal-gray dress to enhance her professional demeanor, he supposed, and her thick, black hair was pulled back and fastened with a silver barrette before dropping to shoulder-top.
“This is a little awkward,” Serena said softly. “There are things we must talk about before I leave for Washington, but for now we have to focus on the trial. A woman’s life is at stake.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Thad replied, a little more testily than he had intended.
“Very well. I would like to start from the beginning. Cam has given me a summary of your involvement, but you are the one who is going to have to tell the story under oath. I will be asking the questions during the defense presentation. I will not ask a single question I don’t know the answer to, so I must know before the trial what your answers will be.”
“I understand that.”
“Would you tell me in your own words everything you remember about the night Max Brannon . . . died?”
“My first contact was when Myles . . . that’s my nephew . . . showed up at my place and told me Cam wanted me to get to the C Bar C as soon as possible. He said I was to bring my medical bag and my photographic gear . . . which I thought very strange. On the other hand, Cam makes a habit of surprises.”
“From my brief acquaintance, I can imagine. Go on.”
She was like a stranger to him in her demeanor and in this environment, and it somehow made it easier for him to relate his part in the bizarre events of that night. He set forth his narrative of the events as he remembered them without interruption. When he finished, he said, “That’s pretty much what I recall.”
“Okay, I’d like to get a little more specific now. Did Mrs. Brannon . . . that’s how we’re going to refer to her. This is the name used in the criminal complaint, and we don’t want a fuss with the prosecutor. Besides, there is a possibility some jurors would have an unconscious bias against a woman who declined to use her husband’s name. Did Mrs. Brannon say that she killed her husband?”
“Never.”
“Did she say he had been shot?”
“No. She said he had died.”
“Didn’t you find that a strange way to put it?”
“Well, at the time it didn’t make much sense in light of her condition, but I hadn’t examined Max yet.”
“Since you were there in your capacity as a physician, what did you observe when you examined Max Brannon?”
“Only that he had a wound between his eyes, obviously a gunshot. Minimal blood. I have to say my examination was rather cursory. Cam didn’t encourage me to spend much time checking out the body. He later mentioned we’d let the coroner worry about Max. He said I didn’t need to take any photographs.”
“What if I told you that Mrs. Brannon doesn’t remember killing Max?”
The question caught him by surprise, and he paused before answering. “Well, I’ve spoken with her on many occasions since that night. She hasn’t told me she didn’t remember, but she hasn’t said anything to indicate she remembers, either. Frankly, I don’t know what to make of the statement.”
“Is it possible someone else could have done it?”
“Possible, I suppose, but under the circumstances, it’s difficult to imagine. Who’s the suspect?”
“Pilar said Mrs. Brannon thought that someone had been following her since the night of Max’s death.”
“Yes, I accompanied her back to Cam’s after she visited my office to have her stitches removed, because she thought someone was following her . . . and someone tried to kill her at the jail with the rattlesnake.”
“Could this have been the same person who killed Max?”
“Anything’s possible, I guess.”
“You sound skeptical.”
“I am. I guess you can try to plant a seed of reasonable doubt with that theory, but I can’t quite buy in to it.”
“Do you think it is possible Mrs. Brannon could have killed Max and not remember it?”
“Yes. There are a number of recorded case studies where people who have suffered horrible, traumatic events can’t recall the incident. ‘Amnesia’ is the medical term being applied to these situations. I think it’s a plausible explanation for her lack of recall.”
“Let me take it a step further. Is it possible Mrs. Brannon was so traumatized by her beating and mutilation that she could have killed Max Brannon without even realizing she was doing it . . . temporary insanity, so to speak?”
“Possible? Yes, I could testify that it is possible.”
“What do you really think?”
“I couldn’t . . . and wouldn’t . . . testify that I thought Kirsten knowingly and consciously killed her husband. That cannot be objectively proven or disproven. But I think she was aware of what she was doing when she killed Max . . . and that she was the one who pulled the trigger. To me, it is more possible she does not remember doing it, but I truly do not know. I have become acquainted with Kirsten since that night, though, and I don’t think anyone other than Kirsten herself will ever know what she remembers. She is a damn smart and shrewd woman . . . and I mean that as a compliment. You and Kirsten should make a dauntless team.”
She smiled. “May I take that as a compliment, too?”
Thad returned the smile. “You may.”
“Thank you. There is one other matter I would like to discuss. Cam told me about a business arrangement you and Mrs. Brannon have. He’s concerned this will come up at trial and could be problematic.”
“How could this be?”
“First, it could adversely affect your credibility as a witness. If you are Mrs. Brannon’s business partner, how objective is the rest of your testimony? Fortunately, we have the photographs to back up some of your testimony . . . but when we get into the area of less objective opinions, such as her mental state, the prosecutor will try to impeach your analysis as biased.”
“I can see that.”
“T
here is also the question of a pre-existing romantic relationship . . . which would raise the issue of motive.”
Thad flared, but kept his voice soft and even. “There was no romantic relationship and there is none. I had done some vet work at the C Bar C on, perhaps, two occasions before the night of Max’s death. I hardly knew Kirsten. Since that time, I have been her physician and, more recently, become a business partner.”
“If you can be that emphatic in your testimony, we should be able to overcome any romantic innuendo. The business matter is more difficult to explain. My intention would be to disclose this to the jury before the prosecution does. It makes it much more difficult to cast the business arrangement in an unfavorable light. Tell me about it.”
“The land deal? There’s not much to tell. Kirsten had an opportunity to buy a half section, but she had only enough cash to buy a quarter section. The bank wouldn’t loan her the money for the whole thing, and then after her husband’s death, it became even more complicated. That would not have been a good time to pursue other financing. She told me about the property, and I was very interested in the north quarter . . . you would be familiar with the land. Anyway, she proposed I buy the entire half section and take title in my name. I would arrange a loan for half and she would advance the other half, with the understanding that when her legal troubles were over, I would transfer the south quarter to her. Her part was handled as a loan. I gave her a note carrying two percent interest for the money she put up. She will have a second mortgage on the whole thing, and we’ll have to work out details to release her quarter from the bank’s loan sometime.”
“This was not a good idea.” Thad recognized reprimand in her voice and resented it.
“Cam didn’t like the idea, either.”
“With good reason. You said I would be familiar with the land. What do you mean?”
“My quarter is where the medicine wheel is located.”
For the first time since their reunion, Thad felt he had left her speechless.
After a few moments, Serena said, “I find that very strange.”
“Don’t make more of it than it is. I obviously was familiar with the land. It will fit nicely with my other holdings, and Kirsten’s going to lease it for now. She’s a very astute business woman, and by coincidence, she led me to a good investment . . . and I like the idea of owning the tract where the medicine wheel sits. You’re not the only one who found magic there.” She could damn well think on that—he didn’t much care how she took it.
“Well, trying to camouflage the transaction was a totally wasted effort. It only looks worse. The best we can do is make disclosure. There is some logic to a woman facing legal problems working out a temporary arrangement for her business affairs. We can put the best face on it, but it hardly seems that a grieving widow would be worrying about business matters.”
“She doesn’t pretend to be a grieving widow. She’s not good at pretense.”
“Oh, I think she can pretend if she has to. I will be speaking with her, and I think you will see in the courtroom a widow who has some sorrow and remorse for the evil and twisted deceased husband. After all, she loved him once, and that counts for something.” Serena stood and said, “I think this is enough for today. I will want to speak with you again before the trial. It was nice seeing you, Thad.” She reached her hand across the desk and he took it, receiving her firm, businesslike grip.
He had been summarily dismissed.
45
THAD WAS ALLOWED to bring an extra chair into the cell, and he set it down next to the little table where Kirsten was already seated. It was early Friday afternoon of the week before the trial. “I thought I’d stop by for a spell before I talked to your lawyer again. I’m supposed to meet with her for a final ‘rehearsal,’ so to speak.” He sat down. “She doesn’t like that word . . . Rehearsal . . . so I find myself using it to annoy her. It seems to me that’s what it is.”
Kirsten was unresponsive and appeared deeply in thought, so he waited silently, knowing she would speak when she was ready. Odd, he thought, how he was getting so accustomed to her moods and habits.
Suddenly she broke the silence. “They’re going to run the railroad north to Randolph.”
He was starting to get used to her doing this, popping up with statements that made no sense in the context of their current conversation. “That’s nice,” he said noncommittally.
“No. Listen. I heard the sheriff talking about it with the deputy. It’s going to follow the Big Blue. They didn’t say which side, but it will have to be on the west side . . . our side. The west is on higher ground. A big part of the east will flood. Don’t you see what this means?”
She looked at him in seeming expectation of the correct answer. He would have to disappoint her. “Well, it will be nice for the folks in the Randolph area.”
“Think, Doc. Who owns land on the west side of the river?”
“Let me guess. Thad Locke and Kirsten Cavelle?”
“You’re doing better, Doc,” she said. “And the railroad is opportunity knocking. Your north quarter has the perfect level site in the bottomland for a spur. We could put up a livestock yard there where people could bring their hogs and cattle to ship. Better yet, we could build an auction house where buyers come and bid on livestock to ship to the big slaughter houses. We’d take commissions on both selling and shipping. There’s space for all kinds of businesses that need railroad access: grain brokers, limestone producers, saw mills . . . the list is endless. We could set up these operations ourselves and hire managers. We’d make jobs for people and have nice profits for ourselves. The railroad is the future and will be for as far as we can see.”
“Kirsten, slow down. You’re making my head spin. I’m just a simple country vet, and you’ve got me building a commercial empire.”
“Hell, Doc, you could even build an animal hospital at that site. And we could require veterinary livestock inspections before shipping. You could make some extra gold eagles from that, and buyers would have extra protection against buying diseased hogs or cattle.”
Remembering Quincy’s swine fever tragedy, Thad thought her idea had merit. “I’ll see what I can find out about the rail plans. This isn’t going to take place overnight.” Damn. Her enthusiasm was sucking him into the scheme.
“No, it will take several years to get lines built to Randolph. But we could be ready for it.”
“I’d have to think about how involved I’d want to be.” She was crazy as a loon to be thinking about these things with the gallows possibly looming in her future, but her vision had him in its clutches.
“You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”
“No, you’ve got some interesting ideas. I’d be lying if I said they didn’t intrigue me, but—”
“You’re wondering why I’m even thinking about this when I might be dead or in prison in a few weeks.”
He shrugged. “Okay, the thought had crossed my mind.”
“I would be insane if I didn’t plan ahead and put my brain to challenges. Pops taught me that. He was over fifty when I was born and several years past seventy when he died, but he never stopped moving, even when he accepted he was dying. He kept right on buying breeding stock he’d never see a calf from and land he’d never see harvested. He always said he’d never retire and never quit working. The only alternative he said was to sit back and wait for the Grim Reaper to show up. The last day of his life, one of the hands helped him into the saddle, and Pops rode out to check out the home place one more time. The horse came back riderless and they found Pops at the top of a hill overlooking his land, leaning against an old oak tree. It looked like he’d just dozed off and never woke up. Well, they may have me in a cage, but I’m not going to live whatever time I’ve got like there’s no future and nothing that needs doing.”
“I’ll see what I can find out about the railroad and keep you updated.”
She reached across the table and put her hand on top of his. “Thanks, Doc. I knew
I could make you understand.”
46
CAM LIKED AND respected Judge Cyrus Whitmore, who was anything but the stereotypical stern, cantankerous judge so often created in the public mind. On the contrary, Judge Whitmore’s round, fleshy face wore a perpetual smile, like that of a man content and pleased with his lot in life. He was generally casual and relaxed in his courtroom, but he good-naturedly maintained order and carried a Peacemaker in the holster beneath his robe. He was loath to hold tight rein on the lawyer combatants, but was quick to call the advocates up short when one or the other abused his generosity. The rotund jurist with the thatch of red hair topping his otherwise bald scalp might be misjudged as something of a bumpkin by a lawyer making his first appearance in Judge Whitmore’s courtroom. Cam knew better. Whitmore was one of only a scattering of Midwestern judges with a law school education—Yale no less—and he was nobody’s fool.
After opening statements, the judge had declared a brief recess and now consulted with his bailiff. Cam sat at the defense counsel’s table, which was parallel to the prosecution’s table so that the adverse parties faced each other. The raised judge’s bench and witness stand were positioned a dozen feet from the end of each of the tables, and public seating for thirty to thirty-five people commenced about ten feet from the opposite end of the tables. The jury box was positioned behind the county attorney’s table, which left Cam facing the jury and suited him just fine.