Sundown, p.22
Sundown, page 22
Frank let go of his brother, stood over Jeb and laughed. “You scream like a four-year-old girl.”
CHAPTER 32
An hour after the dust had settled from the gunfire, it struck Wyatt that half the town’s populace seemed crammed into the spectator section. Restless and fidgeting, Wyatt found himself wedged between his brother and the ever-dapper Sam Hampton. The air was thick with anticipation, and the townsfolk seemed to buzz with that peculiar blend of excitement and dread as if they were all at the edge of their seats, waiting for the play to begin.
Emma still hadn’t shown up with her list of Confederate veterans and sympathizers living in Sundown. Without it, he had little choice but to call Travis to testify.
Wyatt’s fingers dug into his temples. He could read a jury, and as they filed in, he tried not to show Travis the sense of dread washing through him. He’d listened to the damming testimony so far and could see the confidence of Clint Hackett and the solemn expression of Judge Fleming, but it was more than that.
He couldn’t ignore the whispers in the court-room and the way members of the jury’s eyes kept shifting to Travis. Everything pointed to a guilty verdict and a hangman’s noose, and Wyatt felt responsible.
He’d move heaven and earth for his brother. Despite their differences, Wyatt owed his education and his career to Travis. As the minutes ticked by, hope for a not-guilty verdict dwindled like a candle flame flickering in a strong wind.
Someone tapped him on his shoulder. “Mr. McCrea.”
Wyatt and Travis turned around.
Ellie Baker looked stronger than he’d seen her. Clutching the locket around her neck, she spoke in a steady, if not forceful, tone. “I’m willing to testify. I want to testify. I’ll answer any questions you want to ask me.”
Travis grabbed his brother’s arm. “Don’t!”
Wyatt shook off his brother’s grip. “Miss Baker, I’ve already decided not to call you as a witness. It wouldn’t just be me asking questions.” He nodded toward the prosecution table where Hackett had yet to notice Ellie.
Her look hardened. “I understand, Mr. McCrea, but I won’t stand by and see Travis hanged so I can go on leading my life, a life of secrets and lies. Life wouldn’t be worth living…” a tear slid down her face. She dabbed it with the hanky his brother gave her, “without Travis.”
Travis looked like he wanted to squeeze Ellie’s hand, but they’d grown used to hiding their feelings in public.
Summoning as much confidence as he could muster, Wyatt steadied himself. This was what love was really like. “I won’t call you if I don’t have to.”
“Fair enough.” She took a longing glance at Travis, then returned to her seat in the back row.
Convincing a jury one of the southern sympathizers in Sundown had killed Silas Thornton was just a dream without a name he could put with his theory. Without Emma’s list, the only defense he might have would be to call Travis to the stand, and possibly even Ellie, though he doubted a jury would buy her story.
When the court-room doors opened, he held his breath as a woman entered, but it wasn’t Emma; it was Sadie.
Beside him, her father looked as surprised as he felt when his daughter sat behind Wyatt. Like he had, Sadie’s father assumed she’d taken a train to Sacramento.
Wyatt managed to smile for Sadie.
She looked past him, her eyes cold as steel. “I was at the train depot when I got to thinking that if I didn’t show up, the jury might think I’d abandoned your defense of your brother.”
“That’s very considerate.”
“I didn’t come here for you. I did it for your brother.” She gave him a manufactured smile and muttered, “Damn you.”
Travis turned to Sam Hampton. “Damn you. That’s the best she can do?”
Her father chuckled. “Oh, no. She can do much better than that.”
Grace Parker left her place in the back and sat in Emma’s spot next to Sadie, who looked horrified.
Grace took Sadie’s hand. “I’m sorry about what happened in court yesterday.”
Sadie relaxed. “Thank you, Miss Parker.” “Call me, Grace.”
Wyatt stared at the courthouse doors. Where was Emma?
Grace turned to Sadie. “I know it must have hurt to hear your fiancé had cheated, but you needed to know what he’s really like. You know what he did?”
Sadie’s face twisted in disgust. “I really don’t want to know.”
“Wyatt tried to sneak out of the room before I woke up, and he offered to pay me!”
“And you’ve loved him since you were sixteen.” Sadie patted Grace’s hand.
Travis smacked Wyatt on the back of his head. “You offered to pay her?”
Sam Hampton rolled his eyes and whispered to Wyatt. “Do you know anything about women?”
Apparently not. Before he could defend himself, the bailiff called the court to rise.
Wyatt shot a final glance at the door, hoping for Emma to appear with a list.
Wyatt faced the bench and swallowed a lump in his throat. The judge’s gavel sounded like a gunshot to Wyatt as Rawlings called the court to order.
After Grace took her seat at the witness stand, Judge Rawlings looked at Wyatt. “Mr. McCrea. Would you like to cross-exam Miss Parker?”
Wyatt steadied himself with a long breath. “No questions, Your Honor.”
Grace returned to the spectator section and sat beside Deputy Stone.
The judge nodded toward the prosecution’s table. “You may call your next witness, Mr. Hackett.”
Hackett called the hotel clerk, Tommy Garcia. The young man who unknowingly held Deputy Stone’s heart captive, testified about hearing the argument Preacher Taylor testified about. “I didn’t hear the gunshot because I was busy helping a customer. The preacher rushed in like he'd seen a ghost and told me about the shooting. I hightailed it to the alley, saw the body and almost puked. Preacher Taylor told me to go fetch the sheriff, so I took off for the saloon and came back with him.”
Hackett finished questioning and took his seat. With a click glance at the courthouse doors, Wyatt rose to question the young man. So far, the hotel clerk’s testimony had been nearly identical to Reverend Taylor’s the day before. Still, a crack appeared between his testimony and the Reverend’s. Wyatt rose. “Now, Mr. Garcia.”
“Gosh, you can call me Tommy.”
“Okay, Tommy. What time did the argument in the alley occur?”
The young man shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure. Are you sure about everything else you testified to?”
“Of course.”
“You were in court yesterday when Preacher Taylor said the argument occurred at 8:15.”
“Sounds about right.”
“And Preacher Taylor heard a gunshot a few minutes later and ran in and told you. So are we talking 8:20 or so.”
“It was after that.”
Wyatt faced the jury. “How can you be sure?”
“During the argument, a couple was checking in. By the time I got them straightened out and gave them a key, I had them sign in right at 8:32. That’s when I heard the shots.”
“8:32.” Wyatt approached the witness stand. “You’re saying the shots occurred at 8:32. How can you be certain about the time?”
“There’s this big clock in the lobby, and the desk book has a place for the time. The guest wrote 8:32. That’s when Preacher Taylor ran in and told me he’d just heard a gunshot out back.”
Wyatt ran his fingers over his forehead. Travis fought Silas Thornton at 8:15. Someone shot Thornton seventeen minutes later. By that time, Travis was at Ellie’s place, but he couldn’t mention that without calling Ellie or Travis.
“So, you can document by the hotel register that Silas Thornton was shot seventeen minutes after the argument ended.”
“That sounds right.”
The clerk’s testimony conflicted with Preacher Taylor’s. Or perhaps the guest wrote down the wrong time.
At the defense table, Travis and Sam Hampton were smiling. Preacher Taylor wasn’t the type to tell a lie or not remember a detail like that, but the young man may have just planted reasonable doubt about the time of the murder in the minds of the jurors.
At the prosecutor’s table, Clint Hackett looked worried for the first time since the trial started.
“No further questions.” Wyatt returned to the defense table feeling more than satisfied. He glanced toward the door. Where was Emma?
Tommy stepped off the witness stand and went through the gate.
Deputy Stone waved to him. “Hi, Tommy.”
“Howdy, Miss Stone.” He hurried down the aisle and disappeared out the door.
The deputy whispered. “Dagnabbit! I’ve told him to call me April.”
Grace patted the deputy’s hand. “He’ll come around.”
Hackett looked slightly rattled as he called the next witness, Gabe Tuttle, the Purple Sage bartender. Hackett got right to it. “When did you first meet Silas Thornton?”
“The day he arrived. Strangers often stop off for a drink when they hit town, and if they’re looking for information, the first person they talk to if they want to find out about what’s going on is the bartender.”
Several spectators chuckled.
“Could you tell the jury about that conversation?”
“Thornton introduced himself and said he was from New Orleans. Said he was in town to check out rumors of stolen Confederate gold coins, coins stolen and hidden by a local rancher Travis McCrea. I told him that rumor had been going on since Travis came to town and there wasn’t nothing to it.”
“How did he react to that?”
Gabe paused a moment. “He said he knew someone in town who’d seen the twenty-dollar gold pieces.”
A murmur swept through the court-room.
Hackett wiped a hand over his mouth. The attorney looked like he regretted calling the bartender to testify. “Did he say who had seen the gold coins?”
Gabe looked evasive. The bartender didn’t often give up information so easily unless there was a tip in it. “Thornton said Preacher Taylor had seen Travis’s gold coins.”
A gasp spread among the spectators. Preacher Taylor appeared surprised by the bartender’s testimony, but undeterred.
Hackett turned toward the Reverend. “Did you ever ask Reverend Taylor if he’d seen Travis McCrea’s gold?”
“The Preacher’s not exactly a regular customer at the Purple Sage.”
The spectators laughed.
Hackett’s confident smile returned. “Your witness, counselor.”
Wyatt approached the witness stand. “Did you believe Thornton when he said Reverend Taylor had seen confederate gold coins.”
Gabe shook his head. “Nope. Thornton was just blowing smoke. I told him as much.”
“Do you believe there’s Confederate gold?”
Gabe rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I’ve lived here as long as Travis has. I’ve heard plenty of rumors, but I’ve never seen any gold coins so, I guess I don’t believe in them.”
“No further questions.”
Gabe stepped down.
Hackett stood in front of the bench. Clint Hackett glanced behind him as a man came through the court‐ house doors carrying two books with him. “The prosecution calls Professor Leonard Dawson.”
Wyatt couldn’t have been more surprised. When the man walked through the gate and approached the witness stand, he recognized his college history professor.
Hampton whispered to Wyatt, “He came from California to testify?”
Travis looked worried. “Who is he?”
“One of my professors in college,” Wyatt said. After the bailiff swore in the professor, Dawson settled into the chair. His jaw came forward and his steely eyes locked onto Wyatt’s.
Clint stood to the side of Wyatt and the professor could maintain eye contact. “Professor Dawson will you introduce yourself to the jury?”
“My name is Leonard Dawson. I’m employed as a professor of history at the University of California at Sacramento. I’m also an author of several history books.”
“To be clear, are you acquainted with the defense attorney?”
Wyatt stood. “Objection, relevancy.” Judge Rawlings nodded. “Overruled.”
“Wyatt McCrea was a student of mine in American History.”
“A good student?”
“He earned a B… minus.”
Wyatt wanted to object again. “B plus, Your Honor.”
As spectators laughed, the judge banged the gavel and glared at Wyatt. “You’ll get your chance to redeem your honor during cross-examination. No more outbursts.”
“Yes, your honor.”
Hackett pointed to a thick volume the professor held. “Did you write the book you’re holding?”
“I did. History of America’s Civil War 1860 to 1863. I’m working on a second volume.”
Hackett walked to the prosecution table and his associate handed him another book. He held it up. “Is this the one?”
The professor’s chest puffed with pride “It is.” Hackett carried the book to the bench. “Your honor, I would like to admit the book into evidence and provide it to the defense so they can follow along.”
“Very well.”
Hackett set the book in front of Wyatt.
“I turn your attention to chapter twenty-five. The chapter deals with three incidents that relate to this trial, the prisoner escape from Camp Martinsville in Louisiana, the battle for New Orleans between the South and the North and the evacuation and abandonment of the New Orleans Mint. Could you explain to the jury how the incidents are connected?”
Professor Dawson faced the jury who looked at them like they were in his class. “Camp Martinsville was a brutal camp that housed up to six thousand prisoners in a facility designed for half that many.”
Hampton reached for the book and began to read as the professor testified.
Hackett glanced at the defense table. “Are you aware that the defendant, Travis McCrea, was a prisoner at that facility?”
“I confirmed that with records I reviewed for my book.”
“Would you tell the jury the importance of the New Orleans Mint?”
“The Mint in New Orleans was one of three in the south that produced Confederate currency. It had been a Union Mint, but it was seized in January of 1861 before Louisiana seceded from the Union. It produced coins for the Confederacy until Union forces recaptured the mint in the battle for New Orleans.”
“What happened to the silver used to mint Confederate half dollars?”
“It disappeared, presumably silver bullion and silver coins taken from there by Confederate officials before the fall of New Orleans.”
“Just silver bullion?”
“Gold bullion as well.”
A murmur swept through the courthouse and several jurors exchanged glances.
Sam Hampton scribbled a note on a piece of paper. He turned and handed the note and five dollars to Sadie.
Wyatt didn’t know what his boss had written, but Sadie got up and left the court-room.
“Most authorities believe the South never minted gold coins at New Orleans.”
Professor Dawson’s arrogance grew. “Why would they have gold bullion if not to mint gold coins?”
“Why indeed? Would you show the jury the chapter title of your history book?”
Sam Hampton rose. “Objection, Your Honor. The defense objects to calling this book,” he held up the book, “a history book. It’s filled with speculation, and most libraries would place the book in the fiction section.”
Wyatt couldn’t help but smile.
Judge Rawlings leaned forward. “I’m going to overrule the objection. The defense will have adequate time to refute the assertions in the book that’s been admitted into evidence.”
Hampton returned to his seat and continued to scan the pages.
Dawson held up the book for the jury. “The chapter title is Confederate Gold Coins.”
Another murmur swept through the court-room, this one louder until the judge quieted the spectators.
“Professor Dawson, do you have a theory about the South printing gold coins?”
“As I mention in my book, the South had the technical capability and the resources, gold bullion. Because no one has found them doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
Beside Wyatt, Travis shook his head.
“As the battle for New Orleans turned against the south did they have the capability of removing bullion and coins?”
“I believe that’s exactly what happened.”
“When did New Orleans fall to Union forces.”
“April 25, 1862.”
“What if anything happened at Camp Martinsville?”
The jury followed the professor’s every word. “It was a time of chaos and failure of leadership. As prison guards abandoned their posts, more than two hundred prisoners escaped.”
“When was the escape?”
“April 25, 1862.”
“Is that the date Travis McCrea escaped from Camp Martinsville?”
“I believe it was.”
Travis leaned closer to Wyatt and whispered, “That’s the first accurate thing he’s said!”
Hackett was clearly enjoying himself. “So, while Confederate troops were evacuating gold bullion and coins from the New Orleans Mint, two hundred Camp Martinsville prisoners were scattered throughout the area. Is it possible that they ran into one another?”
“Possible, if not probable.”
“Would you say it’s possible that Travis McCrea encountered Southern forces and made off with Confederate gold coins?”
“I can’t say that happened or didn’t happen, but I believe it’s certainly possible.”
“No further questions.”
Sam Hampton leaned toward Wyatt and whispered. “Ask for a break.”
Wyatt rose. “Your honor, the defense asks for a one-hour break so we can review the book placed in evidence. The prosecutor can’t expect us to read a book in twenty minutes.”
“We’ll take an early lunch break, one hour. Court will reconvene at one pm.” He banged his gavel and left behind the bench.
Hampton picked up the book. “We need to talk.” Wyatt followed Hampton outside the court-room.
