The Sporting House Killing by G. Powell (best non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

Miss Georgia, did he have a knot on his head?”

“No, sir.”

“All right, two more things and we’ll be done.” He rolled his chair back from the table and wheeled it around toward the jury. “When you were outside Miss Jessie’s, did you see any other men?”

“Yes, sir. A bald man was fixing to come in as I was going out.”

“And did you see any carriages outside?”

“Yes, sir. A two-wheeler rig was parked on the street all the time I was under that tree.”

“Anybody there with it?”

“No, sir.”

“Describe that carriage for the gentlemen of the jury.”

“Like I said, it was a two-wheeler buggy. Just one horse, of course. It was red. The seat had a fancy back to it.”

“Spindle-back?”

“I reckon.”

“Was that red carriage still there when you heard the scream?”

“It sure was.”

“Last question: You ever heard of a fella named Bud Orman?”

“No, sir.”

“Thanks, Jasper. That’s all.”

Catfish felt as relieved as Jasper looked. Jasper’s testimony proved to Burleson he wasn’t a bad boy, and on top of that, he’d backed up Cicero’s story. Now the jury had also heard about the red buggy and the presence of the other man.

Three witnesses done, and things couldn’t be going better.

The judge gave the jury a midafternoon break before the next witness. Catfish, Harley, and Miss Peach lingered outside the courtroom in the waiting area while the judge dealt with some other matters.

Catfish put his hand on Harley’s shoulder. “I’d say we’re in mighty good shape, wouldn’t you?”

Harley shot a glance at Miss Peach, who didn’t react. “I think it’d be better if you stopped mentioning Bud Orman.”

Catfish frowned. “Why?”

“The more they hear of him the more they’ll expect us to prove he’s the killer.”

Catfish nodded. “We will.”

Miss Peach cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but I think I’ll wait inside.” She returned to the courtroom.

“We’re not changing our trial strategy this late,” Catfish said. “And it’s working. Jasper did a beautiful job. Burleson won’t expel him after that.”

Harley shook his head. “Jasper isn’t the one on trial. But if Cicero gets convicted of murder, they’ll both suffer the consequences.” There was something new in his voice, not quite anger.

Catfish stiffened. Harley needed to get over it. They both had to have clear heads. “Our clients deserve lawyers who believe in what they’re doing.”

He expelled a breath. “I’m not sure I do.”

This was no time for dissension. Two innocent boys and their parents were counting on him. “Then stay out of my way.”

He threw the courtroom door open and left Harley standing outside.

Chapter 29

“I’ve got one more witness for today, Judge, and we should be able to finish up our case in the morning,” Blair announced. “We call Miss Jessie Rose.”

As the bailiff went to get her, Harley leaned over. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

Catfish ignored him and watched the door. The bailiff sounded the hallway, and she sashayed in, her skirt sweeping the floor. Wore a wide-brimmed shade hat and a blouse of fine linen with a high collar and a black bow tie. How many faces did this gal have? This was the same girl who’d showed up at the inquest, but she was an entirely different genus and species from the madam they’d met at the sporting house. Maybe there was yet another face to peel back for the jury.

“State your name, please,” Blair said from his seat at the table.

“Jessica Rose.”

“Are you a licensed madam in the Reservation?”

She answered with an elegant elevation of her chin, as if she’d been anointed by a royal decree. “I am licensed by the city of Waco to operate a lady’s boarding house.”

“How long have you had the house?”

“A little over a year.”

“Where is it?”

“Washington Street.”

Blair stood just feet away from her, but the men on the jury paid him little mind. They gawked at the dark-haired madam. She had that effect on men.

“Let me take you back to the evening of April fifteenth at about eleven o’clock,” Blair said, crossing his arms and shifting closer to the heedless jury. “Were you at the house?”

“I was.”

“Who arrived about that time?”

“Two young men.”

“Do you see one of them in this courtroom?”

“That young man there.” She pointed a delicate finger, and the jurors gaze followed its direction to Cicero.

Cicero looked down.

“Your Honor, may the record show that Miss Jessie identified the defendant, Cicero Sweet?”

“The record will show that.”

“Now, Miss Jessie, in your own words, tell the gentlemen of the jury what happened after they arrived.” Blair sat on the corner of the table.

The rumbling, hissing, whistling noise of a locomotive swelled outside the south windows, drowning out every other sound and rattling the courtroom. Miss Jessie fanned herself with an oriental fan for several minutes until the train passed and quiet returned.

She faced the jury and spoke in an easy manner. “The young gentlemen were”—the clock tower above the courtroom struck four times, and she waited for that too—“the young gentlemen were quite excited to meet the ladies of my household. I invited them into the parlor, where we had polite conversation. They were both very charming. They desired beer, so I had some brought over from a nearby establishment. They began to drink, and we were soon joined by Miss Georgia, who had been upstairs getting acquainted with another gentleman. Mr. Cicero was particularly attracted to her, and they danced to the music of my player piano. It wasn’t long before he led her upstairs. The other young man left.”

Catfish shifted in his chair. She was good at testifying. Must’ve spent more time in court than some lawyers.

Blair jotted a note. “What time was that?”

“I wasn’t looking at the clock, but it was after eleven o’clock.”

“What was the next you saw or heard of the defendant or Miss Georgia?”

“Just after midnight, I was reading in the parlor and I heard a scream. It sounded like Miss Georgia and it came from her room, which is just above the parlor. A gunshot exploded right above me—it startled me so. Big Joe came in, and I retrieved my pistol. We