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

say you were an actress in New Orleans? You weren’t a sporting girl?”

“No, I was an actress.”

“So there wouldn’t be any reason for the authorities to arrest you for being a prostitute?”

“No.”

“Play acting’s not against the law in New Orleans, is it?”

“Not the sort I did.”

He picked up a different document and flipped through it. “Didn’t you get convicted of vagrancy in New Or—”

“Judge, I have to object,” Blair said. “That doesn’t have anything to do with this murder.”

“Goes to her credibility,” Catfish answered quickly.

“Overruled.”

“Weren’t you convicted of vagrancy?”

“Yes, but that’s not prostitution.”

“Since you’ve moved to Waco, our city police have picked you up for vagrancy too, haven’t they?”

“Yes, and I paid a small fine and was released,” she answered dismissively.

“Cost of doing business?”

She didn’t answer.

“Cost of doing business, ma’am?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Running a sporting house must get mighty expensive, true?”

“Life’s expensive.”

“Well, in addition to occasional fines, you pay your bawdy house license fee every quarter, your electricity and talking-phone bills every month, and on top of that I expect you’ve got mortgage payments too?”

“Running a business is expensive.”

“Sure is. I agree with you there, ma’am.”

She shrugged.

“But you still say you own that building by yourself and nobody’s helping you with expenses?”

“That’s right.”

“You don’t have a boss?”

“Only myself.”

“By the way, there’s a gentleman visitor to your house who drives a red Stanhope gig buggy, isn’t there?”

“I have no idea what kind of carriages my guests use.”

“Have you ever seen a red two-wheel gig parked outside your house?”

“No.”

“All right. Let me ask you about the night of the killing.”

“It’s about time.”

Catfish smiled. Now she was cracking a little. “Yes, ma’am. My wife used to say sometimes I beat around the bush too much.” He put a hand on Cicero’s shoulder. “Anyway, you got a pretty good look at Mr. Sweet that night?”

“Mr. Cicero? Yes, I did.”

“Before he went upstairs with Miss Georgia, did you ever see him hit his head anywhere?”

“No.”

“Did you see a knot on his head that night?”

“No.”

“Either before or after the shooting?”

“Not at any time.”

This cross-examination couldn’t be going better. The jurors all seemed less enchanted with the madam—she was beginning to show her true colors. Reasonable doubt was raising its head. One more point to cap it off.

“Final thing. You mentioned on direct that after the shooting, while Cicero was lying on the floor, he woke up briefly?”

“He did.”

He picked up yet another document. “Now, if I remember right, that’s something you didn’t mention in your testimony at the inquest before Judge Gallagher, was it?”

“He didn’t ask me.”

“Oh, I see.” He wrinkled his face. “You didn’t think that was important enough to tell the justice of the peace at the inquest?”

“I would have told him if he’d asked. I didn’t know I was permitted to volunteer information I wasn’t asked about.”

“Well, of course you are, ma’am. Didn’t you realize you should have told him what you knew?”

“I suppose not. It’s good to know now, though, because I know something else I haven’t been asked about yet.” A slight smile flashed across her face, then vanished. “Would you like me to tell you what your client said to me that night in Miss Georgia’s room after he came to?”

Catfish curled his mustache. “He said something?”

She nodded, chin high.

“You didn’t mention that on the direct examination by Mr. Blair.”

“I wasn’t asked.”

He glanced at Blair, who studied the floor as if in deep thought. Was this a trap? Harley shook his head discreetly, but the jurors all stared at Catfish. Too late to turn back.

“All right, what did he say?”

“He said, ‘I’m sorry I shot her.’ And then he passed out again.”

Chapter 30

Catfish reeled at Miss Jessie’s answer. Should’ve seen that coming. How’d he let that vixen lure him into it? This was the mysterious confession Blair had mentioned months back. But now all eyes were on him. He fought to control any outward reactions that would betray his uncertainty about whether to ignore it or try to discredit her.

Cicero handed him a note: “I didn’t say that!”

Maybe there was another way, but it was a long shot. He had to stay calm, concentrate, and carefully set it up.

“Any more questions?” the judge asked, impatiently.

Catfish glanced at Harley. “May I have a moment to consult with my son, judge?”

“Be quick.”

He leaned down. “I need you to do some things.”

“Of course.”

Catfish took his seat and started writing frantically. The pencil lead broke, and he pulled from his waistcoat pocket the silver magic pencil on the end of his watch chain. He tugged one end until the lead point popped out the other, also exposing the inner barrel. He didn’t use it often and had forgotten what Martha had engraved on that inner cylinder: Houston & Harley.

His chest tightened. Unable to control his thoughts, his mind rushed to another trial, the fear in Houston’s eyes, then to Schoolcraft’s recent taunts: Old man, you just don’t have what it takes anymore. Was the scoundrel right?

He glanced at Harley and furiously scribbled names on a piece of paper and said in a low voice, “Get instanter subpoenas issued for these people. For one o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

“Are you all right?”

Catfish hissed. “Just do it.”

He hurriedly scratched more instructions on the paper and pushed it into his son’s hands. “Get to the sporting house before Jessie and Joe get back there. I’ll stall them here as long as I can.”

***

The door of the bawdy house closed behind him as Harley stepped into the entrance hall.

“Are you Miss Sadie?” he asked.

“No, sugar, I’m Miss Nora, but I’m just as pleasurable. Want to spend some time with me instead?”

“No, ma’am. Thank you kindly, but I’d like see Miss Sadie.”

“In there,” Nora said indifferently. She nodded toward the parlor and disappeared down the hall.

Harley went into the parlor. Maybe this would be easier than it was at Miss Josie’s. A girl lounging on a love seat broke into a smile and tilted her head alluringly at him.

“Miss Sadie?” he asked.

“That’s me.”

“Could I speak with you?”

“Do you