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

young man?” he said, placing a hand on his client’s shoulder. “Cicero Sweet?”

“Yep.”

“Where was he?”

“On the floor.”

“In what state was he?”

“Drunk.”

“So he was passed out?”

“Yep.” She paused as if gathering her energy. “Except he came to for a minute.”

Harley’s fingers tightened around the arms of the chair. She was going to lie. He willed his father not to press her.

“Did he say anything?”

“Yep, to Miss Jessie,” she replied, confidently. “He said, ‘I shot her. I’m sorry.’”

“Are you sure about that, Miss Sadie?”

“Very sure.”

“Now, we heard Miss Jessie testify about that yesterday.” Papa seemed unaffected. He went back to Miss Peach, whispered to her, and waited while she flipped through her pad. He took the pad and pinched his pince-nez into place. “You sure Cicero didn’t say, ‘I’m sorry—I shot her,’ rather than ‘I shot her—I’m sorry?’”

Miss Sadie looked toward the window in the courtroom door. Joe was outside, looking in. She closed her eyes and mouthed something silently. “Yep, you’re right, mister. He said, ‘I’m sorry I shot her.’”

She stole another glance at Joe.

“Isn’t the truth, as you told me last night, that he never came to and didn’t say anything at all?”

She looked away. “That’s a lie.”

Papa returned the notepad to Miss Peach. “Miss Sadie, did you have an opportunity to see Miss Georgia after she’d been shot?”

“Yep.”

“Would you describe her for the jury please, ma’am?”

“She had a look of ineffable terror on her face.”

Papa looked at the jury and raised his eyebrows. “Ineffable terror?”

“Yep.”

“You know what that word ineffable means?”

“I sure do, mister. It means she looked real sorry she’d been killed by your client there.” She pointed at Cicero.

No help at all, really. Harley let out his breath as quietly as he could.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Papa said after a pause. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“No questions,” Blair said.

“Call your next witness, Catfish.”

“Your Honor, we call Joe Buckrum.”

Sadie departed, and Joe took the stand. He gave Miss Peach his one good eye. What was that about? Flies buzzed around his face, but he ignored them.

“Folks call you Big Joe?”

“Some do.”

“What’s your job for Miss Jessie?”

“Working.”

“Do you provide protection for Miss Jessie and the girls?”

“Objection,” Blair called. “Leading.”

“Sustained.”

“Ever have to use your fists?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What for?”

“Knocking on them doors when them customers’ time’s up.”

The answer drew laughter from the jury box, and Papa just shook his head with a smile. “All right, let’s try something else. Did you see me last night talking with Miss Sadie?”

“Objection, leading.”

“Sustained.”

“Where were you about eight o’clock last night?’

“I don’t remember.”

“Who’d you run into on the street?”

“I don’t recollect being on the street.”

“What did you hold in your hand last night when you and I spoke?”

“Objection, leading.”

“Catfish, he’s your witness. Don’t lead him.”

Papa glared at the witness intently. “Where’s your blackjack now, Joe?”

He had a blank look. “What blackjack?”

“Ever met a hoot owl named Iver?”

What was Papa doing?

Joe chuckled. “Met an owl?”

“Your Honor, I’m done with Joe.”

Papa slid back into his chair next to Harley and said under his breath, “Joe may look dumb as a stump, but he’s not.”

No more witnesses, thankfully. It was time to cut their losses.

As Joe exited the courtroom, Harley saw someone outside who made his heart sink. He nudged Papa and nodded toward the man, still visible through the window. It was Bud Orman.

“Papa, we don’t need him. Let’s rest our case.”

“It’s not his time yet, son.”

Harley riffled the edges of the papers before him, trying to tamp down his rising panic. This whole case was spinning out of control. Did his father have any plan left at all, or had he been reduced to grabbing at straws? How could it get any worse?

Papa stood up and addressed the court. “We call Cicero Sweet.”

Chapter 35

Catfish sniffed victory in the sultry courtroom air. He’d routed the haughty detective’s frontal attack. All that remained was to march Cicero out in front of the jury, parade that characteristic Sweet family sincerity, and then deliver the coup de main—the cross-examination of Bud Orman—to expose his mendacity and leave the real killer for all to see.

“Do you swear to tell the truth so help you God?” the bailiff asked.

Cicero stood straight as an arrow, his youthful face innocent, earnest. “I do.”

As Cicero mounted the witness chair, Catfish positioned himself in front of the jury. “Turn to these men over here. I want you to look them in the eye and tell them the honest truth. Did you shoot Miss Georgia Gamble?”

“I don’t believe I did, sir, but honestly, I don’t remember what happened.”

“So you can’t truthfully swear either you did or didn’t?”

“No, sir.”

Catfish held Miss Peach’s notepad before him. “The two sporting girls swore, and this is word for word out of both their mouths, that you came to and said, ‘I’m sorry I shot her.’ Now tell the jury, did you say that?”

“I don’t remember saying that, but I don’t think I would have, since I don’t believe I did shoot her. I had no reason to.”

Catfish returned to his swivel chair, rocked back, and crossed his legs. He’d have preferred a stronger denial, but with the boy’s memory loss, that’s all they would get. Would have to do. He wheeled around so he could see the Sweets. Henry locked eyes with him.

Trust me.

He scanned the side of the courtroom where the Sweets were. There were fewer folks here than when the sporting girls testified. Brann sat in the back, as did Babcock Brown and some other reporters. Jasper perched next to Mrs. Sweet; the judge had excused him from the subpoena after he testified, and he was no longer required to remain outside the courtroom.

“Are your folks here in court?” Catfish asked.

“Yes, sir. They’re back there on the front row.” Cicero pointed.

It was at that moment that he spotted Thaddeus Schoolcraft on the other side of the gallery. The bastard’s blackthorn cane stood upright in front of him, and he’d folded his hands over its head. Their eyes met, and Schoolcraft grinned.

He glanced at Henry Sweet, who looked back with an expression