Medicine Wheel (12 page)

He spoke with Father many times over the next month, and when it was time he crept to his mother’s bedside one morning after her debaucher of the night before had departed. She slept soundly while he slipped the noose over her head, and she awakened groggily when she felt it tighten about her neck. He dragged her to the barn, where she writhed and choked and screamed as he administered the whipping. Afterward, he tossed her on the barn floor, dropped his trousers and coupled with her, finishing quickly. He got up and pulled up his trousers and buckled his belt, giving his mother a hard kick in the ribs for good measure. There was little reaction, and she had no strength remaining to resist and helplessly watched in horror as he towered above her and the tines of the pitchfork arced downward.

Father had arrived, as he knew he would, claiming his spot on the settee. The Nemesis brought the rocking to a gradual stop, waiting some moments for Father to speak.

“You are very tired, my son.”

Father always sensed the way he felt. He alone understood the burdens the Nemesis carried, the intense pressure of his responsibilities and the tribulations incident to his mission. What would have become of him without Father’s wise counsel? “Yes, Father,” he said in a near whisper. “The bitch remains free and flaunts her sins before me.”

“You have been watching then?”

“Yes, she stays at her lawyer’s home, but she is never alone there. However, she cannot resist the call to her slutty ways for long. I followed her yesterday to the veterinary surgeon’s home . . . he is the brother of the lawyer. The itch in her crotch must have cried for relief, for she was with him several hours. She must have humped him dry. She was doubtless off fornicating with this man while Maxwell worked himself to the bone, all the while suffering silently from her defiance.”

“She is, indeed, an evil woman.”

“I had decided yesterday I could wait no longer for the law to carry out its duty. The rage overwhelmed me, and I was prepared to take her when she left the doctor’s home. But he joined her and escorted the slut back to his brother’s home. I then decided to abandon the plan.”

“It is just as well. You should not make the kill in rage. It carries greater risk of mistakes. You must be calm if you have to do this. And you must let the law run its course. Patience. Above all else, patience. God will tell you when it is time, and I will be His messenger. A question: did she see you? Did she know she was being watched?”

“No, I’m certain she did not.”

“Good. Then just wait a few days more. It is not likely the prosecutor will dally much longer. Promise me you will be patient.”

“I promise, Father. I will be patient.”

The sweet smell had dissipated. Father was gone.

25

A
FTER
HIS
MEETING
with Frank Fuller, Cam stopped by the Locke & Locke offices on Poyntz Street. The law firm’s offices were located in a narrow brick building sandwiched between an imposing mercantile store and Longtree Furniture and Funerals, lying two blocks east of the county courthouse. He was greeted with a perfunctory wave by Reva Duncan, who was engaged in an argument with one of the two Remington typewriters owned by the firm. Reva, an attractive woman in her mid-forties, pretty much ran the office. The copper-haired dynamo filled all the cracks in the office operation and still managed a household with five children and a husband whose bad back tended to flare up at the mention of work. She had been with Myles Locke since her youthful marriage before the war and protected him with fierce loyalty.
 

Cam and Reva got along fine, but when he joined the practice a few years after the war, he felt something like an intruder, and some days she made him wonder if he was still just visiting. “Is the Judge busy?” Cam asked.

“He’s always busy. But nobody’s with him.”

On his way down the hall, he called back. “Do I have any messages?”

“A stack of them on your desk. You might take a look while you’re here. I’m done making excuses to these people.”

Duly chastised, he did not reply and tapped softly on his father’s door.

“Come on in,” came the reply.

Cam entered his father’s office and slipped into one of the oak captain’s chairs that sat in front of the desk. Myles Locke’s eyes were fastened on some papers spread out on the top of his cluttered desk. His was a working office. The Judge handled no trial matters—that was Cam’s forte. The Judge’s office was his fortress and his first home, and the seeming disarray contrasted sharply with his fastidious dress and otherwise orderly habits.

Studying his father’s intent face, Cam found it hard to believe the Judge had reached his seventieth birthday. His head of thick, short-cropped, white hair suggested he carried some years on his shoulders, but his face was shallowly lined and the lean body was still good for a serious walk or horseback ride. Moreover, he could work any lawyer, including Cam, under the table.

Myles looked up from his papers. “Sorry. I’m rather absorbed in this one.”

“That’s alright,” Cam said, thinking that his father was absorbed in something most of the time.

“A man made a will ten or so years ago that left his entire estate to his wife. Then five years later he moved in with his mistress, and a few years after that he made a holographic will leaving everything to the mistress. No witnesses, but that’s not a problem if he wrote it all in his own hand . . . which can probably be established with some certainty. The mistress wants me to handle the probate of the holographic will. I told our prospective client that, since her lover was still married, the wife can probably claim a statutory share of half or so, but, otherwise her will revokes the earlier. She’s fine with half, since her paramour owned a section of land. She and the wife will be unlikely partners, so it will probably end up in partition . . . more work for lawyers. Fascinating case.”

“It sure is,” Cam lied.

Myles rolled his steel-gray eyes. “I know my cases don’t excite you much, Cameron. What’s on your mind?”

“I want to pick your brain.”

“You can pick what’s left of it.”

“I haven’t had a chance to talk with you. I’m representing a client in a murder case. You’ve probably heard about it.”

“Our client is Kirsten Cavelle. She’s been staying at your place pending charges. The county attorney’s going to file charges at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“How’d you know that? I just came from Frank Fuller’s office.”

“Reva told me.”

“How’d she know?”

“She was at the probate judge’s office this morning, and the clerk said she’d heard the rumor. Gossip runs through the courthouse like small pox, and the people there tell Reva everything.”

“Shit. I haven’t even talked to Kirsten yet. I need to get out to the house and talk with her.”

“No need. She’ll be here in an hour or so. Pilar sent a rider in to make an appointment. It seems your client wants to make some financial arrangements.”

“And she wants to meet with you?”

Myles shrugged, “I guess she wants the best. Come on, Cameron; that’s not your cup of tea.”

“No, but she might have asked me. Then I could have referred her to you.”

“I suspect Pilar gave the referral. She generally cuts right to the chase.”

“Yeah. Well, anyway, I wanted to get your thoughts about this.”

“I know next to nothing about criminal law.”

“I just want your gut reaction.”

“Fire away.”

“I’ll have to explain the options to Kirsten, but Frank’s offered a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“If she’ll enter a guilty plea, Frank will charge her with second degree. Otherwise, he goes for first.”

“She hangs for first. What happens with second?”

“Not less than ten years.”

“What’re your chances of a ‘not guilty’ verdict?”

“Hard to tell. She put a bullet between her husband’s eyes while he was sleeping. Of course, he beat the hell out of her earlier, tried to chew off her breast like a damned beaver and raped her.”

“Rape won’t fly. A man’s wife and a jury of twelve men.”

“Probably not. But we have tintypes and witnesses to testify to the beating. I’m a little concerned that we had too much family on the scene. Thad was the first doctor to see her, and Pilar was there. It could hurt my credibility examining them on the witness stand. Thad took the tintypes, too. I didn’t have any choice under the circumstances.”

“Do you have anything to gain by accepting the deal? First degree murder . . . doesn’t there have to be premeditation?”

“Yes, that’s some of what bothers me. Frank claims to have evidence of premeditation. He doesn’t say what it is, and he doesn’t have to.”

“What do you think your client is going to say about the proposed deal?”

“After you meet her, you’ll see for yourself. She’s going to say something like ‘shit no.’”

Myles lowered his head and rubbed his brow. Then he leaned back in his chair. “Have you thought about associating with another lawyer on the case . . . someone who could handle examination of family witnesses?” He added quickly, “You’d still run the case, but two heads are good . . . and you’d remove some awkward moments that might have a negative impact on the jury.”

“And you’ve got someone in mind, of course.”

Myles shuffled through the desk clutter and plucked out an envelope. He slipped out a letter and passed it to Cam, who began perusing the neatly typed pages. “A woman. Interesting,” Cam remarked.

“Her family lives in Riley County. Her father’s Quincy Belmont. We’ve done some legal work for him. A good man.”

“I know him. We buy some pork from him. She has quite a distinguished background. General Counsel for the Bill of Rights Society. First in her class at Howard University.”

“She’s represented mostly women in Bill of Rights cases . . . several of those were accused of murder. She wants to move here to be nearer to her family and wants to talk with us about employment prospects. The young woman’s speaking in Topeka next week and offers to catch a train to Manhattan to meet with us. I’d need to reply by telegram. No chance the mail would get to Washington before she left.”

“With her background we couldn’t afford her. You’re always saying we have enough work for three or four lawyers but enough money for two.”

“Maybe she’d work for what she bills less an allowance for expense share.”

“She’s colored.”

“I can’t believe that would be a problem with you.”

“Of course not. I was thinking we might get a colored man or two on the jury. Her color might not hurt. Perhaps, we could persuade her to stay over . . . sort of an audition, you might say. The trial won’t take more than four or five days. The evidence is pretty damn short on both sides. I could push for a speedy trial. I think Frank is anxious to get this behind him. He’s not that fond of high profile cases. I do think associate counsel could be helpful.”

“I’m glad you thought of it,” his father said sardonically. “I’ll have Reva get off a telegram to Serena Belmont.”

26

R
EVA
LED
K
IRSTEN
to Cam’s office following her meeting with Myles Locke. After she was seated across from Cam’s desk, Cam asked, “Did you and the Judge hit it off all right?”

“I love him,” she replied. “He doesn’t just hear you . . . he listens. He actually listens. And you may call him ‘Judge’ but he doesn’t judge. He’s kind and has a sense of humor and knows exactly what needs to be done.”

“You’re talking about my father?”

“Who else? He really put me at peace, and he’ll have my legal paperwork ready for me to sign tomorrow.”

“May I ask what paperwork?”

“A will and power of attorney. When we were riding back from his place Saturday afternoon, I asked Doc if he would look after my ranching business during any period I might be in jail. I know he didn’t want to, but he doesn’t say ‘no’ very easily if you haven’t noticed. He told me he would if you and your father had no objection. Your father had none.”

“You hadn’t asked me yet. You should have talked to me before telling the Judge to go ahead with preparing a power of attorney.”

She lifted her eyebrows and looked at him quizzically. “You have an objection?”

“I’m not fond of the idea. He’s a key witness in your case. It might encourage the notion he’s a biased witness if the jury is made aware Thad’s handling your business. We already have a situation with the land purchase I’m not comfortable with.”

“I want him to do it. He knows something about the cattle business. We’re different. Sometimes he’s kind of an innocent, expecting the best of people . . . I tend to expect the worst. But I trust him and I’ll rest easy if he’s looking after my business.”

Cam shrugged. “Have it your way. We’ve got more serious things to talk about.”

“The charges.”

“Yes, Frank Fuller’s filing tomorrow, but he’s made an offer you have to consider carefully.”

“Somehow that doesn’t reassure me.”

Cam explained the county attorney’s proposal in detail and then asked if Kirsten had questions.

“I do have some questions. As I understand it, murder in the first degree says the killing had to be willful, deliberate and premeditated. I don’t understand much of the legal shit, but I don’t see how Fuller can prove I planned to kill Max. So if he charges me with first degree, what if he can’t convince the jury . . . am I free?”

“Not necessarily. The jury can still find you guilty of murder in the second degree. Premeditation isn’t required for second degree. The killing just has to be purposely and maliciously. Manslaughter of some degree is also an option for the jury, but I don’t think that’s likely at all. Your facts just don’t fit manslaughter as defined by the Compiled Statutes of Kansas. You’re looking at first or second degree murder.”

“Why do you think he’s considering the first degree murder charges?”

“Two possibilities. One, he’s using that as a hammer to get you to enter a guilty plea, so he won’t have to try the case. Or two, he knows something I don’t know that would give a jury cause to believe you intended to kill Maxwell all the time and that, perhaps, you provoked the beatings as a cover.”