Medicine Wheel (13 page)

“That’s total bullshit.”

“Did you ever tell anyone, even in jest, you were going to kill Maxwell?”

She did not reply for a time, obviously tracking through her memory. “Chet. I probably told Chet a dozen times I was going to kill the son of a bitch someday. But I never meant it. Chet knew I was just blowing off steam. He wouldn’t go to the law with that.”

“But the law might have gone to him. Have you talked to Chet lately?“

“Not for three or four days. He’s been busy looking after things at the ranch, and I haven’t been out to the place.”

“I’ll talk to him and find out if the sheriff has been poking around. Can you think of anything you’ve said or done that might lead someone to think you had reason to kill your husband?”

This time she did not hesitate. “Nigel Baker at the bank. I talked with him several times about a loan for Clem’s half section. He said that even if I took title to the land in my own name, Max would have to sign the mortgage for me to get the loan. It was my debt, and I couldn’t understand that. I was totally pissed about it. I think I said something once to the effect it would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn’t have a husband.”

This was not a pleasant development. There was no way at this moment of knowing if Fuller or Sheriff Mallery had spoken with the banker, but Cam suspected Baker had been interviewed. If not, Kirsten’s statement would likely come to light sooner or later, or he would learn she had made similar statements to someone else. She was a stubborn, opinionated woman who was not inclined to keep her opinions to herself. She was an intelligent woman, but her quick temper could leave an unfortunate trail of unhelpful words.

“Kirsten, I don’t think Fuller’s bluffing. If you don’t agree to his proposal, he’ll file the first degree charges.”

“Can he convict me?”

“There’s a definite risk. But we do have a defensive theory provided by Section 11 of Chapter 32 of the Compiled Statutes. It says that if the alleged homicide was committed under circumstances where it was justifiable or excusable, the jury is to return a verdict of not guilty. Lawyers will fight over just what that means, but the statute gives a jury a lot of wiggle room. And remember, you must be found guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. That gives the defense attorney something else to work with . . . planting seeds of reasonable doubt.”

“Can you win?”

“Yes, of course. But there are no guarantees. Juries are unpredictable. That’s one reason my father abhors the courtroom . . . says he’d as soon toss a silver dollar. Keep in mind, though, that the uncertainty cuts both ways. Fuller can’t be assured of a prosecutor’s verdict, either. That’s why he’s made the offer.”

“So, if I’m found guilty, I’ll either hang if it’s first degree or do at least ten years . . . maybe more . . . in prison if it’s second.”

“You understand correctly.”

She suddenly looked very glum and took on a whipped puppy look. “I’d as soon hang as do that time in prison. Shit no. Tell Fuller to stick the deal up his skinny ass.”

“I’ll tell him you turned down the offer. He’ll be formally filing the charges tomorrow morning. I told him you’d surrender at the courthouse . . . I’ll be with you, of course. No reason to have the sheriff bring you in and cause a public spectacle. I’ll try to get the district judge to set bond, but most judges don’t in capital cases, or the bond’s so high you can’t raise it. In other words you’ll probably sit in the county jail for a while.” He could see that the reality of her situation was sinking in. The future must seem terrifying to her, Cam thought.

“I’ll need to stop here and sign my will and the power of attorney in the morning. Can we take time to handle the signings?”

“Of course. I have one other item to put on the table . . . and we can talk about it more at the house tonight, if you like. With your permission I’m considering associating with another lawyer to act as co-counsel for your case.”

“You’re scaring me. You really are concerned.”

“I have family members who are going to be witnesses in this case. It would be better to have another lawyer dealing with their examination in the courtroom.”
 

“I guess that makes some sense.”

“We expect her in town late next week. She’s very experienced in representing women. I haven’t met her yet, so I reserve the right to change my mind after I’ve talked to her. I’d want you to meet her, too. You have the last word.”

“She? A lady law wrangler? I thought you guys were a boys’ club.” Kirsten shrugged. “Hell, why not?”

27

T
HAD
SAT
IN
the waiting area of his father’s office waiting for Cam and Kirsten to show up. He knew that Reva could see that he was nervous, because she kept making small talk. She was a totally sweet woman, unless somebody was making life difficult for the Judge, and then she could be tougher than a boot. She had covered his father’s backside since Thad was a small child.

Thad had spoken briefly with his father when he arrived, but the Judge had an appointment with a farmer client, and he barely had time to elicit Thad’s promise to show up for Sunday dinner before disappearing into his office. He would welcome more time with his father, but they both led busy lives and would often go weeks without seeing each other for anything but several Sunday dinners a month. Someday, he knew he would look back and wish they had made more time. But the Lockes had the comfort many families didn’t have. They were all there for each other when the going got rough. They had never been split by petty feuds or envy. The Judge had seen enough of that in his probate practice over the years and instilled in his progeny the foolishness of quarrels over money and sibling bickering.

Thad was unclear as to his purpose here this morning. Young Chuck James, Cam’s only full-time hand, other than Cookie, who was not much of a cowhand, had shown up at his place last night and informed him that Cam needed his help in town with Kirsten this morning, and he wanted him to be at the law offices before ten o’clock. Thad had beaten the deadline by a half hour.

Fortunately, Thad had an open day other than emergencies that might come up, not that it would have mattered to Cam. He was, though, getting a little annoyed with his summonses, and whenever he heard from Cam these days, he seemed to get drug deeper and deeper into the Kirsten Cavelle mess. Indeed, it appeared to have a life of its own and Thad had a sense it was beginning to take over his.

He gave a start when the door opened and Kirsten entered the office, trailed by Cam with a carpet bag in each hand. Thad hardly recognized Kirsten in her black, high-necked dress. He guessed Cam had costumed her as a widow in mourning for her public appearance today. He’d never seen her gussied up like this, and he thought she looked quite striking in black. Her grim face, however, betrayed her anxiety. Thad stood and nodded, at a loss for words for the occasion. She returned a small nervous smile.

Reva was on her feet, taking command of the gathering. “Kirsten, why don’t you join me in the library? I’ll go over the documents with you. I can notarize the power of attorney, and I’ll ask Myles to step out and answer any questions. Myles didn’t think he should act as a witness, and I have Mabel from next door in the spare office, waiting to act as a second witness if you’re ready to sign the will.” She turned to Cam. “You might want to check your messages while you’re here.”

Cam shrugged and grinned. “Yes, ma’am.” He headed for his office, but returned as soon as Reva disappeared with Kirsten.

“You’re probably wondering why I asked you to come in?”

“Yeah, I’m a little confused about what I’m doing here.”

“Kirsten seems more at ease when you’re around, and I’d like you to accompany her to the jail after she’s arrested. You can explain you are her doctor and that she’s still gravely ill and you want to check out her accommodations.”

“She’s not gravely ill. That’s obvious to anybody.”

“Well, make it clear she needs to be checked periodically for follow-up. She’s going to be facing hell in there, and for some reason she trusts you more than anybody. She’s going to need support, and you’re in the best position to see how she’s doing emotionally and physically. I’ve got to work on her case, and that’s where my focus will be every waking moment.”

“I’ll see what I can do. It will give me opportunities to check with her about C Bar C business, I guess.”

Cam slapped him on the back. “Thanks. I’m counting on you.”

When Kirsten and Reva returned, Reva handed Thad an envelope bulging with papers. “Your power of attorney is in here. The will goes in our safe. You’ll need this at the bank to access Kirsten’s accounts. You have general power to handle any business that comes up.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Kirsten said, “I really appreciate your doing this. Tell Henry you’re in charge of him, too.”

“He won’t believe it. Besides, I don’t think I’m even in charge of me.”

28

T
HE
R
ILEY
C
OUNTY
jail amounted to little more than a decrepit barn, which was, in fact, its former use. Construction of a new jail was in progress, but in the meantime the crudely-built, limestone structure housed the sheriff’s office and his prisoners.
 

Cam and Thad accompanied Kirsten to the sheriff’s office, and Sam Mallery was there to greet them. No sooner had they walked through the door than the sheriff stepped forward and announced formally, “Mrs. Brannon, it is my duty to inform you that you are under arrest for the murder of Maxwell Brannon, and it is now my responsibility to take you into custody. My deputy, Gid Dagenhart, will escort you to your cell, where you will change into the clothing provided prisoners of this county.”

“I generally go by ‘Miss Cavelle’ if you don’t mind,” Kirsten replied.

“Sorry, ma’am. The complaint says ‘Brannon’ and that’s what it will be. Now if you will go with Deputy Dagenhart—”

A dark, cadaverous man with aquiline features emerged from the shadows behind the sheriff. “Follow me,” he snapped.

Cam interceded. “Sam, I’ve asked my brother to take a look at the facilities and help my client get settled. As you know, she suffered severe injuries little more than a week ago, and she’s far from recovered. Thad has been her physician, and I expect him to have ready access to Miss . . . Mrs. Brannon to look after her continuing care.”

Dagenhart snorted. “A goddamned horse doctor. Well, she’ll be boarded in a horse stall. Maybe they’re a good fit.”

The sheriff turned and glared at the deputy. “Shut up, Gid.” He sighed and spoke to Cam. “You’ve never given us any trouble, Cam. I don’t see why Thad can’t help get your client moved in, and as long he stays out of the way of our work, he can visit no more than once a day for a reasonable time . . . and we’ll decide what’s reasonable.”

“Thanks, Sam. We won’t abuse your courtesy.”
 

Cam assured Kirsten he would return the next morning to discuss her case and then departed.

“Follow me,” Dagenhart ordered.

Kirsten and Thad walked side by side down the wide hallway, which he suddenly realized was the now plank-floored walkway between two rows of horse stalls that had been converted to jail cells, with the space between the wood partitions and ceiling filled in with stout steel bars that matched those of the front wall and cell doors. It appeared there were five cells lined along each side of the hallway and the three nearest the office area were occupied.

Kirsten had been assigned the last cell at the dead-end of the hall. Dagenhart pulled the barred door open. “This is your room in our hotel. Your jail garb’s on the bed. Get out of your things and into your new outfit. Your doctor friend can take your clothes with the bags.” He nodded at the carpet bags Thad had taken from Cam.

Kirsten’s eyes sparked. “My underthings are in one bag. If I cannot have that one, I insist on speaking with the sheriff.”

She had wasted no time initiating combat with one of her keepers. Thad feared this was not a good start. “Surely one of the bags can do no harm,” he said. “I understand you’ll need to check the contents. I’d appreciate your consideration.” Kirsten looked at Thad with disgust.

The deputy scowled and opened his mouth to retort before evidently thinking better of it. “You can keep one. Get in there and get changed while I go through the bags.”

He made no move to leave while Kirsten changed, so Thad stepped between the deputy and the cell bars in an effort to partially block his view. Dagenhart got down on one knee and began rummaging through the bags, holding up her undergarments and studying them lasciviously and then tossing them haphazardly on the floor.

Shortly, Kirsten tapped Thad on the shoulder, and he turned to see her standing in the doorway, dressed in what looked like wool pajamas, drab gray in color. The outfit draped on her slender form like a scarecrow’s costume, and the pant legs fell just short of her ankles, but he had seen the woman at her worst, and it seemed nothing could make her ugly. She handed him the dress and petticoat with some long stockings. “These go back to Pilar.”

He noticed she was barefoot. “Do you have anything to cover your feet?”

“No. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“I’ll bring some moccasins tomorrow. Maybe the sheriff has some socks. I’ll ask on my way out.”

“We’ve got socks,” Dagenhart said. “And I’m the head jailer. You ask me if you want something.” The deputy dropped the allowed carpet bag at Kirsten’s feet. “Pick up what you want and put it in your goddamn bag. Then be in your cage when I come back.” Then he shot Thad a disdainful look. “You got five minutes, Doc.”
 

Kirsten sorted through the scattered clothes, and Thad helped her separate them into the two bags. She kept mostly undergarments, and he stuffed everything else in the bag he would leave with Pilar. When they finished, they stood there silently perusing her new residence. It was worse than bleak, he thought. There was a narrow window opening in the rough limestone exterior wall, perhaps 18 inches wide, divided by a single bar. The room included a sagging cot with a straw mattress covered by a ragged, wool blanket decorated with streaks and spots of brown and yellow stains from sources he preferred not to know. A rickety table about three feet square and a spindle-legged chair sat in the far corner of the room, and on the floor nearby was a lidded crock, which would obviously serve as Kirsten’s latrine. The reality of her incarceration here suddenly struck his stomach, and it made him queasy.