The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (78 page)

Their driver halted behind a long line of carriages near the gate. They alit and followed the crowd toward the entrance. Water surrounded the prison on three sides, making it one of the most secure and heavily guarded places in Washington. You could walk up the White House stairs and knock on the President’s office door, but you couldn’t get near this courtroom without a pass. Braham showed his pass, and they were allowed inside. They made their way across the entrance courtyard toward the cell block, the largest of three buildings inside the walled prison.

She had the floor plan memorized. She knew the layout and position of the newly constructed courtroom in the northeast corner of the third floor, and where on the raised platform Jack would be sitting.

David had a three-dimensional map of Jack’s cell on the second floor, and another one of the path from his cell to the courtroom. He knew how long it would take to scale the outer wall of the prison under cover of darkness, cross the yard to the cell block, climb the wall of Jack’s building, infiltrate the cell, and disappear with him. Just thinking about it made her shudder.

When she saw the crowds and squads of armed soldiers, the hair on her neck prickled at the palpable, almost physical expectation of vengeance swirling sickeningly in the air.

Cullen whispered, “Keep yer eyes…”

“On the prize,” she answered under her breath.

They entered the building to find General Grant arguing with a young private, who was looking cornered but bravely telling him, “Sir, new gas lines were installed in the courtroom. You can’t take your stogie upstairs.”

Grant was a bit taken aback and gave the young soldier a hard look, then said, “You’re following orders, and I commend you for it.” Grant turned toward the stairs, still holding his burning cigar, and came face to face with Braham. “Congratulations on your promotion, Colonel. Well deserved. I suppose you’re here to testify about what happened to Secretary Seward.”

“I’ve been called to testify, sir, but I’m here to represent Jack Mallory.”

The general shook his head. His expression was kind but serious, and there was no lack of conviction in his tone. “You’re making a mistake, Colonel. Your career in the military will be tarnished.”

“So I was told by Secretary Stanton, but my client is innocent, and I intend to prove it.”

Grant took one last puff on his cigar before extinguishing it in a silver-hinged ashtray sitting on a table next to the stairs. “Is your
lofty
goal worth your reputation?”

“It’s worth my life, sir.” Braham’s voice didn’t sharpen, but it resonated with strong commitment.

“I’ve never known you to be wrong about anything, Colonel. I pray this one mistake doesn’t haunt you for the rest of your life.” Grant nodded and preceded them up the stairs.

A hot numbness swept over her when she gazed into Braham’s eyes. What she saw there almost broke her heart, and she had to look away, fidgeting with the clasp on the leather briefcase. Cullen nudged Braham in the arm, and whistled a haunting melody from Bach or Mozart or Beethoven or one of the other classical composers she couldn’t keep straight. Braham shook his head wordlessly.

Boot heels and spurs thumped and chimed on the crowded stairs and sabers clanged as everyone climbed to the third floor. Braham led the way into the whitewashed courtroom, which was already packed with spectators lining the west side of the room. He rounded up three chairs and squeezed them in at the defense table, where several other lawyers had already claimed seats. Nodding his head, he acknowledged them but didn’t make introductions. Charlotte sat between Braham and Cullen, holding tightly to the briefcase in her lap. It was creepy being here. There were a few lawyers on one side and the whole United States on the other.

She glanced around the room, taking in the details. Later, Jack would want to know her first impressions.

The defense table was in front of a raised platform edged by a wood railing. The platform was constructed to accommodate eight prisoners and seven guards. Mary Surratt and her attorney sat at a separate table next to the defense lawyers. Additionally, there were two long tables. One for the press. The other, a green-baized-covered table, was on the east side of the room with a clear view of the witness stand and the raised platform. In the center of the table was a stack of law books. Charlotte wondered if they would ever be opened.

The commissioners entered the courtroom, talking among themselves. Judge Advocate Holt, lead prosecutor, took his place at the head of the commissioner’s table, closest to the witness stand. Charlotte eyed him with suspicion, knowing he would write rules as the trial progressed and share them with no one, at least no one on the defense teams.

Once the commissioners settled into their seats, Presiding Judge General David Hunter ordered the prisoners brought into the room. With the exception of Mary Surratt and Dr. Mudd, the prisoners were heavily shackled and hooded.

Jack sat in the middle of the platform, only a few feet from Charlotte, close enough to touch, and she was so tempted to do just that, she unintentionally cleared her throat. Braham shot her a
don’t do it again
look.

She visually examined her brother with a surgeon’s eye for detail. The wrinkled, sweat-stained linen of his shirt clung to his chest and shoulders. Although he was filthy, there were no bloodstains, and his clothes weren’t torn. He sat straight in his chair. His head didn’t wobble, and he appeared alert. He wasn’t trembling. His shackled hands were of normal color and rested easily on his knees from relaxed arms, although there was some redness around his wrists from the constant rubbing of metal against skin.

She’d been holding her breath without realizing it, and now she let it out with silent sigh of relief. If she could only see his eyes, she could get a better read on his emotional health. For now, though, his body language conveyed a strength which made her hopeful. At least he was visited daily by the Arsenal’s army physician. Would the doctor understand Braham’s memorandum on sensory deprivation and encourage General Hartranft to dispense with the hoods sooner than he did historically? She would pray he did.

General Hunter read the charges against the prisoners and each was asked if he or she objected to any member of the commission. Charlotte held her breath again. Following the establishment of Guantanamo Bay Detention Camp in 2002, Jack had written several articles about the similarities between the trial of the conspirators and the treatment of the detainees. And he’d read the biographies of all the members of the military commission, and studied their war successes and failures.

When Hunter asked Jack if he objected to any member, he said with a voice which carried throughout the room, “I object to the presence of General Hunter and General Howe. They have both just returned from a two-week tour of mourning with the President’s remains. I further object to General Hunter…”

Braham exhaled a seething breath though gritted teeth.

“…who fought against Mosby’s Rangers in the valley, sitting in judgment of Mr. Powell. I further object to General Hunter on the grounds he might be seeking atonement for the embarrassment caused by General Early in 1864. Lastly, I object to General Wallace, who might be seeking redemption for his military blunder at Shiloh.”

The courtroom erupted. Several reporters jumped out of their chairs and raced from the room. General Hunter banged his hammer repeatedly, demanding silence, but the clamor continued. Both Cullen and Braham remained expressionless. Charlotte did not dare look at the commissioners.

Jack had sealed his death warrant.

“Your objections are noted and
denied.
” General Hunter’s voice rose several notches in volume.

When the room began to calm, Cullen leaned over and whispered. “Draw an accurate layout of the room. Identify who you can, and where they’re sitting, and make a note if you recognize any of the spectators.”

While the arraignments proceeded, Charlotte drew a floor plan, stretching her neck to see on the other side of the three columns dividing the room. Very little air came through the four barred windows, and it was already sweltering. By July, she knew the temperature in the room would reach a hundred degrees.

Many of the people in the room she recognized from photographs. A few of the female spectators looked familiar, but she couldn’t put names and faces together. Rattling chains drew her attention back to the platform. The prisoners were standing.

Cullen leaned over and whispered to her once again. “Don’t watch them leave. Show me your notes.
Now.
”

A wrenching pain lodged in her chest, but she obeyed Cullen. She picked up her notes, and they huddled together in low-voiced discussion.

After the prisoners had been removed, General Holt and the commission determined the rules of procedure. Not being a real court, the commission had a great deal of latitude. Holt advised the commission several witnesses, fearing retaliation, would testify in secret.

“Which must be why there’s no record of Jack’s accusers,” she said.

After the rules were established, court adjourned for the day. Braham stood, indicating it was time for them to leave. He gathered his papers and slipped them into his briefcase.

“Let’s go,” he said.

On their way out of the courtroom, General Holt stopped Braham and said, “This will ruin your reputation. You’re a hell of a soldier. Step aside before it’s too late. Your client…well, it’s better to get out now.”

Holt’s attitude unnerved and infuriated Charlotte. The prosecutor had no idea what being in the courtroom cost Braham. He had spent months planning to save the President’s life and had failed. A man he loved as a brother was charged with a crime Braham had tried to prevent and failed. He wasn’t about to let his failure end Jack’s life. Braham shifted his feet, pretending Holt’s comments didn’t matter, but not quite pulling it off.

“I loved President Lincoln,” Braham said, “and I’ll grieve for him the rest of my life. I pray for the day those responsible pay the ultimate price for what they’ve done. But I know beyond a shadow of a doubt Jack Mallory is innocent. He did
not
support the rebel cause. He did
not
participate in a conspiracy, and I intend to prove it. Good day, General.”

Waves of weariness seemed to drag on Braham as they walked back to their carriage. Charlotte jogged to keep up with the two long-legged men. As soon as they were safely inside the carriage and out of earshot of soldiers and spectators, Braham groaned.

“
What
possessed Jack to alienate the commissioners before the trial even started? I could wring his neck. If they could have voted right then they would have put him in front of a firing squad.
Good, God.”
Braham scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’ll never be able to redeem him in the eyes of the commissioners.” He sat, utterly motionless while a silent pall settled over the interior of the carriage.

Charlotte didn’t say anything. Then after several minutes, she asked, “Did you see Gordon?”

Braham wore a cold, contemplative look as he studied her. “No, where was he?”

“Standing several feet behind you while you were talking to Holt, hissing like an angry serpent. I’m surprised you weren’t scorched by the steam.”

“So
that
was Gordon,” Cullen said.

Charlotte raised her voice excitedly. “You saw him?”

Cullen nodded as he teased the corner of his lip with his index finger, giving her a wry smile. “I did, and I agree with yer assessment.”

She shivered briefly in spite of the heat. “I didn’t want to look at him too closely. He gives me the creeps. What’d you think of his eyes? I didn’t get a good look at them.”

“They were glassy,” Cullen said.

“Good. The more pressure he’s under, the more laudanum he’ll use,” she said.

Cullen bounced his fingers now instead of his usual steepling. “David believes Henly framed Jack, but it seems excessive for a jealousy motive.”

“Jealous lovers kill people all the time,” she said.

“Yes, but for unrequited love or unfaithfulness. Not an elaborate plan to frame someone for a crime,” Cullen said.

“Add in revenge and you’ve got a very credible motive,” she said.

A question lifted Cullen’s brows. “Why would he want revenge?”

Braham leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. Intense interest showed on his face. “He wanted the position working for Lincoln. He outranked me, but I got the appointment. He’s had no use for me since.”

Cullen and Charlotte both stared intensely at Braham.

“Jesus. If Henly’s done all this to get even with me, I’ll stick a knife in his bloody, black heart.”

84

Washington City, 1865

T
wo days later,
Charlotte handed Braham his briefcase and kissed him goodbye at the door. He carried a signed writ of habeas corpus, a motion to compel General Hartranft to discontinue the use of hoods and excessive restraints, a motion to allow Jack to testify on his own behalf, and a motion compelling the general to make available for interview certain witnesses held in detention. When the motions were filed, the courtroom would explode, and she hated missing the excitement.