The Sporting House Killing by G. Powell (free ebook reader for pc .TXT) 📗

The judge finished his instructions, asked the jurors to stand and raise their right hands, and then administered the oath: “I will a true verdict render, according to the law and the evidence, so help me God.”

“Your Honor,” Mr. Calloway said, rising, “we invoke the rule.”

He always did that. He’d explained to her it was based on the wisdom of an old Bible story. If witnesses weren’t allowed to hear each other’s testimony, they’d be less likely to change their stories to be consistent with what others said. Good way to catch a liar, Mr. Calloway explained.

“All right, the rule’s been invoked, and I’ll ask all those who’re going to be witnesses to stand up so I can talk to you about a thing or two. If there are any witnesses in the hallway, go get ’em.”

Cicero looked at Mr. Calloway, who shook his head. They would decide later if he would testify. Miss Peach drummed her notepad. Her two bosses would probably disagree about that.

The bailiff went to the door and motioned for those outside to come in.

“Come stand over there,” the judge said, directing Jasper, Miss Jessie, and Big Joe to stand at the bar rail. Two police officers joined them. “All you who’re standing will need to go and wait outside until you’re called. You’re not permitted to hear the testimony of other witnesses. You can talk to the lawyers in the case, but nobody else. Y’all understand?”

They all nodded and then departed.

“Mr. Blair, you may proceed with the indictment.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Gentlemen of the jury, I’ll now read to you the true bill of indictment returned by the McLennan County grand jury: ‘Be it remembered that on the sixteenth day of April, 1894, the defendant, Cicero Sweet, in the city of Waco and the county of McLennan, did then and there, willfully and with malice aforethought, murder Georgia Virginia Gamble, a single woman of this county, against the peace and dignity of the state of Texas …’”

No need to listen to the rest. She’d read it before. She drew daisies on her notepad.

“The defendant will rise,” the judge said. “Mr. Sweet, you’ve heard the charges against you. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty.”

He sounded confident. Good. The jurors watched him, except for Mr. Mitchell. She jotted a note.

“Mr. Blair, you may open.”

“May it please the court.” He nodded to the judge and strode to a spot directly in front of the jury. “Gentlemen of the jury, I’ll be brief. This is a murder case, and it’s tragically simple. A young man went to the Reservation for pleasure. He drank beer, and he lusted after one of the legal working girls, Miss Georgia Virginia Gamble. They went to her bedroom. She laughed at his manhood. He got mad and mean. She pulled out a small derringer that she kept for protection against rowdy customers. Somehow he wrestled the gun away from her and shot her in her own bed.”

Blair turned and pointed straight at Cicero. “That man, gentlemen, is the defendant, Cicero Sweet.” He calmly faced the jury again. “At that point, the beer must have overcome him, because he passed out on her floor. That is what the evidence will show, gentleman.”

He eased over to the empty witness stand and placed his hand on its balustered rail. “I will prove it with the sworn testimony of the investigating police officer, the doctor who examined the body, the bawdy woman who owns the house, and even the companion of the defendant on his venture into the Reservation.” He stepped up to the jury rail and spoke with quiet intensity. “Cicero Sweet murdered that girl, and murder’s wrong, no matter who the victim is or where the crime occurs. Murder can’t go unpunished, even in the Reservation, or we’re all in danger. At the conclusion of our proof, I will ask you to convict him of murder in the first degree. Thank you.”

On his way back to his seat, he turned back around and gestured toward the witness stand. “I neglected to mention one other witness. I won’t trouble you to know his name now, but I want you to know we might call one other witness, but only if it’s necessary. If we do call this witness, he’ll dispel any doubts and leave you with absolute certainty of the defendant’s guilt. Thank you.”

Mr. Calloway eyed Harley, who shook his head. It was Harley’s job to make sure they were prepared for all the prosecution witnesses. He turned to her, and she shrugged. She had no idea who Captain Blair could be referring to. She made a note to remind Harley to follow up on it.

She sank back into her seat just as a whistle blast from a steamboat on the river sent a two-inch cockroach scampering along the bar rail toward her. When it reached the chasm at the swinging gate, it gave up and turned back. Nasty creature. She shuddered and drew her next daisy.

Chapter 26

“The state calls Sergeant Dennis Quinn.”

The officer smiled at Catfish as he passed by, keystone hat in hand, and took the witness stand. Catfish had known Quinn a long time and cross-examined him many times. A good policeman.

Captain Blair began the interrogation. “Tell the folks on the jury who you are please, sir.”

“I’m Sergeant Dennis Quinn, city police.”

“How long have you been a copper in Waco?”

“Ten years, more or less.”

“And before that?”

“United States Army.”

“Sergeant, the business at hand is a killing that happened in April,” he said, turning his back on the witness and retiring to the bar rail. He crossed his arms and leaned against the rail. “Were you on duty during the early morning hours of April sixteenth of this year?”

“I was.”

“What happened about one o’clock?”

“The telephone rang, and a woman said there had been a shooting in the Reservation.”

“Where exactly?”

“Miss Jessie’s bawdy house at the corner of Washington Street and Orman’s Alley.”

“What’d you do after you got that call?”

“Another officer and I went to the bawdy house.”

“Who