“So you are a whore?”
“No, I am not a whore.”
“Objection, Your Honor, your ruling has already closed this line of questioning.”
“Sustained.”
Gilmore was obviously frustrated, but he went on. “You did not care much for Billy Ray Quentin, did you?”
“No. He was mean and brutal.”
“So, if someone killed Billy Ray, you wouldn’t mind seeing him get off, would you?”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“Sustained.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Redirect?”
“Yes, your honor. Miss Culpepper, the prosecutor asked you several times if you are a whore. Now the operative word here is ‘are.’ Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you ever been a—I think the more genteel term is—‘soiled dove’?”
“I was, yes.”
“But no more?”
“No more.”
“What do you do now?”
“I work for Mrs. York.”
“Thank you. No further questions, Your Honor.”
Closing arguments were short. Murchison pointed out that Doc Patterson and Deckert concurred in their testimony as to how the fight started, with Billy Ray attempting to draw his gun on Pearlie. He also reminded the jury that Deckert, Evans, Lenny, and Mary Lou gave nearly identical accounts as to how Billy Ray came bursting back into the saloon, firing his shotgun without warning.
“The burden of proof is with the prosecution. That means that normally the guiding principle in a trial like this is that you cannot find a defendant guilty unless you are convinced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he is guilty, and in his charge to the jury, the judge will, no doubt, so instruct you. But in this case, I believe that even if that standard were reversed, if the burden of proof, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was with the defense, you would still have no recourse but to find Pearlie innocent of this charge,” Murchison said in his closing.
In his closing remarks, Gilmore again reminded the jury that Pearlie was a stranger, an itinerant wanderer who came into town and while there, for no reason other than his own innate evil, gunned down a local man.
“Billy Ray walked and talked with us, he laughed with us, he participated in the town’s celebration of the Fourth of July with us, he played cards with us. That in itself is enough to require that we demand justice be meted out to his murderer, but Billy Ray wasn’t just any local man. He was the son of the leading citizen of our town, a man to whom more than half of our citizens are beholden for their livelihood. And now, Billy Ray’s bones lie in the cemetery, at the edge of town.”
Gilmore pointed in the direction of the cemetery; then he put his hand to his ear. “Listen,” he said. “Listen closely, because if you do, you can hear in the very wind, the cry of the mournful soul of one of us—our friend—our brother, calling to us from his grave, demanding that we give him justice.”
The jury had only been out fourteen minutes when they came tramping back into the saloon turned courtroom and took their seats.
“Have you selected a foreman?” Judge McCabe asked.
“We have, Your Honor. My name is Greg Paul.”
“Mr. Paul, has the jury reached a verdict?”
“We have.”
“Would you publish the verdict, please?”
“We find the defendant, Pearlie, not guilty.”
“No!” Quentin shouted angrily. He stood up so quickly that the chair tumbled over behind him, and he pointed at Pearlie, who was already receiving a congratulatory hug from Sally.
“You son of a bitch, you’ll pay for this!”
Judge McCabe slammed his gavel down. “Marshal Dawson, escort that man out of this courtroom!” he demanded.
“Come on, Pogue,” Dawson said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Pogue glared a moment longer toward Pearlie and the others; then he, Marshal Dawson, and Snake Cates left the saloon.
The townspeople gathered around Pearlie, congratulating him, and several offered to buy him a drink as soon as the bar reopened.
“I just wish Mr. Brandon could have been here for this,” Lenny said.
