shooting death of August Fletcher on the night of August twenty-first in the current year. Is the defendant represented by counsel?”
“Yes, Your Honor, I am counsel for the defense,” Reid answered.
“Is the state represented by counsel?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Roswell answered.
“Very well, we may proceed. Would the bailiff please bring the accused before the bench?”
Sheriff Wallace, who was acting as bailiff for this trial, walked over to the table where Bobby Lee sat next to Jack Reid.
“Get up, Cabot,” he growled. “Present yourself before the judge.”
Bobby Lee was still handcuffed, and had shackles on his ankles. He shuffled up to stand in front of the judge. Reid went with him.
“Bobby Lee Cabot, you stand accused of the crime of murder, specifically the murder of August Fletcher, Mr. Fletcher being at the time of his demise a messenger for the Nevada Central Railway Company. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty, Your Honor,” Bobby Lee said, speaking the words loudly and distinctly so that everyone in the courtroom could hear him.
“Prosecutor, make your case,” Judge Briggs said. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back in the chair and watched as Roswell rose from his seat, then approached the jury.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” he began. “You have been assembled here today to adjudicate the case of murder. It is a difficult duty, but a duty of great honor, for in it lies the entire underpinnings of our republic. You are exercising the rights and privileges secured for us by thousands of brave young men who died upon fields of battle, men who gave their last full measure of devotion so that, for as long as our republic shall endure, men like you can perform the noble duty of providing a fair trial for those such as the accused.”
Ray Roswell was smooth in appearance and language, and it was immediately apparent that he had won the respect of the jury. He gave an impassioned opening argument to the jury, calling upon sympathy for the slain messenger, evoking the image of a loving husband and father of three, taken from his family by the brutal act of murder.
“Defense may claim that his was not the finger that pulled the trigger, but by law, that does not matter,” Roswell pointed out. “He was in the act of committing a felony and, during the commission of that felony, an innocent man was killed. That makes everyone concerned equally guilty. I am confident, in fact I fully expect, that at the conclusion of this trial, you will exercise the most solemn duty of your purview, and that is to find guilty, and recommend the penalty of death by hanging for the defendant Bobby Lee Cabot.”
“No!” a woman’s voice called out from the gallery, and though Bobby Lee recognized the voice as that of Minnie Smith, the judge did not know who had called out.
“I will have no more verbal responses from this gallery,” the judge said sternly. He looked toward the defense table. “Counselor, present your defense,” he said.
Reid put his sweat-dampened handkerchief on the table, then walked over to the jury. By contrast to Roswell’s smooth and dignified appearance, Reid’s suit hung in such a misshapen fashion that he looked for all the world like a stuffed sausage. His voice was thin, and difficult to hear.
“That Mr. Cabot was there, we cannot deny. It was a full moon that night, and though it had rained earlier, the clouds moved away, which meant that my client was seen by nearly everyone on the train, bending down over the body of poor Mr. Fletcher. In fact, three passengers from the train disarmed Mr. Cabot and brought him here to jail. But'—Reid held up his finger as if making a salient point—'Bobby Lee Cabot is not the man who did the actual shooting. And I ask you to bear that in mind.”
As Roswell had just pointed out to the jury that it didn’t matter whether Bobby Lee had been the shooter or not, everyone in the court looked at each other and shook their heads in total contempt for Reid’s efforts.
“You are fired,” Bobby Lee said when Reid sat back down.
“You can’t fire me. I’m the only other lawyer in town.”
“I’ll defend myself.”
“You know what they say. The man who defends himself has a fool for a lawyer. ”
“I couldn’t have a worse fool for a lawyer if I chose the town drunk,” Bobby Lee said. “Your Honor, I am firing my counselor,” he called out.
“Your Honor, I object,” Reid said.
“You object to what, Counselor?”
“I object to this man firing me.”
“Objection overruled. He has every right to fire you, and every right to defend himself.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Bobby Lee said.
“Don’t thank me, young man,” Judge Briggs said. “I fear you have chosen an impossible task for yourself. You may present your case.”
Bobby Lee held out his hands. “Could I have these handcuffs removed? ”
“Remove the handcuffs, but keep the shackles on his ankles,” the judge said.
The sheriff walked over to the defendant’s table and removed the handcuffs. Bobby Lee stood, and rubbed his wrists for a few seconds before he began to speak.
“Your Honor, I was not a member of Frank Dodd’s gang,” Bobby Lee said. “I am an employee of the Western Capital Security Agency, and I had infiltrated his gang not for any personal gain, but for the sole purpose of setting a trap for him. That’s why I sent a letter to Sheriff Wallace, explaining what I was doing, providing him with
