Harley’s pen went clattering across the table as Miss Peach brushed past him and snatched the box away. Her face was as white as the owl on the lid.
“Damn you,” Papa bellowed at Orman.
“All right, that’s enough,” the judge shouted. “Counsel, up here, right now!”
Blair hastened to the bench. Harley rose quickly and led Papa by his arm.
“Mr. Calloway,” the judge said, the veins in his neck straining, “I will have you removed from the courtroom unless you control yourself.”
Papa was motionless.
“Do you hear me, counselor?”
Papa gripped the edge of the bench so tightly his knuckles went white.
Harley raised his free hand in supplication. This was over. “Your Honor, he does hear you, and I promise it won’t happen again. Perhaps we could have a short recess?”
The judge pointed at Harley, his finger shaking. “Get control of him, Harley.” He looked up at the jurors. “Court is in recess for fifteen minutes. Bailiff, remove the jury.” He stormed off the bench and disappeared through the side door.
What was happening?
“Papa, come over here and sit down,” Harley said, steering him by the arm.
Miss Peach helped guide Papa back to his chair. A distant peal of thunder sounded through the windows behind the judge’s bench. Harley shuddered.
Papa sat breathing heavily, staring straight ahead, clutching the arms of the chair. “Did you see—Orman—whispering—with Schoolcraft?”
“What?” Harley asked.
“When I called him to the stand—he was sitting back there”—he pointed to the spectator gallery—“whispering with Thaddeus Schoolcraft—did you see him?” His eyes were wide as if he’d seen a ghost.
He’d never seen his father like this, not even in Houston’s trial. “No, Papa, Orman was outside when you called him. He wasn’t sitting with Schoolcraft.”
“He was. I—saw them.”
There was a sudden commotion behind them. Harley twisted to see Jasper trying to hold Mr. Sweet back. Mrs. Sweet gripped his arm.
Henry Sweet shook his fist at Papa and yelled, “What are you doing? You’re going to get my son convicted.”
Papa rose and lifted his hands toward his old friend. “Henry . . .”
“He’s doing his best,” Jasper said.
Harley got between them. “Please, Mr. Sweet, let me deal with this. It’ll be fine.”
“Is this the way you repay your debts?” Mr. Sweet shouted.
Mrs. Sweet seized one of his hands, begging him to stop. Her pleas finally prevailed, and with Jasper’s help, she led him away.
Miss Peach pulled Harley away from Papa and breathed a horrified whisper into his ear. “Harley, his pistol is in that cigar box. He was going to shoot Orman.”
“Get him back to the office. I’ll take care of things here.”
They left.
***
When court reconvened, Harley apologized again and advised the court he would take over while his father was indisposed. He wished Miss Peach was still there.
Cicero’s eyes were wide, and he was breathing heavily. Harley gave him a reassuring look.
The next thunderclap was louder than the last. The dangling lightbulbs over the bar shivered as lightning flashed through the south windows. The bailiff went to close them.
The prosecutor approached Orman. “Where were you on the evening of April fifteenth of this year?”
“I was playing cards at the Pacific Hotel.”
“Who with?”
“Thaddeus Schoolcraft, that man out there in the gallery,” he said, pointing.
Schoolcraft nodded at Blair.
“Who is he?”
“He’s a detective for the Katy Railroad.”
“Who else was there?”
“Oh, let’s see, it was Cooter Shaughnessy and Sterling DeGroote.”
“Mr. Shaughnessy the city alderman?”
“Yes, sir. Mighty fine card player.”
“When did you finish your game?”
“Late, about two o’clock in the morning, if I recall.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Harley half rose from his chair. “No questions. We rest our rebuttal case.”
Harley sat silently at the defense table as Orman and the others left. DeGroote had bought the whorehouse from Orman, and he’d known all along that Peter was there at the time of the killing. Shaughnessy had tried to pressure Papa into pleading Cicero guilty, and Schoolcraft had been on the grand jury that indicted Cicero, then tormented Papa at every opportunity.
Harley bit his lip. So Peter hadn’t shot Miss Georgia, but why had they protected him? Was it nothing more than to protect the good DeGroote name?
The courtroom finally emptied. Since Judge Goodrich had adjourned until two o’clock in the afternoon, Harley went back to the law office. Miss Peach was there alone. Jasper had escorted the Sweets back to their hotel room, she said, and Papa had taken off walking down Fourth Street. A thunderstorm was drenching downtown, but she’d been unable to stop him from going out in it.
“Harley, what’s wrong with your father?” she asked as soon as he’d put down his things.
He sighed and shook his head.
“That was not the same Catfish Calloway who won Lawson’s case last year with his brilliant cross-examination of the accusing witness.” She stood with her hands on both hips. “His examinations of Peter and Orman were disastrous.”
“That’s unkind.”
“It’s not—it’s troubling. Something is wrong with him. He became so emotional. He doesn’t lose control of himself like that. That’s not who he is.” She sat in a chair next to him, her arm on the table. “Before this case, he never would’ve hurled unsupported accusations at a witness. Catfish Calloway is a master of cross-examination, but that Catfish Calloway didn’t show up today. Something’s wrong.”
“He’s just under pressure. And he’s tired.”
“It’s more than that. He screamed at Orman. He cursed in court—the Catfish Calloway I know doesn’t even curse in front of ladies, much less in court. And he was going to shoot Bud Orman. He just was. Orman was right: Mr. Calloway was unhinged. Have you ever seen him act like that in court?”
It wasn’t the time for this.
“Well, I haven’t,” she said.
He stared at the table.
“When I graduated from Baylor,” she said, “I thought I was in love with a young gentleman. I was convinced we were a perfect match, and I’d already imagined our wedding day. My friends didn’t think he was right for me, and I couldn’t understand why. It was only after he left me for another girl, when I got some distance from
