A Love to Cherish (23 page)

Hopkins wrung his hands nervously. “That’s a shame. But what’s that got to do with me?”

“You were McAllister’s partner once, I thought you might have some insight into the killing.”

“That was a long time ago. We shared ownership of a mine. Arnold Jones was the third partner. That was before McAllister went into the wine business.” His voice turned bitter. “The mine produced enough gold to give him a start in a venture that made him a rich man.”

“What about you, Mr. Hopkins? What did you get out of the mine? I understand you sold your share to McAllister. What happened to Jones’s share?”

Hopkins shrugged. “Jones was killed in a mine accident shortly before I sold out. No one knows how it happened. I got none of the profit from the mine because I sold out before McAllister struck it rich. So did Jones’s widow.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it? Evidently this has been festering inside you a long time. Maybe
you were bitter enough to kill him,” Casey suggested.

Hopkins sent Casey a wary look. “Don’t put words in my mouth, mister. I ain’t guilty of nothing. No one can prove I killed McAllister. Besides, you don’t understand.”

“Make me understand.”

It had been a long time since Hopkins had found a sympathetic ear. Since being cheated out of half the profits of the mine, he’d spent the best years of his life prospecting the mountains and dreaming about getting even with McAllister for cheating him out of his due. When he realized he was dying, a condition confirmed by a doctor, he’d come back to San Francisco to die. As for McAllister, Hopkins had stayed up more nights than he could recall planning ways to get even, but he was so sick, so damn tired….

“Our mine wasn’t producing enough to feed one man, let alone three,” Hopkins explained. “But I felt we were on the verge of hitting pay dirt. McAllister disagreed. He wanted to call in experts to evaluate our holding. I agreed, and even paid half the costs for the fancy experts McAllister hired.

“The findings weren’t good. The experts found no evidence of a big vein and expressed grave doubts that the mine would yield anything of great value. I was devastated. I’d put my heart and soul into that mine. When McAllister offered to buy me out, I jumped at the chance to move on to greener pastures. It wasn’t until years later that I learned McAllister struck it rich a month or so after I moved on, and it occurred to me that the bastard paid those experts to give a false report.”

“I don’t blame you for being bitter.”

“The vein was good while it lasted. It played out after a year or two, but it gave McAllister the money he needed to buy land and grow grapes to produce wine, which was becoming a lucrative business in California.” He gave a caustic laugh. “Me? I was left out in the cold. Now I’m old and sick and the money no longer means anything to me.”

“My wife said she encountered you outside the McAllister mansion before T.J’s death. What were you doing there?”

“Was that little lady your wife? McAllister damn near ran her down in the street. I was merely passing by.”

“My wife has been charged with McAllister’s murder. Her trial is in a few days.”

“Too bad,” Hopkins muttered, refusing to meet Casey’s eyes. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

“Plenty, if you’re man enough to admit it. Did you kill T.J. McAllister, Mr. Hopkins? A woman’s life is at stake.”

Hopkins’ denial came swiftly. Casey didn’t believe him. “I didn’t kill McAllister. You got no call to accuse me of murder. I’m sorry for the little lady but I got my own life to live. The doc says I’m dying and I want to live my last days in peace.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hopkins, but that doesn’t change the fact that an innocent woman will be sent to prison if you don’t come clean.” Casey was furious. His gut told him Hopkins was guilty but he had no way of proving it. “Belle has a small son, think how lonely he’ll be without his mother.”

“I’ve said all I’m going to say,” Hopkins declared, retreating before Casey’s fury. “I just want to die in peace.”

“You may die in peace but you’ll go straight to hell.”

Casey’s quiet words shot terror straight to Hopkins’ heart. A cry of denial left his lips as he fled from Casey’s intimidating presence. Casey let him go but he wasn’t through with the man, not by a long shot. He intended to confront Hopkins every day until the trial and appeal to his conscience until he confessed.

The next day Casey discovered just how far Hopkins was willing to go to escape his relentless pursuit. Casey learned that Hopkins had left the boarding house, bag and baggage, in the dead of the night. With only two days remaining before the trial, Casey held virtually no hope of finding him again. Telling Belle her last hope of being freed had fled with Harry Hopkins wasn’t going to be easy. Failure was a difficult pill to swallow.

Belle remained stoic when Casey told her about Harry Hopkins. It wasn’t as if she’d actually believed Casey would find a way to keep her from going to prison. She realized he was just trying to keep her spirits up and really didn’t blame him. Actually, she felt nothing save the churning nausea that seemed to grow worse daily. She sat on the edge of the bunk, listening without really hearing about a man who might possibly have murdered T.J. McAllister.

“Belle, have you heard nothing I’ve said?” Casey asked, trying to pierce through her apathy.

“I heard. Harry Hopkins didn’t look like a killer to me.”

Casey searched her face. “What’s wrong, love, are you ill?”

“I haven’t been able to keep anything in my stomach and I feel wretched.”

His brow creased in concern. “I’ll send a doctor to see you right away.”

“No, don’t bother. There’s no time. The trial is tomorrow. I just want to get it over with. Perhaps whatever is wrong with me is God’s will. Maybe I’m dying.”

“Dammit, Belle, a little nausea never killed anyone. Damn these bars,” he cursed, viciously rattling the bars.

Sheriff Rogan heard the noise and came to investigate. “What’s all the racket about?”

“Unlock the cell door, Sheriff, my wife is ill.”

Rogan peered at Belle through the bars. “She does look a mite peaked but it’s nothing to get upset about.”

“Damn you!” Casey cried, his voice raw with emotion. “What can it hurt to let me comfort my wife?”

“Regulations …”

“The hell with regulations! Are you going to open the cell door, or am I going to have to get a court order?”

“Oh, very well,” Rogan said. It was easier to cave in than deal with the surly detective. He unlocked the door and held out his hand for Casey’s guns. Casey removed his gunbelt and shoved it into Rogan’s face. “Ten minutes, Walker.”

Casey knelt beside Belle, taking her cold hands in his. Then he felt her forehead, finding it cool and clammy. “Where do you hurt?” he asked worriedly.

Belle stared at him with empty eyes. “I … there isn’t any pain. It’s just this infernal nausea and a strange feeling I can’t explain.”

Relief shuddered through Casey. “It’s a normal reaction for a woman in your situation. It’s a wonder you haven’t cracked before now under the strain.”

Belle pulled her hands away. “Please don’t tell me I’m going to be found innocent, because I know better. The only thing I’m concerned about is Tommy’s welfare.”

“I’m surprised you’d trust me with your son.”

Belle glanced down at her hands, then up at Casey. Her expression was pained, her voice low and filled with unbearable anguish. “I have no one else. It’s either you or the orphanage.”

“God!” The word, something between a plea and expletive, exploded from his chest as he shot to his feet. It hurt like hell to know that Belle thought of him on the same level as the Devil. It hurt even worse knowing that he loved her when she cared for him not at all. He was a fool to fall in love in the first place. He’d spent years dodging women with marriage on their mind, and it was ironic that he should fall for a woman who didn’t want him.

“Will you be all right?” Casey asked, changing the subject to something safer than his frayed feelings. “Are you sure you don’t want a doctor?”

“Positive. Could you bring Tommy around tomorrow before the trial? I’d like to see him one last time before … Will you?”

Casey couldn’t help himself. He reached for Belle, bringing her into the circle of his arms. He wanted to kiss her but her head was buried against his chest. “Somewhere there’s a killer out there, Belle, and one day I’ll find him. You have to believe that.”

“I can’t even think right now. My stomach is churning, and the thought of prison is so frightening I’m not sure I’ll be able to bear it.”

“It won’t be for long, I swear it.”

“Why do you care so much? You’re Tommy’s guardian, until he reaches his majority you’re free to spend his money as you see fit.”

Casey’s arms dropped and he stepped away. “My God, you’re right, you’re not thinking clearly. Are you sure you don’t want a doctor? The trial tomorrow is bound to be an ordeal.”

Belle shook her head, so confused where Casey was concerned she no longer knew what to think. She’d all but driven him away and still he continued to work in her behalf. Why couldn’t she throw herself into his arms and let him comfort her for what might be the last time? She would have if she wasn’t so ill. If Casey didn’t leave soon she was going to embarrass herself in front of him. Then Sheriff Rogan came and Casey had to leave.

Casey left reluctantly. He had wanted desperately to comfort Belle but feared rejection. He knew she was under nearly unbearable stress and wasn’t herself, but being spurned time and again was humiliating.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, trying to imbue her with courage. “We’ll all be there, Naomi, Wan Yo, Mark, and I. Don’t count your lawyer out yet. He still has a few tricks up his sleeve.”

“Good-bye, Casey,” Belle whispered, aware of the finality of those simple words. It was going to take a miracle to get her out of this, and neither Casey nor Mr. Crowley were magicians.

B
elle spent the remaining hours before the trial vomiting into the slop bucket. She was pale and ill when she walked into the courtroom. She paused in the doorway, grateful to see Naomi sitting in the front row. Neither Mark nor Casey was present, and she couldn’t fault them for choosing not to show up. This was a cut-and-dried case and unlikely to last long enough to warrant her husband’s presence.

The bailiff gave her an ungentle shove and she stumbled forward. Her lame ankle gave way beneath her, and she would have fallen if the bailiff hadn’t grasped her arm and steadied her. She limped to the defendant’s table and sat down beside Crowley. She had conferred with her lawyer often during the last days before the trial, but she’d had nothing to add in her own defense that hadn’t already been said, and Crowley had no new developments to report.

Belle’s gaze strayed to the jury box again and again. Twelve men sat staring at her as if she were some freak in a sideshow. And she saw something
else stirring in the depths of those twelve pairs of eyes. She saw her own conviction. Without hearing a single witness, they had tried and convicted her of a violent crime. Some of the men she recognized as friends of T.J. McAllister. Others she had seen at Naomi’s place at one time or another. But all twelve had one thing in common. They thought her guilty of murder.

Belle vaguely recalled standing when the judge entered the courtroom. Kellerman was called to the stand first to testify. His testimony proved extremely damaging. Crowley cross-examined, bringing out the fact that the gun Belle brought into McAllister’s home wasn’t loaded. Then the prosecutor returned and got Kellerman to admit that Belle could have doubled back, retrieved the gun, loaded it and sneaked into the house through the back door, which Kellerman sheepishly admitted having left unlocked.

Testimony from Miss Grundig concurred with Kellerman’s, and was even more condemning and judgemental. Acquittal looked hopeless and Belle resigned herself to a guilty verdict. Dimly she wondered why Casey had chosen to absent himself from the trial. He was probably suffering guilt for lying to her. All that nonsense about wanting her trust and not allowing her to go to prison was nothing but false words and empty promises. She began to doubt her own wisdom. Marrying Casey and placing her son into his keeping had been rash and foolish. As the testimony continued, Belle’s thought process completely shut down.

*   *   *

Casey wasn’t going to give up, not even on the day of the trial. He had to find Hopkins. He still felt Hopkins was the key to the case. He and Mark left the house before dawn, split up and conducted a search of the dives and boarding houses along the waterfront. When the time set for the trial arrived, Casey bemoaned the fact that he couldn’t be with Belle, but figured she wouldn’t miss him anyway, given the way she felt about him. And continuing the search was far more important than giving Belle moral support.

Then, the miracle actually happened. Casey found Harry Hopkins in one of the most disreputable saloons on the waterfront. He was hunched over a mug of ale, his eyes half closed, his face the color of ashes. Casey sat down in the chair opposite him.

Hopkins looked up. “You found me,” he said without rancor. “Thought you might. I didn’t kill McAllister. Thought about it often enough but I didn’t do it.”

“A young woman is going to prison if you don’t confess.”

“I’m sorry. She looked like a nice gel. McAllister must have treated her like hell, just like he treated his partners.”

Casey grew desperate. “I can’t prove you did it, Hopkins, but I’m appealing to your decency and honor.”

Hopkins winced as if in pain and clutched his stomach. He did indeed look like a man courting death. “You must love the gel a great deal.” He grew thoughtful and his words rambled aimlessly. “I never loved a woman like you love your wife. I never had time. I was always on the move, searching
for that rich vein. Once I struck it rich I was gonna find me a woman to love and settle down. It never happened. I owe my wasted life to that cheating skunk McAllister.”

“All the more reason for you to kill him. Time is running out for Belle, Hopkins.”