Sidewinders (13 page)

“This court's now in session,” he growled.

When the spectators had quieted down, the judge went on, “We're here to determine whether the defendant, Bo Creel, should be held over and delivered to the county seat for trial in the matter of two murders, namely those of Rose Delavan and Sally Gilbert. Since this is a hearing and not a formal trial, I'll conduct it informally. Marshal, what evidence do we have to consider in this case?”

Judge Buchanan was bound to already know the answer to that question, thought Bo, but informal or not, certain procedures had to be followed.

Marshal Haltom turned to face the judge and said, “There are a couple of witnesses, Your Honor, and one piece of physical evidence, a sketch drawn by one of those witnesses.”

“Are the witnesses here in court?”

“They are, Your Honor.”

Bo had already spotted Lauralee Parker sitting among the spectators, and he assumed the little man next to Lauralee was probably Barney Dunn. He didn't know who the other witness might be.

Scratch had sure been right about one thing: Lauralee was just as pretty, if not prettier, than she had been the last time Bo had seen her. Judging by the amount she appeared to have aged, he would have said no more than a year or two had passed since then, rather than ten.

“Call the first witness, then,” Buchanan ordered.

“Step up here, Dunn,” the marshal said.

The man sitting next to Lauralee got to his feet, confirming Bo's guess as to his identity. With a nervous look on his round, red face, he came forward. Judge Buchanan pushed a Bible across the table toward him and said, “Put your hand on that. You swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

Barney Dunn rested his hand on the Bible and said, “I do, Your Honor.”

Buchanan nodded toward a chair at the end of the table and ordered, “Sit down.”

When Dunn was seated, the judge went on, “I'll handle the questioning. State your name and occupation.”

“It's, uh, Barney Dunn, sir. I work at the Southern Belle Saloon as a bartender.”

“Very well, Mr. Dunn, tell us what you know about this case.”

Dunn licked his lips and began, “Well, uh, a couple of weeks ago, it had gotten pretty late one night and the saloon was almost empty, and I needed to, uh, answer the call of nature, you know what I mean?”

“You don't have to go into great detail about that part of the story,” Buchanan said. “Continue.”

“Since there was another bartender on duty and we weren't busy at all, I figured it would be all right to step out back into the alley and, uh, tend to what needed tending to. But when I got out there I heard something going on, sort of a scuffling sound, you know, like somebody was fighting. And then there was this other sound . . .” Dunn had to stop and draw a shaky breath before he could go on. “Have you ever been in a butcher shop, Judge, and heard somebody cutting meat with a cleaver? That's what it sounded like. So I, uh, struck a match to see what was going on.”

Buchanan interrupted the bartender to ask, “You didn't flee when it was obvious there was some sort of trouble?”

“That's just it, Your Honor. It wasn't that obvious. I never expected what I wound up seeing. I was just curious.” Dunn shook his head and added, “Now I wish I had run the other way as soon as I heard the racket.”

“If you had, the killer might not have ever been caught.”

That comment from the judge didn't sound very impartial, Bo thought.

“Go on,” Buchanan said.

Dunn took another deep breath and said, “When the match flared up, I saw a guy in the alley bending over what looked like a pile of old clothes at first. But then I realized it was . . . it was a body. I recognized the dress, because I'd seen Rose wearing it earlier that evening. Rose was a hefty gal, you know, but in a good way. Really healthy. She could take care of herself, too. But this guy, he'd done something awful to her. He had a big knife in his hand and he . . .” Dunn gulped. “He was using it to chop her up, like she was a side of meat or something.”

The town hall was hushed with horror. It remained that way for several seconds after Dunn stopped talking before Judge Buchanan cleared his throat and said, “Go on, Mr. Dunn.”

Obviously having to force the words out, Dunn said, “When the match lit, the guy . . . the guy turned around. I got a good look at his face. And then he swung that knife at
me
. I tell you, Judge, I could just about see my own head flyin' off my shoulders. I moved faster than I ever have in my life. I jumped back, and the knife barely missed me. I dropped the match and made a run for the back door of the saloon. The guy was right behind me. I heard his feet hitting the ground. But I guess I was so scared I ran like the wind. I got back inside before he could catch me.”

Again silence hung over the room until Judge Buchanan leaned forward and said heavily, “You've testified that you got a good look at the face of the man in the alley, Mr. Dunn. Do you see him in this courtroom?”

Dunn glanced apprehensively at Bo.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice not much more than a whisper. “That's him sitting over there at that other table. The one called Bo Creel.”

Bo felt almost like he was trapped in a nightmare from which there was no escape. He knew he hadn't killed Rose Delavan or the other saloon girl who had met a grisly fate at the hands of the Bear Creek Butcher. That was absolutely certain. And yet Barney Dunn seemed utterly convinced of the truth of what he was saying.

“What happened after that?” the judge asked.

“The saloon was empty. The customers had all left. Miss Parker, the owner, was upstairs, and the other bartender was out on the boardwalk in front smoking a cigar before he started cleaning up. Thank God the guy didn't chase me in there, because he still might've killed me before I could get anybody to help. But I yelled for the other bartender and grabbed a sawed-off shotgun we keep under the bar in case of trouble. Some other men heard me yelling and they came in to see what was going on, too. We got a lantern and we all went back out into the alley. Poor Rose looked even worse in that better light.”

“The killer was gone?”

Dunn nodded and said, “Yeah. There was no sign of him. But one of the guys asked me what he'd looked like, and when I started describing him, somebody said that sounded like Bo Creel. I didn't know who that was, but they told me he was somebody who used to live around here. Later, after we went back into the saloon, I made a sketch of the guy I saw. Several of the men said it looked just like Creel.”

Buchanan looked over at Marshal Haltom and asked, “That drawing is the piece of physical evidence you mentioned, Marshal?”

“That's right, Your Honor,” Haltom said. He reached to an inside pocket of his coat and drew out the folded piece of paper to hand over to the judge. “Here it is.”

Buchanan unfolded the paper, spread it on the table, stared down at it for a long moment, and grunted. He looked up and his eyes bored into Bo's face, then he checked the sketch again before pushing it away.

“Do you have anything else to add?” he asked Dunn.

“No, sir, that's the whole story. All I know of it, anyway.”

“All right, you're excused. Who's your other witness, Marshal?”

“That would be Dr. Kenneth Perkins,” Haltom said.

Dunn went back to his seat next to Lauralee. A tall, slender, gray-haired man whom Bo recognized as Doc Perkins took the chair at the end of the judge's table after being sworn in.

“What do you have to contribute to this hearing, Doctor?” Buchanan asked.

“Marshal Haltom thought I should testify since I examined the bodies of both victims,” Perkins answered. “I can confirm that the injuries to both Rose Delavan and Sally Gilbert were inflicted with a large, heavy-bladed knife, and based on the similarities of those injuries, it's my opinion that the same man was responsible for both attacks. In addition, I can testify that each of the women had a broken neck and severe bruising around the throat. I think the murderer choked them to death and broke their necks, then used the knife on them.”

“Good Lord,” muttered Buchanan. “That's awful.”

“I have one more thing to add, Your Honor,” Perkins said.

Buchanan waved a hand.

“Go ahead.”

“I've seen that drawing Mr. Dunn made, and I agree that it looks very much like Bo Creel. But it's also my opinion, having known Bo and his family for many years, that he isn't capable of committing these crimes.”

That simple declaration brought an outburst of surprised reaction from the spectators. Several of the Rafter F men yelled angrily.

Bo looked at Perkins and smiled faintly. Even though it might not do any good, he was glad that the old doctor still believed in him.

Judge Buchanan snatched up his gavel and banged it on the table.

“Settle down! Settle down!” he shouted. “By God, this is a courtroom, not the street! We'll have some decorum here, or you can all clear out!”

It took several minutes for the room to get quiet again. When it did, the judge said, “I didn't ask you for an opinion on that, Doctor. That's not for you to decide.”

“It all seems like part of the same case to me, Your Honor,” Perkins said.

Buchanan glared.

“Anything else?” he asked curtly.

The doctor shook his head.

“I've said my piece.”

“The witness is excused, then.” Buchanan looked at Haltom as Doc Perkins went back to his seat. “Anything else, Marshal?”

“No, that's it, Your Honor.”

Buchanan looked at Bo with narrowed eyes and said, “Stand up, Mr. Creel.”

That sounded ominously like he was about to be sentenced, thought Bo as he got to his feet. And in a way, he supposed he was.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Buchanan asked.

“Only that I'm not guilty, Your Honor,” Bo answered quietly.

That brought hooting and catcalls from the Fontaine men. Danny Fontaine shouted, “He's guilty as hell!”

Buchanan smacked the gavel down and roared, “Quiet!” When the noise had settled down, he glared at Bo. “You're saying that you didn't kill those women?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying, Your Honor.”

“Then how do you explain everything we've heard here today?” Buchanan pointed the gavel at Barney Dunn's sketch. “How do you explain that?”

Bo shook his head and said, “I can't. All I know is that I didn't do those terrible things.”

“That'll be up to a jury to decide. I'm remanding you to the custody of the Lavaca County sheriff and charging you with two counts of murder. You'll be taken to Hallettsville as soon as transportation can be arranged and held there until such time as you can stand trial for those crimes.”

Bo heard the sighs of relief that came from some of the spectators. As much as it pained him, he realized that most of the citizens of Bear Creek believed he was the killer. They were glad he was locked up, and they wanted him to stay that way.

Haltom said, “I can take Creel to Hallettsville today, Your Honor—”

Buchanan interrupted him, saying, “No, I want you to send word to the sheriff there and ask him to send a wagon and some deputies for the prisoner. Preferably at least half a dozen.”

“But, Judge, I can handle this—”

“No,” Buchanan broke again, his voice firm. “This case has stirred up the whole countryside. It needs to be resolved. I'm taking no chances on the prisoner escaping while he's being transported to the county seat. This is no reflection on your abilities, Marshal, simply a precaution.”

“Yes, sir,” Haltom said, but Bo could tell from the way the marshal's jaw was clenched that Haltom did indeed take it as a reflection on his abilities. “You know it'll likely be tomorrow before those deputies can get here with a wagon, don't you?”

“Creel can spend one more night in jail here.”

“Fine,” Haltom said with a nod.

Out among the spectators, Ned Fontaine stood up and said, “Wait just a minute. You're sending Creel to Hallettsville, Your Honor?”

“That's right, Mr. Fontaine.”

“But it's
not
right,” Fontaine said. He looked around at the other people in the room. “Creel killed two of our own. We shouldn't have to send him off to the county seat to be tried for that! He should face justice right here in Bear Creek!”

Loud, angry shouts of agreement came from his sons and the men who had ridden into the settlement with him. That didn't surprise Bo, but he felt a touch of disappointment when he realized that a number of the citizens were joining in. Those were people who knew him, or at least knew his family, and they were calling for his head.

“We can have a trial right here and now, damn it!” Fontaine went on. “All we need is a judge and a jury! We've got a judge, and I know there are more than twelve men in this room who'd be willing to serve on a jury.”

Buchanan and Haltom exchanged glances, and Bo could tell that both men were worried. A demonstration like this could get out of hand in a hurry. Even though the Rafter F men had left their gun belts outside, some of them could have snuck hide-out pistols into the town hall.

Scratch edged closer to Bo and said in a low voice, “If all hell breaks loose, partner, you grab one of these Remingtons of mine. I know you can use it, even with your hands cuffed like that.”

Bo knew that, too. But he didn't want to have to shoot anybody, least of all somebody he might have grown up with, just because Fontaine was stirring everybody up until they were loco.