Chapter 29 #2
“He’s got you there, Counselor,” the judge stated. “Sustained.”
“Let’s focus on something you would know firsthand. Quentin Sneed. Is that how he introduced himself when you met?”
“Nope. Alvin Skinner is his name. Cleve called him Al. He only goes by the alias Quentin Sneed here in Laramie.”
Alvin wiggled his backside out of his chair once more and hefted himself to his feet. “It’s a lie!” he shouted.
“Sit down, Mr. Skinner,” the judge instructed with the bang of his gavel. “And stay there until I tell you to rise. All your popping up and down is making my head spin.”
“I have a right to question the witness and his character. This man is a criminal. How dare you show partiality to him over me!”
The gavel banged twice, and the judge scowled at the man who was walking a thin tightrope. “This is my courtroom, and I dare whatever I please. Another outburst like that earns you a night in jail. I hear the accommodations are lovely.”
Cowed by the threat, Alvin shut up.
“Continue, Mr. Bennett,” the judge directed. “And quickly, before Mr. Skinner catches his breath.”
Another ripple of laughter swept through the courtroom. Seth looked on in amazement. The entire chaotic proceeding reminded him of the traveling circus shows he’d been to as a child. If it wasn’t so important to Charlotte, he’d sit back and enjoy himself.
“Mr. Boone,” Bennett stated, rising with more grace and decorum than the fake Mr. Sneed ever could. “Can you tell us why you’re in Laramie?”
“Yes.” When he said nothing more, the judge snapped, “Then do it.”
“Oh, right. Well, word reached Denver pretty quick that Sneed was dead. Al got the idea of playing the grieving big brother to claim what he left behind. He needed men to make sure the takeover went smoothly and hired me, Cleve, and four others for the job.”
“Lies! All lies!” Quentin, also known as Alvin, crowed. “Have you wondered why he’s incriminating himself? Obviously, the whore is paying him off.”
“That’s it! You’re in contempt,” the judge roared. “Sheriff, I hope you have room for another guest. Mr. Bennett, do you have anything else for this witness?”
“I do. Mr. Boone, how much did Alvin Skinner pay you to kill Miss Charlotte?”
“Twenty Liberty gold pieces—each.”
“Judge, I would like to provide as evidence the bags of gold Sheriff Walker confiscated from Cleve and Silas Boone at Miss Charlotte’s cabin last evening.”
Seth rose and dropped the two hefty bags on the table in front of Charlotte. They landed with a thud and a clink.
“Should I take the stand?” he asked.
Simpson raised his hand. “No need. I know where this is going.”
“I can attest each bag contains twenty-twenty dollar gold pieces,” Seth informed him.
“Has Mr. Boone been offered payment or otherwise coerced for his testimony?” the judge asked further.
“He gave me a written statement and agreed to testify in hopes of leniency, Your Honor,” Seth advised. “That, of course, is up to you.”
“I’ve heard enough,” the judge declared. “I award full ownership of the Red Eye to Miss Charlotte, as well as the bank accounts under the agreement she had with the deceased.”
“An unwitnessed agreement!” Alvin exclaimed, clearly outraged.
“And…” the judge went on, shooting him a silencing glare, “by right of possession, established by her occupancy of the saloon for ten years, which more than satisfies the statute.” He held up a paper.
“And by paying the taxes on time. As evidenced by the receipt provided to me by the sheriff and signed by Miss Charlotte herself.”
“But I’m in possession. I occupy the saloon now,” Alvin sputtered.
“For a week,” the judge shot back. “As of today, you are squatting in the Red Eye no more, because I find you guilty of conspiracy to commit murder. Sentencing to occur when I calm down a bit.”
“You can’t do this! It’s not fair,” Alvin sputtered. “I demand a trial with a jury of my peers.”
The judge laughed. “You’re in the territories, not a big city back East. We practice frontier justice here, which is leveled by me. You have the right to appeal, though. Also, to me.”
“I want a lawyer!”
Judge Simpson grunted. “You should have thought of that before you opened your big mouth. But you can get one in time for your appeal in, say, six or eight months. Mr. Bennett, is there someone you can recommend?”
“I’m the only attorney in town and retained by Miss Charlotte, so no.” His deadpan reply and the fact that the immensely unlikable Alvin was shit out of luck, sent a ripple of laughter through the courtroom.
“I hear there are some top-notch lawyers in Cheyenne and Denver, but their fees are hefty, and they’ll charge extra for travel time.” Judge Simpson leveled a hard look at the newly convicted felon as he asked, “Do you have that kind of money, Mr. Skinner?”
He shook his head. At last, at a loss for words.
“Then we’ll see about transferring you to Cheyenne. I’ll see you there.”
Behind his round, rimmed glasses, Alvin blinked in confusion. “You will?”
“Didn’t I mention Cheyenne is my territory, too?” The gavel came down once more, and the judge announced, “We’re adjourned for a half hour. After this, I need a smoke.”
The audience watched in fascination as the deputies dragged the whining, begging, constantly protesting Alvin off to jail.
“What just happened?” Charlotte asked Mr. Bennett.
“A legal spectacle unlike anything I’ve ever seen before,” he muttered in dazed amazement. But when his gaze met hers, he smiled. “You came out the victor in the end, however, so justice is served.”
Overwhelmed with gratitude, she choked out, “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Bennett. You were brilliant bringing in Silas to rattle Quent—uh, Alvin. And unearthing that tax receipt was a stroke of genius. I paid it one year out of ten and had clean forgotten about it.”
“You can thank the sheriff for all of it. He does excellent detective work.”
Charlotte turned to him. “This was your doing?”
He dipped his head and said for her ears only, “Nothing else could have dragged me from your side last night and this morning.”
Tears of relief filled her eyes. “Is it really over?”
“Yes. Let’s get you home. You’re dead on your feet.”
“To your home or mine?” she clarified.
“Mine,” he answered, “where I can rest easy knowing you’re safe.”