Black Ransom, page 4
Judge Harrison was a fastidious middle-aged man of slim, short stature whose gaunt features were dominated by a sharply arched nose, atop which he perched gold-rimmed spectacles that enlarged his small, beady eyes. His stern demeanor befitted his profession but stood at odds with his mischievous personal enjoyments. Married for many years and father to a teenage daughter, Harrison maintained little romantic inclination toward his wife—a woman whom he rarely saw with so much of his life now spent traveling to dirt water towns throughout the southern regions of the state. Likewise, he’d had little time to spend with his daughter, Evaline, a girl he’d barely watched grow through her adolescent years. Financially he’d provided both with a fair degree of stability, but his frequent and lengthy absences had left an emotional void between him and his family.
Harrison would convince himself that his weeks and oftentimes months away performing his judicial duties were the reason he utilized the services of prostitutes. Such an argument would help assuage whatever guilt might begin to gnaw at his conscience. But, in truth, Harrison possessed little guilt, permitting himself neither self-reproach nor remorse for his actions. He simply preferred the company of such women. They satisfied him in a way a more intimate relationship could not. Perhaps because of the nature of his work, he needed to maintain emotional detachment even in his private life. He had the natural urges of most men toward women, responding as they satisfied his physical needs, though it was another quirk in his character that he was loath to reciprocate.
And as long as he could pay, and pay well, his “requirements” were always accommodated. Whores cooperated with his demands, no matter how strange they might be.
Judge Harrison had ridden into Justice just before sunset. He checked into the town’s one hotel, The Jubilee, which was filled to capacity but had a room already reserved for him. After unpacking his luggage, he allowed himself a bath, followed by a light supper in the hotel dining room. The trial for which he had come to town was scheduled to begin the following day, and adhering to his usual pattern, Harrison was eager to enjoy a night of relaxation at his preferred pleasure palace before assuming his “professional” title as “His Honor” at ten o’clock the next morning.
Judge Harrison would be presiding over the trial of a man accused of horse theft and attempted murder: an ex–Union soldier named Ehron Lee Burrows. Harrison had been wired all the details of the crime, and it looked to be a simple trial. Harrison dispensed justice by following the letter of the law, and there appeared to be little defense for the accused, outside of a probable plea for leniency from his attorney. But when he reviewed the evidence offered, Harrison saw no reason to grant such a request. Horse thievery in itself was a hanging offense; a vicious assault upon a helpless old man only compounded the seriousness of the crime. Much to his satisfaction, Judge Harrison could not see the trial lasting beyond a day.
But that would be dealt with tomorrow. He had other less sordid duties to pursue this night.
With Justice observing peace and quiet at this late hour, town activity was now confined to the saloon, where men played cards or just socialized over drinks. Harrison quietly exited out the back of the hotel and walked casually through the empty streets, ostensibly on a nightly constitutional but, in fact, making his way to the bordello. The bordello was a well-maintained, wood-framed, two-story house that prior to its present status had a respectable heritage. Ironically the house had been owned by a man called Justice, for whom the town was named. Percival Justice had founded the town after spending most of his life at sea and acquiring a substantial fortune in the shipping industry. The town never quite achieved the level of expansion Percival had hoped for during the years he settled there, and following his death, with most of his funds tied up in businesses that turned only a meager profit, and with no heirs to whom he could leave his estate, his house, perhaps his one worthwhile asset, was purchased by Rosina Perez, a Mexican madam of some wealth, who saw her own enterprising way of expanding her profits. She succeeded quite admirably, as her establishment was clean and comfortable, and tastefully decorated. The girls who worked for her were both professional in their duties (most had come with Rosina when she emigrated from Mexico) and proper in their care and hygiene. And most important, Rosina operated her business with respect to discretion. Her reputation was such that customers were known to come from all parts of the territory to partake of the pleasures of her establishment.
The house was situated just outside town, within walking distance but far enough from official boundaries not to be considered a part of Justice itself. The services provided by the bordello were accepted but not acknowledged by the town officials.
A narrow, willow-bordered pathway provided entry to the grounds, the dense overhang offering suitable protection of anonymity for nocturnal visitors to the house.
Judge Harrison’s arrival was expected and so the back door was unlocked for him. He climbed the stairs to his room, where he checked his pocket watch and saw that he was about fifteen minutes early for his appointment, which was how he preferred it. He never wanted his “companion” to be waiting for him. He was a man of meticulous routine, and this extended even to his pleasures. Arriving early allowed him time for a drink (a bottle of champagne was always set on the nightstand) and to prepare himself by spraying the room, and his person, liberally with imported perfume.
Almost as an afterthought, he removed the wedding band from his finger and placed it in the pocket of his trousers.
When his companion for the night announced her presence with a knock at the door, punctually at the appointed time, which pleased the judge, Harrison, already undressed and clad only in his robe, crossed the room and opened the door. The girl standing outside the room was Mexican: dark eyes and tanned skin, with long raven hair that she wore loose around her shoulders. Through his spectacles Harrison gazed at the girl appraisingly and, finding her suitable to his discriminating taste, invited her inside, not with words but with a mere nod of his head.
Truth be told, the girl, Angelique (or “Angel,” as she was known to her customers), was not as impressed with Judge Harrison as he was with her. She was a fairly new addition to Madam Rosina’s stable, having been encouraged away from a border town cantina, where she was performing the same duties under less favorable conditions and little pay. Naturally she hadn’t been told who tonight’s customer was, but his austere, almost hawk-like look, complemented by a neatly trimmed goatee that made the middle-aged man look old enough to be her grandfather, coupled with a somewhat intimidating bearing, suggested someone of importance whom, she detected, held her in low esteem. He exuded a chilly arrogance.
Not that his opinion mattered. Angelique had no illusions about herself or what she did for a living. She was a whore and she knew it.
This was her first appointment with Charles Harrison, and she didn’t know what to expect. Judging by his appearance, Angelique would have guessed his occupation as undertaker. While withholding his identity (as was always the case), Madam Rosina had called him a “gentleman of suitable character,” but Angelique had had turns with other so-called “respectables,” and she usually found that while they may have been upstanding citizens in their professional life, under the sheets it was quite a different matter.
Money was always the incentive, however, and Madam Rosina was generous in sharing her profits with her girls. Therefore, Angelique accepted the glass of champagne her client silently offered her as a preliminary overture. There would be very little conversation, and when Angelique was about to introduce herself as Angel, Harrison raised his hand to silence her. He neither wanted nor needed to know who she was. He kept such arrangements impersonal, no intimacies.
This was not particularly uncommon to Angelique—though quite often her customers provided false names to allow for at least the facade of personal connection.
After a single glass of champagne, Harrison disrobed, and buck-naked, exposing a most unappealing physique, he proceeded into bed, with Angelique likewise expected to follow. Consuming the rest of her champagne quickly to hopefully hasten the effects, the girl stepped behind a decorative partition and began removing her outer garments, uncertain if not uneasy at the prospect of what was to come, but readying herself to do her “professional” best to please the customer …
Judge Harrison’s night of pleasure at the bordello proved all that he could have hoped for. The few words he did speak were brief whispered instructions of what he expected from the girl, and while a few of his requests were somewhat peculiar, Angelique was seasoned and complied without complaint. But it had all been prelude. When the moment came, Harrison was quick on the draw, releasing but one pull on the trigger. By the time he drifted off to sleep, an exhausted Angelique had admirably fulfilled some of his fantasies.
For Angelique, the experience was far from memorable. Of course, her personal pleasure in the affair was barely a consideration. For her, the night wasn’t as exciting as it was painful. The old man seemed to have to struggle to achieve his own puny “thrill” and often he would squeeze Angelique’s forearms with a strong grip while in the midst of prompting stimulation. Angelique was certain she would end up with some bruising, but this wasn’t entirely new to her. She would simply file these souvenirs away under “hazards of the trade.”
Still and all, Harrison was impressed with the little señorita Rosina had provided, and beyond paying her fee, which he left in a sealed envelope on the night table, he also supplied a generous gratuity, which Rosina would not share with the girl.
Judge Charles Hugh Harrison returned to his hotel room before dawn feeling fully satisfied and ready to get down to the day’s business.
*
Ehron Lee Burrows had spent almost two weeks sitting in the town jail awaiting the arrival of the circuit judge. Shortly after his jailing, Ehron Lee was notified by the sheriff, Buck Leighton, that his wife, Melinda, together with her sister, Abigail, would be arriving by stagecoach later in the week to visit him. Although he desperately missed his wife, Ehron Lee didn’t want Melinda, just months from delivering the baby, to see him locked behind bars, a possible candidate for hanging. He urged the sheriff not to let her in. Sheriff Leighton wasn’t about to grant him that request; he was of no mind to deal with a determined female. He bluntly told Ehron Lee that there was no way he would keep her out if she insisted on seeing him.
What Ehron Lee couldn’t know was that Melinda would not be the problem. His sister-in-law, Abigail, was so distraught over the death of her husband that her already fragile personality had become even more unstable.
Yet when she first came inside the jailhouse, following after Melinda, she appeared calm and composed. She sat herself next to the sheriff’s desk and let Melinda have her time with Ehron Lee. She was quiet and didn’t react to the pain-wracked voice and the tears that streamed from her sister’s eyes as Melinda clung desperately to her husband’s hands when they reached outside the bars of the cell.
They didn’t speak for long; neither knew what to say to comfort the other. Ehron Lee struggled to give her reassurance, but he could only tell her what he knew for certain—and that could not include his prospects for the future.
“I’m innocent, honey, you gotta believe me,” he said. “And they shot Winston only ’cause he got scairt and tried to run off.”
Ehron Lee couldn’t tell if she’d even heard him. Her features reflected a strain he’d never seen on her before, aging her beyond her tender years. She seemed to have trouble accepting any of what he was saying. It was almost as if she were struggling to find a safe place in denial.
He tried to lighten the mood. He placed the flat of his hand against his wife’s slightly bulging tummy. “Baby’s doin’ just fine,” he said with a smile. “You gotta take care of yourself, honey, for the little one.”
But at the mention of the baby, Melinda’s emotions became so overwhelming and painful for Ehron Lee to watch that he finally motioned for Sheriff Leighton to escort her from the jail. Surprisingly, she didn’t resist; she understood how difficult this was for her husband. Ehron Lee was grateful she had made the decision to leave without protest.
He had barely collected himself before Abigail calmly rose from her chair and walked over to his cell.
Ehron Lee attempted a smile, but Abigail’s expression was cold and rigid. He was familiar with her odd moods, but this was a look of pure contempt.
“Murderer,” she said, her voice barely a whisper though heavy with intent.
Then her pitch rose as she spewed venom.
“Low-down filthy murderer! You never was no good, Ehron Lee Burrows. I saw it right from the start. You fooled everyone else, but you could never fool me …”
Ehron Lee recoiled at the accusation. He tried to speak. “Abigail, what are you say—”
She didn’t let him finish. “I know the truth. You enjoyed killin’, gettin’ blood on your hands. The war was good for yuh, Ehron Lee, wasn’t it? ’Cause it made yuh what you really are: a killer and a criminal.”
Her body trembled in a barely repressed fury. Ehron Lee just stood there, stunned into silence, unable to respond, scarcely believing any of what he was hearing. It was as if Abigail had become another person, someone hostile and vindictive.
Her thinking was not rational, and as she continued to rant, it was clear that she held Ehron Lee responsible for what had happened to Winston, her emotionally charged accusations doing nothing to assist Ehron Lee’s claim of innocence in the eyes of the sheriff, who had rushed back into the office upon hearing her outburst.
Buck Leighton urged Abigail from the office, though she continued to shout her accusations until she was outside on the boardwalk. Buck attempted to quiet her, then when she calmed after a few moments, he came back inside, closing and locking the office door behind him.
“I didn’t see your wife outside, Burrows,” he said. “Don’t think she heard any of what was goin’ on.”
“She—she don’t know what she’s sayin’, Sheriff,” Ehron Lee said numbly. “She’s still upset by what happened to Winston.”
“Can you blame her?” Buck said flatly.
Ehron Lee’s eyes sparked defensively.
“I ain’t guilty of no wrongdoin’, Sheriff,” he protested. “Those men that are responsible are still out there.”
“You claim you saw those men, Burrows, yet you never gave me much to work with, other than they were both big men, one dressed in buckskins, and that the other fella’s name was Tom or Todd or who knows what,” Buck reminded. “’Round these parts, don’t exactly make either stand out.”
“It was dark, and their faces were pretty much covered,” Ehron Lee replied wearily, repeating what he’d said countless times before. “Can’t tell yuh more than what I saw or what I heard.”
Buck said nothing. He just observed Ehron Lee with a narrow-eyed, considering expression.
Buck Leighton and Ehron Lee were roughly the same age, though the sheriff looked considerably older. His skin was lined, and traces of gray had begun to appear in his curly black hair as well as in his eyebrows. Though it wasn’t his place to make character judgments of his prisoners, Buck thought Ehron Lee to be a decent sort, and the few times they did speak, the exchanges were pleasant, if brief. Not that he could be called upon to give an honest assessment of his character. It was also known to Buck that Ehron Lee had fought in the war, and the sheriff had seen enough through his job to understand how the stress and carnage of battle could change a man—and not for the better. Many of those he’d had to arrest, as a lawman in various counties, for both minor and more serious offenses were men who, before the war, had been peaceful, honest citizens. But their wartime experiences had released some dark side of their nature that never before had been given rein. So with that in mind, he couldn’t take lightly those accusations thrown at Ehron Lee by his sister-in-law, though he, too, had to admit she was somewhat of a queer, unsettled sort.
Buck felt definite compassion for Ehron Lee’s wife, though. Although he was unmarried, he understood how difficult it must be for her, how she would defend her man, even under such damning circumstances. That aside, as each day passed, he began to disapprove of Melinda Burrows coming around the jailhouse so often, given her delicate condition and how upset she got during each visit. In truth, he simply wanted the trial over, so that, for her sake, some conclusion would be reached.
*
The morning of the trial, Buck brought Ehron Lee some breakfast. Ehron Lee moved wearily off his bunk and stepped just as slowly toward the bars of his cell. He took one look at the greasy concoction of eggs, ham, and a buttered biscuit and instantly determined that he had neither the stomach nor the inclination to eat. He’d had little interest in food since the day he was arrested, merely picking at the meals provided, leaving most on the tray. His loss of appetite was made evident by how his clothes had started to hang loosely on his frame.
The sheriff had also brought along some coffee. Ehron Lee accepted the beverage, reaching for the tin cup through the bars of the cell. The coffee was cold and strong, and he consumed only a mouthful before handing it back to Buck.
He said little that morning, his thoughts focused on what the day ahead would bring. It was difficult for him to feel optimistic about the outcome. Out of spite, his sister-in-law had taken to bad-mouthing him all over town, her accusations blackening his character and surely prejudicing the citizens.
To add to his doubts, Ehron Lee wasn’t much encouraged by his lawyer. Addison Telborough had been court-appointed since Ehron Lee had no funds to speak of, and he appeared to have prepared his case in a perfunctory manner. Maybe it was because of his downcast mood, but to Ehron Lee it seemed as if Mr. Telborough was just a little too persistent in reminding him during their visits that he didn’t have much of a defense. Maybe he was trying to brace his client for the probable outcome … or perhaps he was simply preparing to justify his own lack of success when the verdict was delivered.
