“No,” Daphne said. “I’m a woman, I know.”
I laughed.
“No,” I said.
I looked to her as we walked. She looked to me from under her parasol.
“You like her, too?” she said.
“Of course I like her.”
“Yes,” she said. “That is evident.”
“She’s my friend.”
We walked for a moment.
“Allie and I have a special friendship,” I said.
“I know...”
“No... not like that,” I said.
“How is it?”
“We have a certain kinship because we are both partners with Virgil.”
“You have known her a long time.”
“Long enough.”
“I can tell.”
“But she belongs to Virgil.”
“You say that like she is his possession.”
“She belongs to Virgil and Virgil belongs to her.”
Daphne shook her head a little.
“What?” I said.
“You don’t have to get defensive, Everett.”
“I’m not.”
“I like her, too,” she said.
“Good.”
“And she likes me.”
“She does,” I said.
“What’s not to like?” she said, then looked at me and offered a delayed smile.
“I have to agree,” I said.
“You don’t have to,” she said. “But I’m glad you do.”
“Pleasure is all mine,” I said.
“Not entirely,” she said. “But thank you for walking with me.”
“It’s quite difficult.”
She looked down as she walked. She kept looking down, then...
“Can I tell you something, Everett?”
“Sure.”
“It’s a confession of sorts.”
“I’m right here.”
“I’m very... concerned with what is happening with this trial...”
“I can understand.”
“Yes,” she said. “Well, not fully. I’m not sure you do understand, not completely, anyway.”
We walked a bit, and she waited until she spoke again.
“Before, when we talked,” she said, “I was not fully honest with you.”
“About?”
“Well, let me rephrase that, I was not dishonest, but I was not forthcoming.”
“Go ahead.”
“You know when you asked me previously if I were ever married?”
“So you have been?” I said.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s not it, and no, I have never been married.”
“Okay.”
“When I told you before that I was engaged, I left out that it was... Bill Black that I was engaged to.”
I stopped walking, and then she stopped and turned back to me, staring at me from under the silk of her parasol.
“Not that you owe me any details of your diary,” I said. “Or need any kind of explanation or accounting of your past, but under the circumstances, that’s, well... I’m not sure what that is.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s precisely why I felt I should confess this to you.”
“Glad you did.”
“It was a long time ago,” she said.
“And you changed your mind,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Why?” I said.
“Because... he frightened me,” she said.
“How so?”
“Not by one particular action,” she said. “But there was something about him that was ultimately frightening.”
“Why did you warn him?”
“What?”
“You let him know,” I said. “He said it was you that told him he was being accused of the murder.”
“How did you know that?”
“Just part of his baring up...”
She nodded.
“I care for him,” she said.
“Obviously.”
“No,” she said, “not like that, not anymore.”
I didn’t say anything.
“How could I not?” she said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “And I’m not judging you for doing so.”
“In many ways he is like a little boy.”
“Far from little.”
“No, he is,” she said. “He’s a child, really.”
“Do you think he killed her?”
She thought for a brief moment, then shook her head.
“No,” she said.
53
The following day in the courtroom was a hot one. By ten in the morning it was sweltering. After Judge Callison got settled and the trial got under way, the prosecutor, Dickie Simmons, wasted no time. He called a man by the name of Lawrence LaCroix to the stand.
LaCroix was a medium-build fellow in his forties. He was fairly nice-looking, with a strong face and wide bright blue eyes. He was lean and muscular, and his skin was tanned from the sun. His clothes were British military, made of khaki, and he carried a straw hat in one hand and a flat object covered with a cloth in the other. After he took the stand and was sworn in, Dickie Simmons went after him like a thirsty dog.
“Mr. LaCroix, do you know that man over there?”
Dickie pointed to Boston Bill.
“I do not,” LaCroix said.
LaCroix was, in fact, a Brit, but his manner did not in any way give him the air of affluence. There was nothing smug or superior about him. In fact, he seemed completely pleasant and unassuming.
“Have you seen him before?”
“I have.”
“Where did you see him?”
“At the Bloom’s Inn near the South Platte River in Denver, Colorado.”
“Bullshit,” Black said as he rose from his chair until Juniper pulled him back into his seat.
Judge Callison banged his gavel and Juniper stood quickly before Callison said anything.
“Won’t happen again, Your Honor,” Juniper said, and then sat back and looked at Black, shaking his head.
“See that it doesn’t,” Callison said.
Black was red-faced and his eyes were steaming mad as he leaned in close to Juniper and mouthed Bullshit as he shook his head. Bullshit.
Callison turned in his chair and looked behind him, then looked to the bailiff.
“What is that noise?” he said.
“Your Honor?”
“What?” Judge Callison said.
“I... I don’t hear anything, Your Honor.”
Callison turned back and looked out at the courtroom, staring blankly. He was very calm looking out as everyone remained looking at him, waiting for him to say something. Then Callison turned in his chair and looked out the window to his right. Everyone in the room followed his look, as if he were focused on something that we should see, but there was only the side of the adjoining building across the way. Callison remained looking, as if he were lost in thought. Whispering conversations could be heard, but Callison did not respond to them, he just kept looking toward the window.
“What in the hell is the ol’ boy up to?” Valentine said quietly to Virgil and me.
Virgil didn’t answer Valentine as he watched the judge.
“Your Honor?” Simmons said.
Callison tuned and looked to Simmons.
“Yes,” Callison said.
“May I proceed?” Simmons said.
Callison looked at him for a moment, then, as if he were back in the room after a brief journey beyond, he nodded.
“You may proceed, Mr. Simmons.”
There were murmurs in the room.
Callison rapped his gavel a bit.
“Quiet,” he said, then nodded to Simmons.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Simmons said, then turned his attention to the stand.
“When did you see him?” Simmons said to LaCroix.
“I saw him there, at Bloom’s Inn a few times.”
Black shook his head dramatically from side to side and wanted desperately to get to his feet again, but Juniper kept him seated.
“Were you staying at the inn?” Simmons said.
“No,” he said.
“Why did you see him? Let me phrase that differently. How was it that you had seen him there at Bloom’s Inn on numerous occasions?”