Ben Salter looked to the three of us, then back to the judge.
“It was him or me,” he said.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I was over my head in debt,” he said.
“Go on.”
“Gambling debt, to some very unsavory men that were going to kill me. They’d killed others. I knew this, but I... had no choice.”
“Where was this?”
“Saint Louis.”
“You did not come here from Denver?”
“No, I did come in from Denver, I made the trip to Denver before I came here. I went to the police in Denver and told them I was an eyewitness, that was part of what I was supposed to do and then I came here, but I’m from Saint Louis.”
“Why did you not just leave Saint Louis and get away from these men instead of doing what you did?”
He shook his head and started to cry.
“I have a wife and kids.”
Callison shook his head.
“How was it this... anonymous... opportunity came about for you?” Callison said.
“I received an envelope with half the money that I owed,” he said.
“How much money?”
“Twelve hundred dollars.”
“Continue,” Callison said with a roll of his finger.
“In the envelope was a letter with instructions on how and when, if I performed convincingly, as I had performed in... in the play, I would receive the other half.”
“An additional twelve hundred?”
“Yes.”
“And what made you think that there would be the money waiting for you?”
“There was the promise of a five-hundred-dollar bonus.”
“And you believed this?”
“Yes, the fact there was twelve hundred was good enough for me.”
Callison looked to us and shook his head dramatically.
“For the life of another man?”
He nodded.
“I fucked up.”
“Oh, yes, you did,” Callison said.
Callison glared at him for a moment.
Callison turned in his chair and pointed to the painting.
“This is not yours, I presume?”
Ben looked at the painting and shook his head.
“And you are not a painter?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“So how was it you acquired the... this Bloom Where You Are Planted painting you showed here as evidence?”
“The note had instructions for me and what I was to do.”
“Which was what, exactly?”
“Arrive here,” he said. “Check into the hotel and I would find further instruction. If I performed convincingly, I would get the rest of the money and the bonus.”
“And what was the instruction?”
“There was the painting and a note detailing what I was to do with it.”
Callison shook his head again.
“What is your profession?”
“I’m an actor,” he said.
Callison’s eyes got big.
“My God,” he said. “A thespian?”
“Yes,” he said.
“In Saint Louis?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you receive this letter?”
“At the theater,” he said. “In Saint Louis. The Saint Louis Theater.”
“Explain,” Callison said.
“I was doing a play,” he said. “And after an evening performance I went back to my dressing room and I found the letter, with the money.”
Callison turned and looked to us and shook his head slowly from side to side, then looked back to him.
“Where did you have this gambling debt?”
“All over town, really,” he said. “I would borrow money, and I just kept borrowing, and I thought I would get ahead, but I didn’t. For a while I was in very good favor, but then my debt got bad and I was kicked out of most places.”
“Did you gamble in the casino that was opened by Mr. Black?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you did not know Mr. Black?”
“No, I never met him. He was gone from Saint Louis before I ever went into the place.”
“You say you were in good favor? What do you mean by that?”
“I had a credit line, but then it was called and I was barred from going into most places, including Pritchard’s place.”
“And you did not go to the police, I take it?”
He stared at Callison.
“No.”
“You are in serious trouble,” Callison said. “You understand this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said.
74
July Fourth was a day of celebration. Judge Callison sat in his office with Virgil, Bill Black, Juniper, and me, and reviewed Black’s history. He listened patiently and without expression to Juniper’s exceptional but long-winded oratory regarding Black’s wrongful incarceration, persecution, and sufferings.
When Juniper finished, Judge Callison stared at him for a long moment, then gazed out the window. Then he looked back behind his chair as if he heard something. After a few seconds he turned back to Black. He stared at Black for an enduring amount of time before he said anything.
“To say there is a litany of wrongdoing on your part, Mr. Black, would be a gross understatement.”
Black sat, stoically looking at the judge.
“What you have done,” Callison said, “what you have left in your wake cannot be reversed. Though I cannot hold you directly accountable for everything that has happened in your wake, I can, of course, not dismiss the direct disregard you have shown to the law and to the sanctity of the law and of this courtroom. So I find you guilty of destroying city property and charge you with a fine in the amount of however much it will cost to replace the bars you pried from the windows of the jail and the bed frame you ripped out of the floor... fair enough?”
“It is, Your Honor,” Juniper said.
“I was not talking to you,” Callison said.
Black held his head upright, smiled, and said, “Thank you.”
That afternoon, I walked with Allie to the hospital to get Daphne.
“You’re smitten,” Allie said.
“You think?” I said.
“I do,” she said.
“I like her.”
“Like her,” Allie said with a grin, then elbowed me in the ribs. “You’re smitten.”
“Maybe a little.”
“I know she likes you.”
“What’s not to like,” I said.
“That’s true,” she said. “You’re a pretty fair catch.”
We were approaching the hotel, where the chief was sitting on the porch with Detective King.
“Good afternoon,” the chief said.
“It is,” I said.
“Word?” he said, then scrutinized Allie a little and offered a crooked smile.
I glanced to Allie.
“Oh... go ahead, Everett,” she said. “I want to get some clothes for Daphne, anyway. I know she’ll appreciate it.”
The chief watched as Allie walked up the steps past him and into the hotel, then leveled a harsh look at me.
“So the sonofabitch got off the hook?” the chief said.
“Obviously should have never been on the hook,” I said.
“It’s bullshit.”
“Not.”
“Oh, bullshit,” he said. “If he did not do it. Then who the hell did?”
“I could ask you the same question,” I said.
“And you think I would have an answer?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Do you?”
“He tricked you,” the chief said.
I looked off down the street, smiled a bit to myself, then looked back to him, but didn’t say anything.
“He can’t fool me,” the chief said.
“No?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t care what happened with the fella that lied about what he saw.”
“That seems apparent.”
“He won’t get away with this.”