“Mrs. Bell,” he said with a half bow in the direction of the young woman who was bearing his child. One of them.
Then he turned and extended a hand in Longarm’s direction. He smiled hugely. And so believably that Longarm suspected this man would enter politics sooner or later. “Deputy Marshal Long. We meet again.”
Tyler Overton was one of the two lawyers who had shared the stagecoach journey up from Bitter Creek, his colleague disembarking at McCarthy Falls and Overton continuing on here to Talking Water.
Longarm remembered him well enough, although they had hardly exchanged a half-dozen words on the long trip north.
Overton was not what Longarm might have expected for such a ladies’ man. The lawyer was soft and plump and pink of complexion. He had an outsized rump, a massive belly, and was already going bald even though Longarm doubted he was more than thirty years of age if that old. He even managed somehow to give off an air of something approaching piety. As if he were the perfect model of virtue and circumspection. If he was not already the deacon of some church, then he damn well ought to be for he looked the part to perfection.
If any proof was ever needed that a man shouldn’t be judged on the basis of appearance alone, then Tyler Overton could serve as a most wonderful example.
Still, every man is entitled to his own ways, and Longarm hadn’t come here to make any rulings on the subject of the good counselor’s morals. Hell, Longarm knew he wasn’t in any position to pick up the first stone and fling it at this guy anyhow. So he smiled a friendly hello and shook the fat man’s hand. “My pleasure,” Longarm assured him, and Overton said pretty much the same in return as politeness dictated.
“My wife says you may have new information about the Gary Lee Bell case, Deputy?” Overton said, motioning Longarm to a place on the velveteen-covered settee that seemed to be the showpiece of the parlor furnishings.
“That isn’t exactly correct,” Longarm told him. “But Maddy—I’ve known her and her daddy from some years back, you should understand—Maddy was telling me about the skull that was found and your theories concerning it. I was thinking at the very least I should take a look and see if the thing is the skull of a white man or an Indian. And why, now that I think about it, are you thinking it is an Indian’s skull anyway?”
“To answer your last question first, sir, I theorize the skull is that of an aborigine largely because there are no white men missing from this area.”
Longarm raised an eyebrow.
“With the exception of Madelyn’s father, that is. She assures me, you understand, that my client is blameless in this matter. Utterly innocent. And besides, there was a bear-claw necklace found in the same prospect hole as the body.”
“Anything linking the bear claws and the human remains?” Longarm asked.
“Proximity, sir. Only proximity.”
“And I assume the judge didn’t allow testimony about that either since he didn’t allow you to talk about your skull theory.”
“Unfortunately true.”
“I’m sure you’ll admit that your connection is mighty thin, Mr. Overton.”
“Of course I admit that. But I would have used it if I could have.”
Longarm nodded. There was nothing wrong with a lawyer using every scrap of evidence he could find on behalf of his client, no matter how far-fetched it really might be. And hell, what he claimed could even be so.
“But please, Deputy. You said you would like to see the skull itself? Do you mean to tell me that you actually know how to tell a white man’s tooth from an Indian’s?”
“Why, sure. Don’t you? I mean, it’s your legal defense we’re talkin’ about here,” Longarm said.
Overton grinned and with a shake of his head admitted that in plain fact, no, he had no idea which was which. “I am sure the article I read about the subject mentioned the differences. But that was a long time ago, sir, and I had no particular reason at the time to commit the facts to memory. It was merely something that stuck hazily in mind afterward and that I recalled when I was trying to put a defense together for Madelyn’s husband. A possible way to raise reasonable doubt in the minds of the jurors, don’t you see.”
“So you really don’t know yourself whether that skull belonged to a white or a red man?”
“I honestly believe it to have been the skull of an aborigine,” Overton said solemnly. And shit, maybe he was telling the truth.
“But you don’t know for sure,” Longarm persisted.
“I do not know for sure,” Overton affirmed. “Although we did try to find out. I made every attempt to ascertain the truth. On Gary Lee Bell’s behalf I sent letters to the departments of anthropology and of medicine at Harvard, Emory, the University of Pennsylvania, the British Museum, and … can you think of any others, Madelyn?”
“Yale,” she said. “I remember that we wrote to Yale. And didn’t you ask the War Department to pose the question of their medical board also?”
“Yes, both of those, thank you.” Overton looked at Longarm and shrugged. “We haven’t had a response yet from any of them. I am afraid if we ever do hear anything it will be too late. Mr. Bell has only a few more days before his scheduled, um, demise.”
“You still want to know?” Longarm asked.
“Oh, my, yes. If there is any possibility that I can find evidence to take to the governor, even up to the final seconds of life remaining to my client …”
“Then would you mind if I look at that skull for myself?”
“Sir, you tell me you possess the very information we have been so anxious to acquire. I would be delighted for you to view the skull. If only it were possible for you to do so before the execution date.”
Again Longarm’s eyebrows went up in unspoken question.
“The skull and other remains have been buried, you see. They were held as evidence until the conclusion of the trial, then transferred to the state archives in Cheyenne, and when they were released from there they were offered to Madelyn for burial. They are, of course, officially presumed to be the mortal remains of her father, Rupert Williams.” Longarm nodded.
“She quite naturally agrese to take possession of them on the grounds that her father is still alive albeit missing.”
“Damn,” Longarm mumbled, already seeing where this was headed.
“Exactly. So the state buried them in a potter’s field outside Cheyenne. And to locate them again and exhume them would require a court order. God alone knows how long that would take, but I can assure you it could not be done before next Monday morning when Madelyn’s husband is slated to die at the end of a hangman’s rope.”
“That kinda looks like that then, don’t it,” Longarm said softly.
“I am loath to agree with you on the point, sir. But yes, I am afraid that that does indeed seem to be that.” Overton spread his hands and, with an apologetic look in Maddy’s direction, said, “I am sorry, my dear, but I fear your deputy friend and I both have done quite as much as it is possible for us to do. The sad truth is that Gary will have to face his Maker next Monday morning.” Maddy, Longarm saw, had begun very quietly to cry.
Dammit. He wished there’d been something he could have done about that.
He stood and extended his hand to Tyler Overton again. There was nothing Longarm knew of that he could fault the lawyer for. The man seemed to have given Gary Bell his very best. The problem was that there just wasn’t evidence to support Overton’s defense claims. And certainly no evidence available to disprove the prosecution theories.
“Good night, sir,” Longarm said, taking Maddy by the elbow and steering her toward Overton’s front door. “Sorry we bothered you s’ late.”
“I only wish your visit had been a more successful one,” Overton said. “Believe me.”
“G’night,” Longarm said again, and pulled the door open, letting a cool breeze sweep into the cozy parlor. He tugged his hat over his eyes and guided Maddy out onto the stoop.