“I—I will not allow another demonstration like this,” he said.
Murchison noticed as he sat down, however, that the judge’s words, though chastising, were not harsh. It was as if he understood the natural outpouring of emotion the citizens of the town had at hearing the last words ever written by the editor of their newspaper.
Chapter Twenty-two
Gilmore had three witnesses for the prosecution, all of whom worked for Pogue Quentin, and all of whom claimed that Pearlie started the fight by hitting Billy Ray over the head. Jerry Kelly claimed that when Billy Ray came in through the door carrying the shotgun, Pearlie shot at him first.
Murchison countered with half a dozen witnesses. Doc Patterson testified that it was Billy Ray who got angry first and drew his gun on Pearlie.
“Pearlie could have shot him right then if he had wanted to,” Doc said. “But instead of shooting him, he hit him over the head and took away his pistol.”
Deckert substantiated Doc’s account, then went on to say that Billy Ray had charged back into the saloon brandishing a shotgun.
“Billy Ray saw Pearlie standing at the bar and he just opened up on him without so much as a by-your-leave. I swear to you, I don’t know how Pearlie managed to escape getting killed,” Deckert said.
The testimonies of Evans, Lenny, and Mary Lou concurred with Deckert’s account. All said that Pearlie did not shoot back until it was obvious that Billy Ray was about to shoot the other barrel.
“And he wouldn’t have missed this time,” Lenny said.
Gilmore’s questioning of Doc, Deckert, Evans, and Lenny was perfunctory. It wasn’t until Mary Lou took the stand that his questions became more intense.
“Miss Culpepper, do you expect the court to believe that you were in the saloon at the time of the shooting?” Gilmore asked during his cross examination.
“Yes, I expect the court to believe I was there because I was,” Mary Lou replied.
“But you are a woman, Miss Culpepper. What on earth would you be doing in the saloon? The New York Saloon is not a place normally habituated by women, is it?”
“I was working in the saloon,” Mary Lou said. “I was serving drinks.”
“You were serving drinks?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What else did you do?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do understand.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Isn’t it true, Miss Culpepper, that you are a whore?”
“Objection, Your Honor, the question is irrelevant,” Murchison called out.
“Your Honor, goes to character,” Gilmore replied. “If this woman is a whore, then her entire character can be questioned. For example, can she be trusted to tell the truth?”
“Witness will answer the question.”
“Are you a whore?”
“Am I a whore?”
“That’s my question.”
Mary Lou stared directly into Gilmore’s eyes before she answered.
“No,” she said resolutely.
Gilmore had turned toward the jury, but hearing her answer, he spun back toward her. “You are under oath, Miss Culpepper. Now, I will ask you again. Are you a whore?”
“No.”
“Miss Culpepper,” Gilmore started, but he was interrupted by Murchison.
“Objection, Your Honor, question was asked and answered.”
“Sustained. Get on with your cross-examination, Counselor,” McCabe said.
“Miss Culpepper, there is a scar on your nose and though it has nearly cleared up, it is obvious that both of your eyes were recently blackened. How did you get those injuries?”
“Billy Ray hit me.”
“Why did he hit you?”
Mary Lou didn’t answer.
“Your Honor, please instruct the witness to respond.”
“Answer the question, Miss Culpepper,” McCabe said.
“He hit me because I wouldn’t go upstairs with him.”
“Did he have a reasonable expectation that you would go upstairs with him? My question is, did you sometimes go upstairs with others?”
“Sometimes I went upstairs with others,” Mary Lou replied.
“So you are a whore?”
“No, I am not a whore.”
“Objection, Your Honor, your ruling has already closed this line of questioning.”
“Sustained.”
Gilmore was obviously frustrated, but he went on. “You did not care much for Billy Ray Quentin, did you?”
“No. He was mean and brutal.”
“So, if someone killed Billy Ray, you wouldn’t mind seeing him get off, would you?”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“Sustained.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Redirect?”
“Yes, your honor. Miss Culpepper, the prosecutor asked you several times if you are a whore. Now the operative word here is ‘are.’ Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you ever been a—I think the more genteel term is—‘soiled dove’?”
“I was, yes.”
“But no more?”
“No more.”
“What do you do now?”
“I work for Mrs. York.”
“Thank you. No further questions, Your Honor.”
Closing arguments were short. Murchison pointed out that Doc Patterson and Deckert concurred in their testimony as to how the fight started, with Billy Ray attempting to draw his gun on Pearlie. He also reminded the jury that Deckert, Evans, Lenny, and Mary Lou gave nearly identical accounts as to how Billy Ray came bursting back into the saloon, firing his shotgun without warning.
“The burden of proof is with the prosecution. That means that normally the guiding principle in a trial like this is that you cannot find a defendant guilty unless you are convinced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he is guilty, and in his charge to the jury, the judge will, no doubt, so instruct you. But in this case, I believe that even if that standard were reversed, if the burden of proof, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was with the defense, you would still have no recourse but to find Pearlie innocent of this charge,” Murchison said in his closing.
In his closing remarks, Gilmore again reminded the jury that Pearlie was a stranger, an itinerant wanderer who came into town and while there, for no reason other than his own innate evil, gunned down a local man.
“Billy Ray walked and talked with us, he laughed with us, he participated in the town’s celebration of the Fourth of July with us, he played cards with us. That in itself is enough to require that we demand justice be meted out to his murderer, but Billy Ray wasn’t just any local man. He was the son of the leading citizen of our town, a man to whom more than half of our citizens are beholden for their livelihood. And now, Billy Ray’s bones lie in the cemetery, at the edge of town.”
Gilmore pointed in the direction of the cemetery; then he put his hand to his ear. “Listen,” he said. “Listen closely, because if you do, you can hear in the very wind, the cry of the mournful soul of one of us—our friend—our brother, calling to us from his grave, demanding that we give him justice.”
The jury had only been out fourteen minutes when they came tramping back into the saloon turned courtroom and took their seats.
“Have you selected a foreman?” Judge McCabe asked.
“We have, Your Honor. My name is Greg Paul.”
“Mr. Paul, has the jury reached a verdict?”
“We have.”
“Would you publish the verdict, please?”
“We find the defendant, Pearlie, not guilty.”
“No!” Quentin shouted angrily. He stood up so quickly that the chair tumbled over behind him, and he pointed at Pearlie, who was already receiving a congratulatory hug from Sally.
“You son of a bitch, you’ll pay for this!”
Judge McCabe slammed his gavel down. “Marshal Dawson, escort that man out of this courtroom!” he demanded.
“Come on, Pogue,” Dawson said. “Let’s get out of here.”