A chuckle breaks free from deep in my gut, just bubbles up by surprise. Shucks, I’d hate the world to know what a dirty scoundrel I am. I laugh a bit longer. “Mr. whatever your name is, I know you’re just a ‘gimme’ lawyer and you don’t know me from Adam, but the only thing undignified in my book is livin’ by the government’s standard. Ain’t a lick of shame in bein’ a man. I did every damn thing those papers said I did, but if you say a goddamn thing besides not guilty, they’ll have another charge to add. If the government wants to see me swing, they’re gonna have to earn it.”
The lawyer clears his throat, straightening papers that don’t need straightening. The office goes silent save for the tick ofhis watch. He blinks. “Very well. I will prepare for trial. I’ll do what I can, but the pace is extraordinary. I’ve seen men sit six months in the county jail waiting on an indictment. In your case, the court has moved in a week’s time. Federal prosecutors, Pinkertons, the railroad company—they all want blood. They want to make an example, and they want it quick. Mr. Randolph, this does not look good.”
I nod. “Knew it weren’t good comin’ in here. Damn sure knew it soon as you opened your mouth.”
He sighs, his shoulders sloping. “Mr. Randolph, is that really necessary? You’ve made your threats and landed your insults. Do remember who is tasked with defending you. Now—” He clears his throat. “The court will convene in Galveston proper. You’ll be arraigned before Judge McKinnon. A jury will be drawn from the county rolls—shopkeepers, dockmen, farmers—all of them acquainted with the headlines. Every one of them will know your name before they hear it read.”
He glances at me over the stack of damning words. “That’s the other matter. The courthouse will be rife with reporters. Sketch artists. A photographer or two. With the attention you’ve garnered, I expect they’ll come from far and wide.”
I huff a laugh. “Well, I’ll be damned. Thought it was just Jesse James who got all the ink. Guess I oughta thank the railroad for free advertisin’.”
“Do not be flattered. As I said, you have the attention of important men who want to see you pay with your life. Now, the prosecutor will lay out the bill of indictment and then he’ll begin calling witnesses. Railroad men, law officers, perhaps even passengers who lived through the wreck.”
I lean back, squinting at him. “And Alice?”
His brow furrows. “Who?”
“Christ almighty.” My palm hits the table hard enough to make his inkwell jump. “The woman I kidnapped. The one in your own damn papers. Keep up.”
He blinks, his hand trembling as he straightens his collar, “Yes, of course. If she is available and can be located, she will be summoned. A victim’s testimony is considered paramount.”
“She was at the Marine Hospital, last I knew.”
He straightens with a sniff. “Well, then assuming she is alive, the prosecution will do everything to bring her before the court.”
The air goes heavy. I sit forward, knuckles pressing white against the wood. “Assumin’,” I echo, the word sour on my tongue.
He shifts in his chair, fingers drumming once against the table, eyes darting to the door where the guard waits just outside. “My duty is to inform you how the law will move. Once I know who the government plans to call, I will let you know.”
A litany of images kicks in, one after the other: her white skirt gone dark with blood, the way she breathed shallow when I laid her on that stretcher. If she’s alive, if they drag her into that courthouse, she’ll have to testify.
Will she hate me for getting her shot, for leaving her in that hospital? Maybe. She’s got every right. The law will want her to say I stole her clean from her home and never let go, that I crossed state lines with a rope around her wrist.
Truth is, I don’t give a damn what she says about me. If she turns up alive, she can call me a thief, a murderer, a monster—every foul name under the sun. She can lie through her teeth if it buys her a life. Long as she’s breathing, long as she gets to walk free and find quiet somewhere, I’ll take it.
If the jury hears her curse my name and damn me six ways, I’ll nod along. If it keeps her outta the fire, let ’em string me up twice. All I want—Lord, all I ever wanted—is for her to be safe and to forget the blight I laid on her.
I drag a hand down my face, come back to the room.
“You may take the stand yourself or you may remain silent and let me argue,” the lawyer drones.
“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.”
He nods agreeably. “I believe that is a wise decision. You have a temper, Mr. Randolph, and the prosecution would delight in drawing it out before the jury. One angry outburst, and they will have you painted guiltier than you already stand. I will argue the insufficiency of evidence, the unreliability of certain witnesses, the?—”
“Not Alice.”
“What do you mean?”
“You ain’t gonna shove her in the dirt. If she says what keeps her free, you let her.”
He runs a hand through his hair, uneasy. “I will not intentionally subject a victim to needless humiliation. That is unbecoming of any counsel. But you must understand that my obligation is to your defense.” He reaches for his pen, scribbles a note. “I will notify you of any summons. I’ll also send for the Marine Hospital records and speak with the clerk. If she is there, we will know.”
A boot scrapes in the hall. A knock on the door.
The lawyer folds his papers. “Very well. I shall prepare accordingly. “
They lead me out then, the deputy’s hand at my elbow, the corridor smelling of spilt coffee and stale tobacco. My mind is already back with her.
