Lone Star Planet
the atrocious behavior of the Hickock goon-gang. Finally, after
extracting the last drop of class-hatred venom out of him, Sidney turned
him over to me.
"How many men were inside the jail when the three defendants came
claiming sanctuary?" I asked.
He couldn't rightly say, maybe four or five.
"Closer twenty-five, according to the Rangers. How many of them were
prisoners in the jail?"
"Well, none. The prisoners was all turned out that mornin'. They was
just common drunks, disorderly conduct cases, that kinda thing. We
turned them out so's we could make some repairs."
"You turned them out because you expected to have to defend the jail;
because you knew in advance that these three would be along claiming
sanctuary, and that Colonel Hickock's ranch hands would be right on
their heels, didn't you?" I demanded.
It took a good five minutes before Sidney stopped shouting long enough
for Judge Nelson to sustain the objection.
"You knew these young men all their lives, I take it. What did you know
about their financial circumstances, for instance?"
"Well, they've been ground down an' kept poor by the big ranchers an'
the money-guys...."
"Then weren't you surprised to see them driving such an expensive
aircar?"
"I don't know as it's such an expensive--" he shut his mouth suddenly.
"You know where they got the money to buy that car?" I pressed.
Kettle-Belly Sam didn't answer.
"From the man who paid them to murder Ambassador Silas Cumshaw?" I kept
pressing. "Do you know how much they were paid for that job? Do you know
where the money came from? Do you know who the go-between was, and how
much he got, and how much he kept for himself? Was it the same source
that paid for the recent attempt on President Hutchinson's life?"
"I refuse to answer!" the witness declared, trying to shove his chest
out about half as far as his midriff. "On the grounds that it might
incriminate or degrade me!"
"You can't degrade a Bonney!" a voice from the balcony put in.
"So then," I replied to the voice, "what he means is, incriminate." I
turned to the witness. "That will be all. Excused."
As Bonney left the stand and was led out the side door, Goodham
addressed the bench.
"Now, Your Honor," he said, "I believe that the prosecution has
succeeded in definitely establishing that these three defendants
actually did fire the shot which, on April 22, 2193, deprived Silas
Cumshaw of his life. We will now undertake to prove...."
Followed a long succession of witnesses, each testifying to some public
or private act of philanthropy, some noble trait of character. It was
the sort of thing which the defense lawyer in the Whately case had been
so willing to stipulate. Sidney, of course, tried to make it all out to
be part of a sinister conspiracy to establish a Solar League fifth
column on New Texas. Finally, the prosecution rested its case.
I entertained Gail and her father at the Embassy, that evening. The
street outside was crowded with New Texans, all of them on our side,
shouting slogans like, "Death to the Bonneys!" and "Vengeance for
Cumshaw!" and "Annexation Now!" Some of it was entirely spontaneous,
too. The Hickocks, father and daughter, were given a tremendous ovation,
when they finally left, and followed to their hotel by cheering crowds.
I saw one big banner, lettered: 'DON'T LET NEW TEXAS GO TO THE DOGS.'
and bearing a crude picture of a z'Srauff. I seemed to recall having
seen a couple of our Marines making that banner the evening before in
the Embassy patio, but....
CHAPTER X
The next morning, the third of the trial, opened with the defense
witnesses, character-witnesses for the three killers and witnesses to
the political iniquities of Silas Cumshaw.
Neither Goodham nor I bothered to cross-examine the former. I couldn't
see how any lawyer as shrewd as Sidney had shown himself to be would
even dream of getting such an array of thugs, cutthroats, sluts and
slatterns into court as character witnesses for anybody.
The latter, on the other hand, we went after unmercifully, revealing,
under their enmity for Cumshaw, a small, hard core of bigoted xenophobia
and selfish fear. Goodham did a beautiful job on that; he seemed able,
at a glance, to divine exactly what each witness's motivation was, and
able to make him or her betray that motivation in its least admirable
terms. Finally the defense rested, about a quarter-hour before noon.
I rose and addressed the court:
"Your Honor, while both the prosecution and the defense have done an
admirable job in bringing out the essential facts of how my predecessor
met his death, there are many features about this case which are far
from clear to me. They will be even less clear to my government, which
is composed of men who have never set foot on this planet. For this
reason, I wish to call, or recall, certain witnesses to clarify these
points."
Sidney, who had begun shouting objections as soon as I had gotten to my
feet, finally managed to get himself recognized by the court.
"This Solar League Ambassador, Your Honor, is simply trying to use the
courts of the Planet of New Texas as a sounding-board for his
imperialistic government's propaganda...."
"You may reassure yourself, Mr. Sidney," Judge Nelson said. "This court
will not allow itself to be improperly used, or improperly swayed, by
the Ambassador of the Solar League. This court is interested only in
determining the facts regarding the case before it. You may call your
witnesses, Mr. Ambassador." He glanced at his watch. "Court will now
recess for an hour and a half; can you have them here by 1330?"
I assured him I could after glancing across the room at Ranger Captain
Nelson and catching his nod.
My first witness, that afternoon was Thrombley. After the formalities of
getting his name and connection with the Solar League Embassy on the
record, I asked him, "Mr. Thrombley, did you, on the morning of April
22, receive a call from the Hickock ranch for Mr. Cumshaw?"
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Ambassador. The call was from Mr. Longfellow, Colonel
Hickock's butler. He asked if Mr. Cumshaw were available. It happened
that Mr. Cumshaw was in the same room with me, and he came directly to
the screen. Then Colonel Hickock appeared in the screen, and inquired
if Mr. Cumshaw could come out to the ranch for the day; he said
something about superdove shooting."
"You heard Mr. Cumshaw tell Colonel Hickock that he would be out at the
ranch at about 1030?" Thrombley said he had. "And, to your knowledge,
did anybody else at the Embassy hear that?"
"Oh, no, sir; we were in the Ambassador's private office, and the screen
there is tap-proof."
"And what other calls did you receive, prior to Mr. Cumshaw's death?"
"About fifteen minutes after Mr. Cumshaw had left, the z'Srauff
Ambassador called, about a personal matter. As he was most anxious to
contact Mr. Cumshaw, I told him where he had gone."
"Then, to your knowledge, outside of yourself, Colonel Hickock, and his
butler, the z'Srauff Ambassador was the only person who could have known
that Mr. Cumshaw's car would be landing on Colonel Hickock's drive at or
about 1030. Is that correct?"
"Yes, plus anybody whom the z'Srauff Ambassador might have told."
"Exactly!" I pounced. Then I turned and gave the three Bonney brothers a
sweeping glance. "Plus anybody the z'Srauff Ambassador might have
told.... That's all. Your witness, Mr. Sidney."
Sidney got up, started toward the witness stand, and then thought better
of it.
"No questions," he said.
The next witness was a Mr. James Finnegan; he was identified as cashier
of the Crooked Creek National Bank. I asked him if Kettle-Belly Sam
Bonney did business at his bank; he said yes.
"Anything unusual about Mayor Bonney's account?" I asked.
"Well, it's been unusually active lately. Ordinarily, he carries around
two-three thousand pesos, but about the first of April, that took a big
jump. Quite a big jump; two hundred and fifty thousand pesos, all in a
lump."
"When did Kettle-Belly Sam deposit this large sum?" I asked.
"He didn't. The money came to us in a cashier's check on the Ranchers'
Trust Company of New Austin with an anonymous letter asking that it be
deposited to Mayor Bonney's account. The letter was typed on a sheet of
yellow paper in Basic English."
"Do you have that letter now?" I asked.
"No, I don't. After we'd recorded the new balance, Kettle-Belly came
storming in, raising hell because we'd recorded it. He told me that if
we ever got another deposit like that, we were to turn it over to him in
cash. Then he wanted to see the letter, and when I gave it to him, he
took it over to a telescreen booth, and drew the curtains. I got a
little busy with some other matters, and the next time I looked,
Kettle-Belly was gone and some girl was using the booth."
"That's very interesting, Mr. Finnegan. Was that the last of your
unusual business with Mayor Bonney?"
"Oh, no. Then, about two weeks before Mr. Cumshaw was killed,
Kettle-Belly came in and wanted 50,000 pesos, in a big hurry, in small
bills. I gave it to him, and he grabbed at the money like a starved dog
at a bone, and upset a bottle of red perma-ink, the sort we use to
refill our bank seals. Three of the bills got splashed. I offered to
exchange them, but he said, 'Hell with it; I'm in a hurry,' and went
out. The next day, Switchblade Joe Bonney came in to make payment on a
note we were holding on him. He used those three bills in the payment.
"Then, about a week ago, there was another cashier's check came in for
Kettle-Belly. This time, there was no letter; just one of our regular
deposit-slips. No name of depositor. I held the check, and gave it to
Kettle-Belly. I remember, when it came in, I said to one of the clerks,
'Well, I wonder who's going to get bumped off this time.' And sure
enough ..."
Sidney's yell of, "Objection!" was all his previous objections gathered
into one.
"You say the letter accompanying the first deposit, the one in Basic
English, was apparently taken away by Kettle-Belly Sam Bonney. If you
saw another letter of the same sort, would you be able to say whether or
not it might be like the one you mentioned?"
Sidney vociferating more objections; I was trying to get expert
testimony without previous qualification....
"Not at all, Mr. Sidney," Judge Nelson ruled. "Mr. Silk has merely asked
if Mr. Finnegan could say whether one document bore any resemblance to
another."
I asked permission to have another witness sworn in while Finnegan was
still on the stand, and called in a Mr. Boone, the cashier of the
Packers' and Brokers' Trust Company of New Austin. He had with him a
letter, typed on yellow paper, which he said had accompanied an
anonymous deposit of two hundred thousand pesos. Mr. Finnegan said that
it was exactly like the one he had received, in typing, grammar and
wording, all but the name of the person to whose account the money was
to be deposited.
"And whose account received this anonymous benefaction, Mr. Boone?" I
asked.
"The account," Boone replied, "of Mr. Clement Sidney."
I was surprised that Judge Nelson didn't break the handle of his gavel,
after that. Finally, after a couple of threats to clear the court, order
was restored. Mr. Sidney had no questions to ask this time, either.
The bailiff looked at the next slip of paper I gave him, frowned over
it, and finally asked the court for assistance.
"I can't pronounce this-here thing, at all," he complained.
One of the judges finally got out a mouthful of growls and yaps, and
gave it to the clerk of the court to copy into the record. The next
witness was a z'Srauff, and in the New Texan garb he was wearing, he was
something to open my eyes, even after years on the Hooligan Diplomats.