"For my next witness, I call Ben Stowe to the stand." Ben Stowe, a stout, sullen man of motley appearance, rose up in the back of the room. Clutching his hat, he made his way up to the witness stand, all eyes frozen to him. A key witness in The Case against Carl Logan. Placing his hand on the Bible, the bailiff said the words, "Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do." Jarrod doubted this.

"Please state your full name for the court."

"Benjamin Murphy Stowe." Ben sat down, adjusting his rumpled suede coat with the frayed sleeves. the charade continued.

"Mr. Stowe, would you please tell the court what you saw on June 18, 1878."asked Jefferson Bryant, a dark, curly headed, sharp-eyed young man.

"Well, I was coming out of the livery after getting my horse and saw these two people fighting in Callie Jones house." Leaning over, Carl whispered into Jarrod’s ear. Carl wanted to scream his innocence. Yet, knowing the pent-up fury inside him would only make matters worse and Jarrod angry with him.

"What two people?"

"Callie Jones and Carl Logan."

"He’s lying." Jarrod remained motionless, thinking.

"Then what?"

"I saw him running out of the house."

"What time was that?"

"Oh, I’d say about nine thirty."

"Is the man you saw that night in this court room now?"

"He certainly is, he’s right over there," Ben said, pointing to Carl Logan.

"Let the record show your honor, that the witness identified the defendant Carl Logan as the man he saw struggling with the victim, Callie Jones before she was brutally raped and murdered. Jarrod watched the proceedings, precisely noting every detail of what was said. "No further questions your honor." Jarrod sat thinking for a moment as Ben shifted nervously in his seat. Bryant eyed Jarrod intently.

"Your witness, Mr. Barkley." Jarrod reached behind him, pulling up a diagram. Walking over to the witness box, he set it up where the witness and the jury could see it.

"Mr. Stowe, this is a diagram, showing approximately where you were standing when you saw the defendant leave Miss Jones’ house on the night of June 18."

"I saw more than that."

"So, you say." With the diagram in hand, Jarrod walked back to the table, shuffling through a stack of papers, pulling the one out. "Here in my hand is the statement you gave the sheriff, in it you state and I quote, ‘ I saw Carl Logan running out the front door of Callie Jones’ house.’ You did not state that there was a struggle between the two."

"I say there was." Ben said.

"I see." Dropping the paper back on the table, Jarrod continued his cross examination. "Why is it that you could not remember such a crucial detail before?"

"I don’t know, I guess I was scared."

"You Ben, I find that difficult to believe,"

"Objection, argumentative,"

"Over ruled." Jarrod glanced up at the judge, Judge Monroe giving Jarrod a stern warning look.

"Now, let’s look at this diagram again. You’re saying, from this distance, you had a clear view of the people in Callie Jones’ house?"

"I sure did."

"From this angle?"

"I did, I said I did, why do you keep asking?"

"It seems to me that at this angle from Callie Jones’ house, you might see two figures but would be unable to clearly identify who they were."

"It was him with Callie that night," Ben was vehement as he pointed again at Carl Carlson.

"If she was struggling with someone, why didn’t you help her?"

"I didn’t want to get involved."

"Then why didn’t you get the sheriff?"

"I don’t know, everything happened so fast. It wasn’t my problem."

"It wasn’t your problem. Two people are fighting, you claim one is the murderer and you did nothing to prevent it."

Jarrod paused for a moment, returning and depositing the diagram on the table. "What color dress was Callie Jones wearing when you saw her?"

"Blue, I think." Jefferson’s whole body sank in his chair.

"Interesting, when the sheriff found her she was wearing a beige dress."

"I don’t know, maybe it was beige."

"Ben, what were you doing outside Callie Jones’ house that night?"

"I went to get my horse at the livery stable."

"What were you doing in town that late at night?"

"I had a drink at the saloon after doing errands."

"A drink?" Again, Jarrod shuffled through his papers, pulling another from the pile. "Joe, the bartender states you had at least three drinks if not more."

"Maybe I did, so what?"

"I think you were too drunk to know what you saw that night." Before Bryant’s mouth opened, Jarrod said, "No further questions, your honor."

"The witness may step down." Ben stepped off the witness stand, glaring fiercely at Jarrod as he passed him. Jarrod looked up briefly, disgusted. "Mr. Bryant, you may call your next witness."

"For my next witness, I call Mrs. Emma Tyler to the stand." Emma Tyler was a large imposing woman, bulldozing her way down the aisle to the witness stand. Laying her flabby hand on the Bible the bailiff repeated the oath.

"Please state your full name for the court."

"Emma Anne Watson Tyler."

"You may be seated." Emma plunked her dense form into the scuffed, rickety wooden chair, creaking with every move. Sitting like a pregnant woman while Jefferson Bryant walked to the exhibit table, picking up a pouch of tobacco.

"Mrs. Tyler, do you recognize this brand of tobacco?" Showing Emma the pouch.

"I certainly do. Henry and I sell it in our store." She bristled with confidence.

"Do you recall if the defendant, Carl Logan bought this brand of tobacco from you?"

"He did. The day he met Callie Jones."

"What did they talk about?"

"She said she needed someone to mend her roof, she had a leak in it. Said she couldn’t pay much. That’s when Carl volunteered to do it for a few dollars and a meal."

"Thank you, Mrs. Tyler. No further questions."

"Your witness Mr. Barkley."

"No questions at this time, your honor."

"The witness may step down. Call your next witness, Mr. Bryant."

"I call sheriff Madden to the stand." Sherrif Madden made his way through the crowded court room, squeezing past Mrs. Tyler.

After being sworn in, Jefferson Bryant, swiped the murder weapon off the exhibit table while walking over to the sheriff.

"Is this the knife that killed Callie Jones?" Fred eyed all its angles.

"I believe so."

"Is this the knife that has been identified as belonging to the defendant, Carl Logan?"

"Yes."

"Thank you sheriff. No further questions, your honor."

"My knife was in my saddlebag," whispered Carl. Jarrod nodded.

Bryant returned to his seat, satisfied and fortunate that his questions were so clear, concise and damning. He knew he had not won yet. Jarrod was a clever and passionate opponent, he both admired and wanted to defeat.

"Your witness, Mr. Barkley." Jarrod rising from his seat, walked over and picked up the knife. Jefferson’s eyes were nailed to Jarrod. Jarrod glanced at him with an artful eye. This look always worried Jefferson.

"Tell me sheriff, you’re positive this was the knife that was used to kill Callie Jones?"

"I believe so."

"There’s no doubt in your mind?"

"Well...I can’t be one hundred percent sure."

"Was there any blood on this knife when you found it?"

"Well, I didn’t find it."

"Who did?"

"Mr. Bryant found it under a bush outside Miss Jones’ house during our investigation of the premises."

"At any time, did you see any blood on this knife."

"No." Jarrod set the knife back down on the exhibit table. Walking to the defense table, he picked up a pair of dressmakers shears.

"I would like to enter these dressmakers shears as exhibit C."

"So noted."

"Sheriff, do the blades on these shears look clean to you?" Jarrod asked.

"Yes." Jarrod opened them up.

"Do you see the rust color dried there on the edge of the blades?"

"Yes."

"Would you say that was dried blood?"

"Objection, calls for expert testimony on the part of the witness."

"Your honor," Jarrod said. "I believe that sheriff Madden has been in his profession long enough to determine what dried blood looks like."

"Sustained."

"I’d say it could be dried blood." Jarrod set the shears down on the exhibit table.

"Sheriff, when you entered the house on the night of June 18, was the back door to the house open?"

"Yes, it was."

"Why do you suppose the back door was open if the defendant fled out the front door?"

"Objection, calls for a conclusion on the part of the witness." Jarrod immediately interjected. "Your honor, the sheriff is merely stating his opinion. If someone else committed the murder, it’s more than likely he went out the back door before my client arrived at Callie Jones’ house that evening."

"Sustained."

"Well, that’s what I would say, the killer would have gone out the back door, thinking he might not be seen."

"Therefore, it’s possible that whoever raped and murdered Callie Jones, did it using her own dressmakers shears, wiping them clean and fleeing out the back door before my client even arrived at her house that night."

"It’s possible."

"Thank you, sheriff."

"Mr. Bryant, call your next witness."

"Your honor, at this time, the prosecution rests."

"Very well then," Judge Monroe then banged his gavel. "We will recess for lunch and return at 2:30. At which time the defense will present their case." Jefferson Bryant, was aware of the doubt already planted in the jurors minds but he still had some repair work to attend to, guaranteeing a guilty verdict.

Court resumed promptly at two thirty, as Judge Monroe’s love of punctuality dictated.

"Mr. Barkley, please call your first witness."

"I recall Ben Stowe to the stand." Ben dragged himself back to the witness stand, with Jarrod following behind.

"Remember you’re still under oath," Judge Monroe said.

"Ben, when the person you saw, ran out the front door, did you see him throw anything in the bushes?"

"No... I’m not sure."

"No further questions, your honor." Judge Monroe dismissed Ben.

"Call your next witness."

"I call Miss Sadie Carter to the stand," Jarrod announced, rising from his chair. Sadie did not appear. Jarrod looked over his shoulder, trying to spot her in the crowd. Carl also turned around. Jarrod had an uneasy feeling. The bailiff scanned the hall outside the court room, shrugged his shoulders, nothing.

"Well? Where is she, counselor?"

"I don’t know your honor."

"Call your next witness." Jarrod glanced over at Jefferson Bryant who was staring straight ahead, an arrested look on his face.

Jarrod and Jefferson Bryant gave their summations to the jury. As Jarrod waited the afternoon away for a verdict, night was falling outside his window, unable to concentrate on anything, except Carl Logan. Losing cases, Jarrod had looked failure in the eyes before. Realizing his mistakes with Corby Kiles and Jeff Bowden, somehow Carl was unlike them. Jarrod believed Carl’s sincerity when he spoke of his innocence. Carl reminded Jarrod of Heath. Heath was never capable of murder and Carl was not iron hearted enough to commit such a savage murder. Jarrod, trying to accept his weaknesses in The Cases he lost, those that kept gnawing at him. The U.S. Constitution guarantees every citizen justice, rationalizing his former defense of Corby Kiles. Jeff Bowden was a disappointment he would rather forget. It seemed to Jarrod that winning or losing was not meaningful, yet seeking justice and discovering the truth was. Jarrod’s chain of thought was broken by Nick throwing open the door.

"I can’t find her anywhere," he boomed. "She’s gone Jarrod."

"Did you check at the restaurant where she works and with Sissy Mills at the boarding house?"

"I sure did. Sissy said she mentioned going to see her sister in Denver. But I’ll have to check with Ira to see when she left and when the next train is going out. Then maybe I can catch up with her. Anyway, you had dinner yet?"

"No, I’m just sitting here thinking."

"Judging from the look on your face, I’d say worrying is more like it, big brother."

"You know me too well."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Something about this case bothers me."

"Something about every case bothers you. What is it this time?"

"Why did Sadie run off? Why did Ben Stowe lie?"

"Maybe Sadie was scared? She is kind of naïve."

"Maybe so, but what was she afraid of then? The real killer?"

"Listen, I’m starved, could we get some dinner and talk about it then?"

"I’ll tell you what dinner is on me, since you have to put up with sweet, little Sadie Carter," Jarrod said grabbing his hat and coat.

When court reconvened the next morning the jury had their verdict. It was a hung jury, resulting in Carl’s acquittal. Jarrod was relieved but loose ends still dangled. Jefferson Bryant, never revealing his disappointment, was not about to give this acquittal his blessing. Stuffing the last of his papers into his valise, he marched off, shunning Jarrod and Carl. Jarrod then turned to Carl.

"I’m sure grateful for everything you’ve done. But I sure would like to have my name cleared," Carl said.

"I’d like to know who killed Callie Jones," Jarrod said.

"It seems we want the same thing."

In the days that followed, Jarrod began following up on a theory he had. Heading over the sheriff’s office, he saw a small crowd gathering in front. Jarrod slowed his pace, hovering around the edge of the crowd.

"Listen sheriff, you get Carl Logan out here, he killed poor little Callie Jones and he’s going to pay for it." An angry cheer went up from the crowd.

"Now listen, all of you," Fred was vehement, "The jury acquitted him and that means he’s free to go. Now go on about your business."

"A hung jury don’t mean nothing. We say he’s guilty," another man bellowed in the crowd.

"You’re wasting your time here. He’s already gone. Now, move on."

"You wait and see Fred."

"I’m not waiting around to see about anything. Now, for the last time, move it along." Fred yelled, waving his hands at the crowd to disperse. Jarrod edged his way along the crowd, reaching Fred.

"I had a feeling this would happen."

"Yeah, everyone is all heated over this Callie Jones thing."

"So, he did leave town."

"I told him to go on, it wasn’t safe for him here. You’re not done investigating, are you?"

"I promised I would clear his name. And I’d like to know who killed Callie Jones myself."

"What was I going to tell you."

"What?"

"Oh, it will come to me."

That same day, while purchasing cigars from Henry Tyler, at the general store, Jefferson Bryant, brushed past Jarrod, without a greeting. Jarrod glanced at him, ignoring the petty insult, thinking it was typical of Bryant.

Henry Tyler was a docile, friendly man who liked to stop what he was doing and talk with Jarrod about the daily court maneuvers. Jarrod would not say too much until a trial was over. A fan of penny dreadfuls, Henry would listen then speculate as to what really happened. Jarrod always appreciated his thoughts on The Cases, knowing they were absurd. Sometimes, Henry would plan a murder, discussing his ideas with Jarrod. Jarrod amused, went along with it, becoming a game to both men. "Henry." Emma’s thunderous voice cut through the air like a cleaver, making Henry cringe. Jarrod could not help thinking, somewhere lurking in the dark corners of Henry’s mind, he was hatching a plan to get rid of Emma. Henry returned muttering, "Always a problem, never satisfied," Jarrod turned away, smiling. All of a sudden, Henry stopped what he was doing. Gazing at the cigars in his hand and thinking, "that’s funny." As, it turned out, Jefferson Bryant bought the same cigars as Jarrod . Jefferson, just having bought some, Jarrod was wondering why he should be overwhelmed by this information.

Well, it struck Henry as being peculiar. During the trial, Jefferson Bryant bought the same tobacco as Carl Logan. He never bought it again except for that one time. Jarrod perplexed, almost left the store without his cigars.

Later at his office, while catching up on other work that needed his attention, Nick burst through the door, holding Ben Stowe by the lapel of his coat.

"Nick, what are you doing?"

"Tell him Ben."

"Tell me what?"

"I got nothing to say to him."

"Is that right?" Nick said, tugging on Ben’s lapel.

"All right, so I lied."

"You lied about what Ben?" Jarrod said, rising from his chair.

"About seeing Callie fighting with Carl Logan." Jarrod moved around to the front of the desk, eager to hear more.

"Go on," Nick growled. Nick firmly planted his fists on his hips, glowering at Ben, who was looking up at Nick nervously. "Tell him the rest." Jarrod leaned against the desk.

"I only saw Carl Logan running out the front door of the house. Nothing else."

"Why did you lie?" Jarrod said, folding his arms.

"Oh, this part you’ll love Jarrod."

"I can’t say." Nick closed in on Ben, who was backing away, fidgeting with the brim of his hat. "I was paid to lie."

"By who?"

"Bryant paid me." Jarrod locked eyes with Nick. Ben’s revelation confirmed Jarrod’s suspicions.

"Will you swear to this?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No, you’ve committed perjury." Jarrod leaned over in back of him, reaching for a clean sheet of paper, then dipping his pen in the ink well. "I’ll take your statement down, then we’ll go see the judge. Nick, will you ask Anne to come in please."

"You can handle this?" Nick said, waving a finger at Ben.

"I think so,"

Three days later, the Barkley luck was still holding when Nick poked his head in the door to Jarrod’s office.

"Jarrod, I have a surprise for you." Jarrod glanced up from his paperwork.

"What’s up Nick?" Nick walked in, leading Sadie Carter. Sadie walked in on clouds, grasping Nick’s hand, still dazzled. Nick was flustered as Sadie was looking lovesick. Jarrod’s eyes drifted to Nick who was looking heavenward. Jarrod grinned at Nick’s predicament. Sadie, peering up at Nick from under a tuft of curly dark hair and a felt bonnet.

"Sadie, Jarrod has some questions for you."

"You want to know why I didn’t appear in court?"

"That thought had crossed my mind." Jarrod said.

"Jefferson Bryant said it wasn’t necessary. I told him I had to tell what I saw."

"What did you see that night?" Jarrod asked.

"I was on my way home from the restaurant when I saw a man running out the back door of Callie’s house. I couldn’t see who it was though."

"What time was that?"

"Oh, maybe around nine o’clock." Jarrod looked pleased.

"Didn’t Ben say in court that he saw Carl leaving there around nine thirty?" Nick said.

"Bryant paid me some money, told me to leave town for awhile. So, I decided to visit my sister in Denver. I did the wrong thing, didn’t I, Mr. Barkley."

"You should have come to me."

"I guess I just wasn’t thinking straight." Sadie hung her head in shame, unable to look at Nick.

"But what Mr. Bryant did was worse. He intentionally damaged my defense, and could have cost Carl Logan his life. It may still if any of the townspeople have their way. I’ll need a sworn statement from you." This did not relieve Sadie of her guilt but Jarrod’s soothing voice was reassuring.

"Oh, Nick, you haven’t forgotten you’re taking me to that dance tomorrow night," she reminded him, batting her sparkling blue eyes at him.

"I haven’t forgotten." Jarrod chuckled, while Sadie was glowing.

Two days later, Jarrod, Jefferson Bryant, and Judge Monroe met in the courtroom for a hearing. Sadie Carter and Ben Stowe, slipped in the door, sitting in the back row beside Fred and Henry Tyler. Jarrod watched Bryant’s face. Seeing Sadie made Bryant nervous. Judge Monroe shuffled his papers and adjusted his spectacles.

"Mr. Barkley, has a grievance here, concerning misconduct on the part of Mr. Bryant in the trial of Carl Logan. From your notes and the sworn statements, you claim he has suborned witnesses and tampered with evidence."

"Your honor, if I may say something?"

"No, you may not, Mr. Bryant. Now, where was I..." Judge Monroe looked across the room at Fred. "Fred, you stated here that you recalled after the trial that you did not see any tobacco near Callie Jones’ body. Is that right?" Fred rose up from his chair.

"That’s correct your honor."

"How did it come into evidence, Mr. Bryant?"

"I found it at the murder scene."

"Then why does Henry Tyler state you bought some during the trial, the brand Carl Logan used but you never have because you smoke cigars?"

"I can’t answer that."

"You can’t or you won’t."

Your honor, this is a witch hunt, can’t you see Mr. Barkley has engineered this entire thing to discredit me so he can say he won another case."

"Oh, your honor ___"

"Simmer down Jarrod. Young man, for as long as I have known Jarrod Barkley, we’ve butted heads on issues but I never knew a more honest man who would never intentionally malign a colleague simply to make a name for himself. He’s just too damn noble." Jarrod appreciated the indirect compliment. Often others considered his nobility as an insult to them, neighboring on contemptuousness. It was never Jarrod’s intention.

"Your honor," Jarrod added. "I would also like to state here that my client, Carl Logan, claimed his knife was in his saddlebag in the livery stable at the time of the murder and since he never returned to get his horse, then anyone could have had access to his saddlebag. Mr. Bryant was familiar with Carl Logan’s statement."

"Are you saying I framed your client?" Bryant asked. Jarrod said nothing.

"That’s enough. Anymore out of you and I’ll banish you from this court room."

The judge considered the facts while removing his spectacles and rubbing his eyes. "What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Bryant?" The judge asked, again adjusting his spectacles.

"That poor girl suffered. I was just disgusted and discouraged at always seeing guilty men go free for crimes they committed."

"That is a judgement left to a jury. I have no recourse but to follow up on the charges Mr. Barkley has brought against you and recommend that your license to practice law be revoked and you be disbarred. You’ll have plenty of time to review why justice is blind." Bryant glared boldly at Jarrod, then softening and pleading with the judge.

"But my career will be ruined. Couldn’t you give me another chance?"

"You should have thought of that before tangling with this case, pushing Carl Logan closer to the noose. You clearly had no right and as a lawyer you should have known better. Your ethics are twisted if you think you can tamper with the law to suit your ideals, you are mistaken." Judge Monroe admonished him severely, peering over his spectacles, jabbing the air with his pen. Bryant turned to Jarrod, one last time.

"You could help me. Talk to the bar association. They would listen to you."

"No, I couldn’t."

"I hope you’re happy," Bryant snarled.

"I’m not....You had too much potential."

"Winning is everything to you Barkleys."

"No...justice and the truth is law. You might have understood that if you had not sabotaged this case."

"What you’re saying is I made my bed, now I can lie in it."

Jefferson Bryant’s scorching anger would not dissipate with time. He refused to concede to defeat or remorse. He simply left town.

Days later, Fred stopped in at Jarrod’s office to inform him that Frank Eaton found Carl Logan’s body swinging from a tree not too far from town. Frank told Fred the body had been out there awhile. The law book Jarrod was reading, snapped shut.

Eight months later, spring arrived, but the townspeople were still haunted by the shameful memories of Carl Logan and Callie Jones. Time did not remedy a town’s guilty conscious. Barely speaking to one another as they went about their errands in town. On his way to the general store, Jarrod seeing one of his mother’s friends, tipped his hat and said, "Hello, Mrs. Eaton." Her head bowed, she cast him a fleeting glimpse while hurrying by him. "How ridiculous," Jarrod thought. "This town has faced worst things in the past." Yet, nothing anyone could say or do would convince them otherwise. They would continue isolationism, afraid of their friends and neighbors.

"Henry,"

"Jarrod, what can I do for you?"

"I had too many briefs and contracts and ran out of ink."

"You know, Jarrod, I had an idea about that Carl Logan case."

"Oh."

"Do you think the real killer lynched Carl, I mean instead of a group from town?"

"Anything is possible." Jarrod having mixed feelings, did not seem to care anymore. Henry went to get the ink. Jarrod leaned on the counter, watching Emma Tyler help a customer. He studied the customer. Though her back was to him, he recognized the auburn hair. His eyes traveled to the purple velvet hat perched upon her head. It was familiar. He knew that hat from somewhere...knowing it well once in his lifetime. "No, it couldn’t be." Dismissing the foolish thought, but still hopeful it would be true. A blond child, partially hidden in the folds of her mother’s skirt, seriously surveyed Jarrod, from under a straw bonnet. Her large blue eyes glued to him. Jarrod was smiling at the little girl as the woman with the auburn hair was turning.

"Jarrod." Jarrod peering up at the mother, stunned.

"Dorothy."

"Jarrod how are you?" Taking the little girl by the hand she walked over to Jarrod.

"I’m fine and you?"

"You didn’t hear about John, did you?"

"No, why?"

"He died a year ago of the fever."

"I’m sorry to hear it. He was a good friend and a fine lawyer."

"It’s been too long," Dorothy said. Her gauzy memories of Jarrod still unaltered, his striking blue eyes and devastating smile reminding her of what she desired.

"Married?"

"My wife died." He did not pursue it.

"You still are an astoundingly good looking man." Jarrod flattered by her forwardness, smiled.

"I thought English women practiced more reserve."

"Not me, I’m too Americanized."

"Here’s your ink, Jarrod. Anything else?" asked Henry.

"Cigars." Both eyes secured on one another, nothing else existed at that moment. Dorothy feeling a tugging on her skirt, looked down.

"And who is this pretty young lady?"

"This is my daughter, Constance."

"It’s nice to meet you,"

"Yes, sir." They both laughed. "Are you a friend of mommy’s?"

"Long time ago," Jarrod’s gaze drifted from Constance, back to her mother. Those green eyes...how many times had he looked into them.

"What brings you back to Stockton?"

"My father needed help on the farm...and I guess I needed someplace to call home again."

"It hasn’t been easy for him since your mother died."

"Aunt Elizabeth came from England to help. But she was getting homesick."

A woman in a slate blue dressed walked into the general store, stopping in the doorway; her blond hair, thickly coiled about her head, slow fire in her china blue eyes. Her full cupid’s bow mouth tightly pursed while watching the couple inspect each other. Jarrod’s eyes following along the strong ample curves of Dorothy as Ruth looked on in disgust.

"Jarrod, what a pleasant surprise."

"Ruth, what are you doing here?"

"Buying paper, what’s your excuse?"

"Ink." Ruth peered over at Dorothy.

"I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure," Ruth said.

"Oh, Dorothy Stewart, this is Ruth Syms."

"How do you do." Both women were excruciatingly polite.

"John Stewart, her husband was an old friend of mine from law school."

"I see," Ruth said. Both she and Dorothy knew there was more to it than an old law school friendship.

Just then, Mrs. Eaton stopped in the doorway of the store.

"Did you hear?"

"Hear what?" Emma asked.

"Judge Monroe was shot last night in his living room. It looked like the bullet went right through the window." Everyone looked at one another in disbelief.

The following evening, the Barkleys gathered around before dinner; Nick and Heath generating more heat than the fire burning in the fireplace. Victoria shaking her head over such a trivial thing as a checkers game between the two. She worked her needlework pillow, Jarrod was absorbed in his reading and Audra, attempting to play some lethargic piece on the piano.

"I heard Dorothy Stewart, moved back to town," Victoria said, stabbing her canvas with her needle.

"Huh?" Jarrod said, still reading.

"Lovely girl," Victoria cut her yarn, rummaging through her basket for another color.

"What is this sudden interest in Dorothy Stewart?" Jarrod asked, glancing at his mother.

"Audra, can’t you play something with more zip," Nick said. Audra ignored Nick’s request, preoccupied with her mother’s conversation with Jarrod.

"I thought you were seeing Ruth Syms," Heath said, pondering his next move.

"I am," Jarrod was becoming irritated with all this prying, resuming his reading.

"She’s a strange girl," Audra said, poking at the keyboard.

"Why do you say that?" Heath asked.

"I don’t know," Audra said. "She seems so cold..." Audra searched for words.

"Reserved?" Jarrod said.

"That’s the way people are from Boston," Victoria said, cutting a piece of yarn.

"She’s very talented," Jarrod said. "You should see her illustrations."

"She writes children’s books, doesn’t she?" Audra asked. As curious as both she and Audra were about Jarrod’s affairs, she shook her head at Audra to end pursuing the matter. Audra sat, pouting, looking forward to another boring evening. Next, there was knocking on the door.

"I’ll get it," Audra said, eagerly jumping to her feet and scurrying to the door.

"Mr. Thorndike, come in."

"Is Jarrod home?"

"Noah, what brings you here?"

"Can we talk?"

"Certainly," Jarrod said, giving him a friendly slap on the back, guiding him into the den. Noah Thorndike, the unflappable publisher of The Stockton Eagle, and a distinguished journalist with years of experience, was generally too slick to be rattled.

"What’s the matter, Noah?"

"Judge Monroe."

"Terrible, not that he didn’t have a long list of enemies. For the most part he was a fair man. Hazards of the legal profession."

" I didn’t come here to listen to his eulogy," Noah said, pausing. "Ben Stowe was found shot to death in his barn this afternoon."

"What?" Jarrod said, shocked and baffled.

"It looks like the same shotgun was used to kill both of them, both bullets match." Jarrod thought, a series of events linked somehow, is too coincidental to ignore. "I think it has something to with Carl Logan."

"Why?"

"We were all on the Logan case. I was on the jury."

"So, we were all on the Sam Osborne case together too. I was the prosecutor, Judge Monroe presided, you were a witness and Ben was on the jury."

"I’m going to investigate further. This town won’t rest until we learn the truth about Callie Jones’ murder."

"And will they rest when they realize they hung an innocent man."

"I’ll not deny it will put vigilante justice in the spotlight."

"Oh, Noah, you can’t use these killings in accusing a town of murdering a man we believed was innocent. Write your editorials on vigilante justice but to condemn a town when we have no proof of who is doing the killings."

"As usual you present a good argument."

"It’s a mute point," Jarrod said. "You have a flair for words, choose them carefully."

As promised, Noah launched his series of articles, speculating on the recent killings in Stockton. Recklessly, he concentrated on The Carl Logan case. The townspeople realizing forgetting would not be easy.

On his way home, Jarrod stopped by Fred’s office, sharing some coffee. Fred was vocal in summing up his thoughts about the circumstances surrounding the killings. "Noah, has a lot of people riled up in this town. A lot of mixed feelings about Carl Logan and Callie Jones."

"They said that about the civil War."

"It depended on what side you were on."

"Unless you were a Quaker." Fred and Jarrod tossed out other theories like a game of catch. Jarrod mentioned Sam Osborne. Fred said he was released from San Quentin, that he was innocent. That word echoed to Jarrod over the years. The faces of the people he prosecuted and defended floated mercilessly in his mind. Haunting him, fabricating a distrust in himself that was brewing since he defended Carl Logan. "The pitfalls of being a lawyer," he thought. His instincts disappointed him and the courage of his convictions was now meaningless. Thinking about those stolen lives; Jarrod wondered what it was like to shout your innocence, no one hearing you, ignoring you, as if the entire world was deaf. To hear the verdict, the judge banging his gavel and pronouncing sentence, then silence. Alone, the darkness comes. These were the hard truths they did not teach Jarrod in law school. Emma Tyler’s voice shattered the air, breaking Jarrod’s thoughts.

"Emma, what happened?" Fred asked.

"Henry," she said, gasping for air. "Henry has been shot...he’s dead." Both men looked at each other.

Early the next evening, Jarrod arrived to take Ruth to the dance. He was fond of Ruth but seeing Dorothy again had ignited something special for him. Something he did not share with Ruth. Thinking about it, Ruth was intelligent and talented. Yet lately, even before Dorothy came back into his life, he wanted to end it with her. Ruth being too proper and too deeply reserved, bothered Jarrod, though he admired her and her accomplishments in the literary world.

Ruth greeting him at the door, was not ready to go to the dance. She seemed agitated to Jarrod. She said she was doing some illustrations for her book and lost track of the time.

"Something is bothering you." He took her hand, squeezing it.

"I guess these murders have me unnerved."

"Now, don’t you worry. Everything, will be all right." His voice was soothing and when he touched her she could feel his strength.

"If Noah Thorndike is right and there is a connection between the killings and The Carl Logan case, you could be in danger."

"Is that what’s worrying you?" She hesitated in answering, capping the ink bottle.

"I guess so." Jarrod kissing her on the forehead was not what she expected. The kind of woman she was, why should she expect more.

"Come on get dressed, we’ll go to the dance and have some fun."

"Will Dorothy Stewart be there?"

"I don’t know. Are you jealous?"

"Shouldn’t I be. She’s a very beautiful woman. You two shared a past."

"Once...now get dressed," he shooed her off, dismissing her suspicions by lying, unable to ignore his real feelings for Dorothy.

Everyone was leaving as they arrived at the dance.

"Hey, Ira, what’s going on?"

"Another murder."

"Who?"

"Noah Thorndike, shot in the livery stable," Ira said. "I guess somebody didn’t like his editorials." Ruth took hold of Jarrod’s arm, gripping it tight. He could feel her trembling next to him, her fear going through him. Now frightened himself, Jarrod was too stubborn to submit to fear.

The following morning, Jarrod was out doing errands, when he saw a mob gathering in front of the saloon. He dismissed it as the usual commotion of a place catering to and occupied by whiskey soaked boozers, gamblers, good old boys and troublemakers; who say they are not looking for trouble but find it anyway. Curious though, Jarrod wandered over as Fred pushed his way through the crowd, "Break it up, come on break it up." Fred entered the saloon, hearing the smashing of glass. Jarrod joined him. A man whirled around, facing Fred and Jarrod, holding a broken bottle in his hand. Breathing hard, slobbering drunk, he came closer to them.

"Well, if it isn’t my two favorite citizens."

"What’s going on here?" Fred asked.

"These nice folks were planning a neck tie party for me."

"What are you doing back here Osborne?" Jarrod asked. Osborne closed in on Jarrod, the jagged edges of glass inches from his face. Jarrod did not draw back, staring at Osborne.

"You’re still a fine looking gentleman," he sneered.

"Osborne, put the bottle down," Fred said.

"Did you know I was innocent?"

"Yeah, we heard," Fred said. "Now drop the bottle."

"How about you counselor? A rich, fancy man like yourself probably doesn’t lose much sleep over the likes of me."

"I’ve lost sleep."

"Hang him," one man shouted from the back of the saloon.

"Shut up, Hays," Fred shouted back.

"We say he killed the judge and them others."

"You have no proof of that," Jarrod said, moving forward, looking at the bottle poised to strike. "Drop the bottle, Sam."

"I didn’t do anything."

"Then don’t do anything foolish now," Jarrod said. Then, Sam thrust the bottle toward Jarrod as Fred grabbed his wrist, disarming him.

"Come on Sam, you’re coming with me," Fred said, taking Sam by the arm. It was the final blowout, suddenly, Sam deflated, all his anger gone out of him.

"I didn’t kill nobody," Sam said as he was being dragged to the jail.

"We know Sam," Jarrod said. Fred hustled Sam into a cell.

"Now settle down and cool off." Sam was frantic, realizing his confinement, he gripped the bars, trying to shake them loose.

"I tell you I didn’t kill nobody."

"Take it easy Sam, you’re in here for being too damn drunk," Fred said.

"Why because I threatened the lawyer?"

"That among other things." Jarrod feeling small at this moment, watching Sam’s fear and torment. Jarrod tried separating himself from the bruised spirit of the man in the cell. Sam began to weep. Jarrod turned away. For centuries, judges and lawyers had sentenced men and women to death with less evidence. Horrible barbaric deaths, never thinking about it twice. Jarrod knew he could never do that. Time changed everything, law was different now...he was different. Was he losing his objectivity? A transgression for a lawyer.

That evening, Jarrod prepared to leave the office. He locked the door, slipping the key into his pocket, wandering off down the street to the livery stable. Leaving the restaurant was Sadie Carter.

"Good evening Sadie," Jarrod said, tipping his hat.

"Mr. Barkley," Jarrod continued down the street, hearing a gun shot, he spun around, looking in all directions. At the end of the street, Sadie was holding on to a hitching post. Doubled over, clutching her chest, she then let go of the post. Stepping forward, she fell like a heavy sack of grain. Jarrod rushed to her side as Fred and others were dashing up the street.

"Someone get Dr. Merrar," Fred said. Jarrod looked up at Fred, with a blank expression, he was calm as he said, "She’s dead." Sadie, lying in the street, a frozen look of wonder on her face. Fred squeezed his shoulder.

They both knew now, that all the victims so far were involved in the Sam Osborne case and The Carl Logan case except Sadie. Fred twirled the jail keys on his finger, trying to make sense out of it.

"Someone might be avenging Carl Logan’s death," Fred said.

"Or the real killer is tying up loose ends," Jarrod said. "Callie had a husband."

"Dan Jones." Dan Jones, was a cheat, talking pretty to Callie, to get her to come out west with him. Abusing her and leaving her up to her eyes in debt. Jarrod knew it was a distorted idea, thinking Dan was a suspect. After all, the way he treated Callie, why would he care enough to come back to town and shoot up its citizens. One thing about Dan, he was a great coward, looking out for himself first. Transparent, he possessed all the qualities of a truly selfish man. Knocking Dan off the list, they were both nowhere.

Jarrod stayed late at the office the following evening. As expected, his desk cluttered with stacks of papers and law books. Jarrod, tossing his pen aside, straightened his body, rubbing the back of his aching neck. Whenever his muscles were tense like this, Dorothy would gently rub his neck and shoulders. He was not as skilled at soothing his muscles as she was. Leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment, he thought about Ruth. Thinking about both women with a clear head, Jarrod realized in all the time he had known Ruth, she never touched him. She never rejected his advances but never made any toward him. How strange she was, making him feel uncomfortable.

Outside, the town was quiet except for the occasional horse clomping through the street or a train whistle in the distance. With work nagging at him and his body begging for rest, Jarrod reached for his pen, knocking a law book to the floor. "Damn," he thought, again having to look up the precedent. While leaning down to retrieve the book, hearing a gunshot, his window shattered. Jarrod stayed near the floor, motionless. Jarrod's hand was trembling on the law book, his heart crashing inside him. Easing off the chair, he moved away from the window. He wanted to run, yet fear rooted him to the floor in the corner. Who was out there? Who wanted him dead? Hearing footsteps hurrying down the hall, Jarrod took a step. His eyes stayed fastened on the door. Realizing he did not have his gun, he sprang for the desk, grabbing the letter opener. Dashing for the door, he hid behind it just as it was opening.

"Jarrod." Relieved to hear Fred’s voice, Jarrrod stepped out from behind the door. Fred jumped, seeing the letter opener in Jarrod’s hand.

"Am I glad to see you."

"I heard the shot two doors down," Fred said, slipping his gun into his holster.

"Did you see anything?"

"Nothing."

"Damn," Jarrod said, throwing the letter opener back onto the desk.

"By the way, the bullet that killed Sadie, is not the same as the others."

"Is that right?" Again, Jarrod picked up the letter opener, probing his chair for the bullet. Finding it, he dislodged it, handing the bullet to Fred. Fred tossed it up and down in his hand.

"You better lay low for a couple of days." Jarrod agreed.

Jarrod was anxious and brooding, snapping and snarling at family members. Trying to work at home without all his books and files, nothing seem to satisfy him. He resented the person who made him a prisoner in his own home. Rubbing his head, hoping his headache would disappear, waiting for Audra to return with files and books he needed when Silas walked in with coffee.

"Mr. Jarrod, take a break, you look all worn out." The only one Jarrod was not sharp with was Silas. Nick was the only family member brave enough to yell at Silas. Silas would just make "Mr. Nick" feel guilty if he did so, and do it gracefully.

"Silas, I have a question for you." Taking his mind off work.

"Yes, sir," Silas said, pouring some coffee.

"You met Ruth Syms, did you like her?"

"Oh, it’s not my place to say,"

"I’m asking, tell me honestly, how did she make you feel."

"You serious about her?"

"No."

"Well then, my mama used to tell me a story about two masters they had. One I remember. She said, Mr. Pickering would treat a slave like a person, but Mr. Jordan would treat a person like a slave." Neither of them said another word. Jarrod had a lopsided smile as Silas handed him the coffee cup. "Does that answer your question?"

"I believe so. You would have made a good lawyer, Silas," Jarrod said sipping his coffee. Silas chuckled.

"Nonsense, you’re the best lawyer there is."

"You think so?" Being a wizened old man and knowing Jarrod since he was a boy, Silas detected the doubt.

"Why, don’t you think so?"

"Lately I wonder. Convicting and freeing the wrong people." Jarrod could not neglect the bitterness of Sam Osborne and others felt.

"Remember Keno Nash, when he was all fired up about you," Jarrod nodded. "You told him you were just doing your job. What about the judge? Or the jury?"

"What about my arguments, convincing the jury these people were innocent or guilty. So many times."

"You had faith. There’s nothing wrong with having faith in what you believe to be right. Everyone makes mistakes. To forgive is divine. Forgive yourself." Silas seem to ease some of the mistrust.

"Where is he?" Dorothy entered the library with Audra holding onto her arm.

"Dorothy," Jarrod said, astonished.

"Thank God you’re all right."

"Audra, let go of her." Audra obeyed. "Silas, take Miss Audra with you and teach her how to cook." Silas giggled, Audra was fuming at his remark. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard you had been shot." Jarrod having a sweet look of surprise on his face, moved closer to her. "What happened?"

"I was to be number six."

"This is terrible." Jarrod sensed the visit was more than simple concern.

"Why did you come?"

"After all these years?"

"Yes, after all these years." Dorothy turned from him, gazing out the French doors.

"I guess it never left me." Jarrod knew what she meant. Dorothy fixed her eyes on him, moving closer, desiring intimacy. She planted her lips firmly on his. He welcomed her as if time never passed between them. Again, she turned her head from him. He smelled the lavender in her hair, still so familiar.

"What about Ruth?" Dorothy asked. He already forgot Ruth.

"Nothing," he whispered in her ear, his voice soft, his touch gentle but strong and sure. Uncertainty vanished, the feeling frozen in time, they stood like this before. But now it would last.

Fred stopped in later that afternoon, informing Jarrod that the bullet that almost killed him matched the other four.

Jarrod was half way out the door, when Nick stopped him. Nick was angry and concerned, fearing the killer was lurking everywhere, ready to strike again. Jarrod ignored Nick’s drama, assuring him if there was any trouble, he was alert and could handle it. Nick was dissatisfied, giving his brother room, but he would not be far behind if he needed him. Jarrod, roaming outside, then stood still, hearing something near the barn. Walking cautiously, keeping low, one step at a time, he stopped. He heard something. "This is ridiculous. I’m letting fear get the best of me," he thought. Thinking something was behind him, he whirled around.

"Nick, is that you," he said in a loud whisper. He heard the noise again. Peering into the barn, Charger was kicking a wooden bucket around near his stall. Relaxing, Jarrod went into the barn, removing the bucket and admonishing Charger for scaring him. As Jarrod turned around, Jefferson Bryant, stood, holding a rifle on him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Finishing the job," Bryant said.

"What are you talking about?"

"You’re a master of interrogation, but it won’t save you this time."

"You killed those people."

"No, I only killed Sadie Carter."

"Why?"

"The little wench knew too much. She knew it was me who ran out the back door of Callie Jones’ house that night. She thought she’d take advantage and bleed me dry."

"You killed Callie Jones."

"We had been seeing each other. But that wasn’t enough for Callie. Carl Logan put himself in the picture and the scene changed."

"So, you raped and killed her." Jarrod horrified that any man was capable of such an act. Jarrod understood the passion, the hatred and the vengeance, coming close to the edge himself, but for different reasons. Bryant’s was a twisted rage. Jarrod despised Bryant’s reason for killing Callie and for no other reason than sick jealousy.

"I killed Carl too." Jarrod began backing away.

"It’s incredible, you killed Callie, framed Carl, ruining my defense, and killed Carl and whole town felt responsible. Do you ever feel anything?" Carl’s eyes flourishing with anger, approached Jarrod. Jarrod, realizing Bryant was insane, and putting his foot so far down his throat, that if he tried to help it would enrage Bryant. Jarrod began looking around for a weapon. Jefferson Bryant lifted the rifle higher, taking aim, and squeezing the trigger.

"Drop it," Nick said, ready to shoot. Bryant swung the rifle around like a pendulum, pointing it at Nick. Jarrod was about to lunge for Bryant when both guns went off simultaneously. Surprised, Jefferson Bryant lingered on his feet, then began to sway. No one moved. Falling to his knees, the rifle began slipping from his hands. Still no one moved near him. Looking up at Jarrod one last time, he said, "Nice work counselor." He slumped over onto the floor, his eyes empty. Three silent figures stood rigid in the moment. Nick squeezed Jarrod’s shoulder as both pondered a death.

"It’s over," Nick said.

"No, it’s not."

Revealing the truth shocked the townspeople; yet, the fear did not disappear. With only half the mystery solved, they realized a serial killer was still amongst them. Fred thinking Jarrod was still the key to putting the entire situation to rest. He and Jarrod hatched a plan to smoke out a killer.

For three nights, Jarrod worked late, alone in his office. By the fourth night, Jarrod made plans to take Dorothy out to dinner, having something special in mind. He had already severed his relationship with Ruth. She accepted it graciously. Jarrod was amazed at how much restraint this woman sustained.

Dorothy was to meet Jarrod at his office. Looking at his watch it was the agreed upon time. He rushed to tidy up his desk, putting away law books, then looking over his shoulder saw Ruth standing in the doorway.

"Ruth, what are you doing here?"

"Going out with Dorothy Stewart?"

"Yes," he said, retrieving his tie and slipping it underneath his collar. Ruth, bringing out her hand from behind her skirt, raised the pistol, pointing it at Jarrod. Jarrod stood still, staring at her.

"What’s this about?"

"I left town because I killed those people." Jarrod’s eyes widened.

"Why?"

"Callie Jones was my sister. Caroline Syms was her name. She was always a wild cat, leaving Boston with that scoundrel Jones. Too bad I never killed him," she said. "I did everything for her, I looked after her after our parents died. And this is how she repaid me."

"Ruth, none of this makes sense," he said.

"You all let Carl Logan go free."

"He was innocent."

"It’s Jefferson Bryant I should have killed to begin with. He botched the case. This town was going to pay for slaughtering an innocent girl." Jarrod wondered how fate could bring two deluded people to the same place at the same time. Was this a nightmare?

"Ruth, why did you come back?"

"To kill you."

"Why? You know Carl was innocent and I had him acquitted."

"I tried to kill you that night here in your office. Then you told me you were in love with someone else," she said. "Now, you know the truth."

"None of this makes sense."

"It will give me peace." Raising the pistol she fired before Jarrod could react. Clutching his shoulder, he fell back against the desk. She was about to fire again, but the pistol jammed. Jarrod relieved she could not fire any more shots, hoping Fred would come soon. He was in agony, trying to find something to stop the flow of blood from the wound. The blood streamed in thin rivulets down his hand, staining his shirt. Hearing a click, he peered up at Ruth. Ruth fixed the pistol. Dorothy sneaking up from behind, slammed a paperweight into Ruth’s head. Ruth looking surprised, dropped the pistol, falling onto the floor. Dorothy examined Ruth, relieved she was still breathing. Then Dorothy kicked the gun aside. Dropping the paperweight, she rushed to Jarrod. Seeing the blood trickling between his fingers she did not flinch. She immediately began ripping up her petticoat and wrapping his wound. Dorothy did not like Jarrod’s ashen color. Next, Fred walked in, seeing Ruth on the floor.

"You’re kidding, it’s her."

"Help me get Jarrod to Dr. Merrar’s office." Jarrod would not budge. "Don’t be a Barkley now, come on."

"Not before you say you’ll marry me." At a time like this, Dorothy could not believe she was laughing.

"With a proposal like that, how can I refuse counselor." It would not be the first or the last time Jarrod would lean on Dorothy.