The Sporting House Killing: A Gilded Age Legal Thriller by G. Reading Powell

Author:G. Reading Powell [Powell, G. Reading]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gerald R Powell
Published: 2021-04-18T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Sunday, the first day of July, was hot as blazes. The house was muggy, and Catfish had all the windows up and the ceiling fans going. The colonel wouldn’t stay indoors at all and snoozed the hours away on the front porch, oblivious to passing traffic. Every now and then he’d wake up, slurp water from his bowl, and then go back to sleep.

Catfish was in his parlor in a wing chair by the open window, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his tie loose, and his sleeves rolled up. It was the day before Cicero’s trial. He’d been getting ready for days on end, but he still didn’t feel ready. Miss Peach had been there most of the day, helping him go over the list of veniremen and decide who to strike from the jury.

Harley joined them just after noon. “Papa, I ran into Captain Blair at church this morning. You didn’t tell me he’d offered a plea deal Friday.”

“Didn’t think it was important.”

“Really?” Harley said, as if he couldn’t believe it.

Why couldn’t he get over that? It was time for trial. “I turned it down, of course.”

“What did he offer?”

“Fifteen years hard time. Henry Sweet agreed with me.” Catfish went back to reading his notes.

“Did you make a counteroffer?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Cicero didn’t do it.”

Harley got up from the sofa and went to the front door. He just stood in the open doorway, staring outside somewhere. “I think we should offer five years.”

Miss Peach was in the adjoining dining room going over her notes. She looked up through the open French doors at Harley and then at him.

“We’ve been over this before, son,” Catfish said. “We’re gonna try the case. No deals.”

There was silence. Miss Peach hunkered back over her papers.

“Yes, sir.” He returned to the sofa and slumped back. “I’ll do some legal research on the jury charge. We should get a manslaughter jury instruction that helps us if we can.”

“Why do we want a manslaughter instruction?” Miss Peach asked.

“If the jury believes Cicero killed her, they can still reach a verdict he didn’t do it with malice,” Harley said.

“How does that help?”

“The punishment for manslaughter is prison, not death. The maximum is two to five years. A manslaughter verdict would be a victory, in my opinion.”

Catfish took a breath. Only a not guilty verdict would be a victory. He pushed his chair back and lit the White Owl he’d been chewing on. “Well, that instruction will be in the jury charge because they indicted him on the lesser included offense of manslaughter, but I have no intention of arguing for the jury to find him guilty of manslaughter.”

“But—”

“No buts, Harley. Our defense is he didn’t kill her.”

Harley’s face was getting red. “Papa, I’ve researched similar cases, and I think we have manslaughter facts. I know Mr. Sweet is your friend, but that doesn’t change the facts.”

“I’ll just have to note your exception, son.”

Harley was slow to answer. “Yes, sir.”

Miss Peach fanned herself with her notepad.

Catfish flicked ashes impatiently. “Either of

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