C. C. Phillips
C. C. Phillips
Chester Bateman's heavy steps masked any sound from Preston as he dropped to his haunches and shuffled back on tiptoe, trying to shift clear of the walkway. The lawyer passed so close the smell of his pipe tobacco assailed Preston's nostrils and he could have easily reached out and tripped the fellow. The door to the privy creaked open and closed softly. Now the stalker in the alley was closer to Bateman than Preston. Not an enviable position at the moment. Across the quiet distance came a dull tapping, more of a mild thudding, followed by a whispered voice that carried better than a shout. “Chester? Chess, that you in there? It's me, John.”
A muffled response leaked out between the slab boards. “Well, yes it's me in here, who the hell did you expect? It's my outhouse.”
“We have to talk and I didn't want to come to your front door. I heard that that Diamond kid may be snooping around.”
Preston's ears were pricked and tuned to highest reception.
“Well, make sure he isn't near here now.”
“No… I don't think there's anyone near, I crept up here kind of slow and quiet and I didn't hear or see anybody. I've been waiting a few minutes and I haven't heard anything either. I was just about to go to your back door when you came out.”
Following a shuffle of clothes, the door creaked again and there was a sound of footsteps. Bateman's gruff voice grated on the night. “A hell of a place to wait for a guy, John. Haven't you heard of privacy? And, speaking of privacy, that Mrs. Doogan across the street told me this evening that someone has been watching my house. It could be that Diamond kid again. She claims he comes and sits under a tree a couple houses down from me. The little bastard was there today while I was gone.”
Diamond winced. He had been so intent on watching Bateman's house, he hadn't considered that someone might be watching him. He was not invisible. It was something to keep in mind.
“Well, he is back here in DC, General Engels told me so just an hour ago,” said the voice belonging to the man named John.
Preston almost choked. Engels was a traitor.
“Is he back at Colonel Unzer's house?” Bateman's tobacco-rough voice rasped on Preston's eardrums.
“No, that old woman of Unzer's was moving him somewhere. She wouldn't tell Engels where though. That old boot doesn't trust anybody. Too bad Wiley didn't get a knife into her.”
Preston's hand, already resting on the butt of the Colt, tightened on the walnut grip.
“How long has he been back in the city, John?”
“Well, General Engels didn't say, Chess, but I gathered the kid has been at Unzer's for a couple days now.”
Bateman's tone grew louder. “Why in hell did Engels not tell us sooner? That trial is coming up, day after tomorrow. If Diamond shows up there, we may as well walk right to the gallows and save the trial. And another thing, I'll bet the kid knows more than he told Freemont. That bloody general is army soft in the head.”
Preston detected the tension in the visitor's speech. “I've been away for a week, and Engels didn't want to run the risk of being seen talking to you… after all, you are Wiley's attorney. But anyway, Chess, General Engels has come up with a plan. It's risky as all get out, but what isn't these days? Freemont is seeing things like you and I now, and he knows that Captain Wiley will break down on the stand. He believes Everett will send us all to the hangman.”
“Is this going to take long? Should we move inside?”
Preston shifted on his heels. His thoughts screamed, “No! No! Don't go inside.”
“No, Chester, if you'd let me get on with it, we'd be done and gone to bed.”
Preston relaxed a fraction.
The lawyer's voice growled. “Alright, I'll say no more.”
“Here is General Engel's plan: If we can't get rid of that Diamond kid before the trial, either you or the general will slip Everett a knife or gun. He can hide it in his sling… he's still wearing a sling, isn't he?”
“Well, his arm is healed up pretty good, but he'll wear the sling if I tell him to.”
Excitement was creeping into John's tone as he recited the plan. “Okay, either you or Freemont will slip Wiley a weapon. He's crazy as a cicada bug when it comes to the Diamonds, so it won't be a problem to talk him into killing the last one. The kid will be there, General Engels is sure of that. So when there is an opportunity, Wiley will shoot or knife the kid. Engels will have his army revolver and he will shoot Wiley right there in the court room. No one will doubt Freemont's motivation. Wiley will be removed and so will Diamond. No trial.”
Preston heard Bateman expel a long breath. “Just what makes Engels think I can talk Wiley into killing Diamond in front of all those witnesses?”
“You'll tell Everett that we have all our people in place. There are horses round back, that sort of bunk. You're a lawyer, Chess, you'll think of something. You know Wiley, he'll swallow it all.”
When Preston Diamond crept back into Grant House, he was careful not to disturb Martha or Hardee. If they heard anything, neither came to investigate. Preston slipped under the covers and, though the bed was luxurious, sleep did not come. He reviewed the outhouse plot. How could Uncle Lyss have been blind to the treasonous General Engels? Had Rebecca guessed that Engels was not to be trusted? Or did she not trust the army on general principle? As Bateman had surmised, Engels didn't know everything that Preston knew, but Diamond could have kicked himself for divulging as much information as he had. Apparently, Chester Bateman and the prowler named John had been informed, to the last detail, of what Engels knew. The parting words between the two were about Diamond's shooting of Kitty Nails. She had definitely been a part of the conspiracy. How many more people were involved?
Then the notion struck Preston that “F”, as in Freemont Engels, could have been the same 'F' that signed the dispatch to Bateman from across the Patowmack. Was Engels at, or near, the army medical unit when Colonel Unzer was hospitalized? Maybe Brigadier General Freemont Engels and the former southern belle, Kitty Nails, were writing dispatches at the same table, at the same time. Also, Preston had been fool enough to deliver into Engels hands the note found with the dead dispatch rider. Diamond had assumed, as had the Unzers, that the message was a confidential Union Army correspondence. Maybe it was part of the conspiracy, too. But why would the messenger be carrying a message to Generals Engels as well as a message from Engels? It would be a huge coincidence indeed, but Engels could have been in the area unannounced and a legitimate correspondence was sent from the field. He would have had to return immediately though, because he was back in Washington when Preston delivered the dispatch. There must be another 'F', Diamond decided but he wished he could have that sealed message in his hands again.
Preston heard the faintest click of a latch. It echoed on the far side of his hearing. He strained his ears. There were cautious footfalls on the stair, then in the hall; they stopped outside his door. Diamond held his breath; the Colt was across the room on a chair. It was too dark inside the bedroom to see detail and Preston couldn't pick out the knob on the door. He listened for the sound of the latch… nothing. He slipped out of bed, padded barefoot across the room and took up the pistol. As he edged noiselessly toward the door, he heard the swish of clothing and a soft tread retreating down the hall.
When Preston came down the stairs in the morning, he found that the maid had left a note for Adam Forsythe saying she would be away for a few hours and that the food on the kitchen table was for his breakfast. He searched the house just to be sure she was gone because the rustle of clothing he had heard outside his room had been the swish of skirts. He found Hardee in the back yard passing instructions to a labourer who was working on the fence. The butler was a taciturn chap. He did not volunteer anything extra when saying he did not know where Martha had gone.
Preston had a look at the food and decided he wasn't that hungry. He went out the back door. Hardee was gone and the labourer did not notice when Preston slipped through the garden and, favouring his right leg, stole down the alley. Keeping low and watching for any movement, Diamond made his way to Unzer's stable. He studied the area for a full five minutes, then, following the same pattern as when he trailed Captain Wiley, he made his way into the garden and knocked at the back door. Mrs. Unzer opened the door a crack, saw who was there, and let him in.
Both Unzers listened in slack-jawed disbelief as Preston related his eavesdropping from the previous night. Colonel Unzer went into a fuming rage. “I don't know why General Grant presumes the best in everybody. He trusted that turncoat Engels, and now we've been feeding the very snake that's been trying to poison us. If that traitor shows up here again I'll shoot him dead.”
Preston said, “Uncle Lyss has to hear about this, and…”
Rebecca found her tongue. “Adam, we received word just a few minutes ago that General Grant is to be in Washington tonight; General Lee surrendered two days ago ?thank the Lord, this cursed war is over? but, Ulysses will be a busy man when he gets here and I doubt there will be a chance to talk to him. He…”
Preston cut her off, “But I have to see Uncle Lyss, or at least get a message to him. I think there may be trouble right inside his house.”
He went on to explain that Martha may have her fingers in the cookie dough, too.
Colonel Unzer said, “Well, she may have been checking on you is all. Rebecca left you in her charge and she might have heard you go out last night and then began to worry whether you had come home.”
Diamond considered the colonel's words; he had to admit to himself that he had begun to suspect everyone. Engels's being a part of the conspiracy had intensified that distrust. He said, “I think there is more trouble on the way. My father was worried for Uncle Lyss and even President Lincoln. I don't think Lee's surrender is going to stop the rest of the war right away.”
Rebecca said, “Adam, you cannot go to that trial. These men are desperate criminals and we don't know who to trust. There may be no one in the courthouse to protect you.”
Inside his head, Diamond heard the echo of his father's voice. “You will see that justice prevails.”
“I am the only one who can tell the story of my parents' murders and that I shall do.” He searched the faces of his hosts. “I have to.”
The courthouse doors were not yet open to the public. A maid in an off-white cotton dress and matching bonnet hurried through last minute polishing of the oak trim in the courtroom. The prisoner had been brought through with his attorney and an assistant; the three of them were ushered into an adjoining chamber. The prosecution ?two officers of the Union Army? entered and strode up to a table in front of the judge's bench. The men talked in low tones and whenever the door opened both looked up at once. The light of hope in their eyes went out each time. The main witness for the trial could not be found. Without Diamond's testimony, charges of conspiracy in the murders of Colonel and Mrs. Diamond were baseless allegations.
As the room began to buzz with activity, Bateman, his head shiny without the bowler hat, led his troop into the courtroom. The maid was told to leave and she shuffled out with jar of wax and polish cloth in hand. The doors were opened and a large audience began to file in. To the surprise of many, Lieutenant General Ulysses Grant arrived and was given a seat near the front, next to Colonel and Mrs. Unzer. The jury was seated. The bailiff's gruff voice announced the intended arrival of the judge. The crowd came to their feet, Judge Mortimer Jackson entered through a side door and strode to the bench.
Prosecution, hoping to buy more time, delayed the Diamond murder charges against Wiley and proceeded with the charge of the attempted murder of Rebecca Unzer. Brigadier General Freemont Engels, apologizing profusely, made a late entry and Judge Jackson frowned as the general, with a large leather carrying case in hand, made his way to the prosecution's table.
Rebecca Unzer told her story and Chester Bateman had taken the floor to cross-examine the witness when one of the double entrance doors opened sufficiently to allow a young girl to come in. She was the maid who had been polishing the railings prior to the proceedings. Her face was partially hidden by a paper she held. Her bonnet was pulled down low and she walked with a slight limp. The crowd watched in amused silence as the strange girl walked a determined path toward the bench. She paused at the front row and turned a shy glance to the side, as if not certain whether to proceed. Her eyes met General Grant's. His face flickered a thin smile, but Judge Jackson's face flashed annoyance. He said, “A murder trial is in progress here, child, what is the meaning of this interruption?”
In a high voice, the cleaning maid said, “I have information about a witness.” Hop-stepping the last few paces, she reached the bench and passed the sheet to the judge.
Judge Jackson read the message then set the paper aside. “This is a serious accusation, young lady. Are you certain about this?”
The bonnet bobbed and the judge said, “Bailiff.”
The court official approached the bench and Judge Jackson, motioning the maid aside, leaned across and whispered to him. Chester Bateman's eyes were shifting nervously and Wiley fidgeted with his sling.
“Of course, sir,” the bailiff said. He stepped back and turned to face the accused. “Captain Wiley, please rise and come with me.”
The prisoner's eyes darted from side to side like a cornered animal seeking an escape. Suddenly he leaped to his feet; the sling fell away, and a cocked revolver appeared in his hand. He tipped the table and it crashed to the floor scattering files, pens and ink across the room. Stumbling through the rubble, Wiley lurched toward the girl. Throwing an arm around her neck, he shoved the gun barrel against her temple. “Nobody try to stop me,” he snarled, “or she gets it through the head.”
The audience watched in numb horror as the attacker backed toward the doors, dragging the hostage with him.
The front of the maid's dress had ripped open. She had one hand clawing at Wiley's forearm and the other inside the tear in her dress. She did not scream or cry out as she kicked at his shins with her heels.
Judge Jackson's voice boomed out, “General Engels, put up that gun. You'll hit the girl.”
At the doors, Wiley, panting from exertion, paused and waved the pistol recklessly over the room. “Don't… follow me… or I swear by all that's holy… I'll…”
The .45 calibre slug entered under Captain Wiley's chin, angled upward through the brain and, on exit, split open the top of his skull; the mutilated chunk of lead lodged in the heavy oak frame above the doors. The deafening blast reverberated through the court room and echoed down the hallways. Wiley dropped the gun, the arm he held around the maid's neck went limp and he slipped to the floor, pumping blood all down the back of the girl's white dress.
She whipped around; the smoking revolver in her hand came to bear on the dead man's forehead. “…go to Hell, you murdering son of a bitch.”
Preston Diamond had finished Wiley's sentence.
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