The Ballad of Emma O'Toole Read Online Free PDF Page B

twelve male jurors filed into place and the bailiff called for order. A hush settled over the courtroom as the defendant was escorted in through a side door.
    Emma hadn’t seen Billy John’s killer since her visit to the Park City jail. She’d expected a jolt of satisfaction at the sight of him, facing the justice he deserved. But all she felt was a vague unease. Whatever the day’s outcome, there would be no winner. Billy John lay in a pauper’s grave on the edge of the Park City Cemetery; and no justice, however meted, could bring him back to life. All that remained of him was the child in Emma’s body and the promise she’d made as he died in her arms.
    With the conclusion of the trial, she was certainthat promise would be fulfilled. And without that to drive her, what would she have left?
    For the moment, every eye was fixed on the prisoner. Flanked by armed deputies, Logan Devereaux walked like a captive warrior, his head erect and his face expressionless. He wore a fresh white shirt with the vest and trousers Emma remembered from the saloon. His hair was combed, but evidently no one had trusted him with a razor. The thick, black stubble that shadowed his jaw made him look all the more like the murdering desperado he was.
    Finding his seat, he turned slightly. For an instant, his eyes met Emma’s. In their gaze she read pride, rage and stark despair—the same emotions she herself was feeling. A quiver passed through her body as she returned his look. Like two enemies meeting in a fight to the death, they were bound with ties as strong as blood.
    “All rise.” A rustle of boots and petticoats followed the bailiff’s command. Two tall men in front of Emma blocked her view.
    “Hear ye, hear ye,” the bailiff intoned. “The Summit County Court is now in session, the honorable Judge T. Zachariah Farnsworth presiding.”
    At a rap of the gavel the assemblage settledback onto the hard wooden benches. Only then could Emma see the judge.
    T. Zachariah Farnsworth was a hulk of a man, old enough for his shoulders to have sagged into a forward hunch. Graphite eyes peered from beneath jutting black brows. A patriarchal beard fringed his heavy jaw. His very presence exuded an air of solemn authority. While the bailiff read the charges and the opening statements were made, he glowered over the crowd of gentile sinners like Saint Peter at the gate of heaven.
    “The prosecution may call its first witness,” he rumbled.
    First to be called was the undertaker and acting coroner, who’d examined Billy John’s body. When questioned by Abel Hansen, he described how the small-caliber bullet had penetrated below the collarbone, nicking a vital artery and causing the victim to bleed to death.
    Logan Devereaux’s public defender rose to cross-examine. An unassuming, bespectacled little man, he spoke with a slight lisp.
    “Just a couple of questions, sir. In your opinion, if the bullet had missed the aforementioned artery, would the wound have otherwise been fatal?”
    “With decent medical attention, probably not.”
    “Again, in your opinion, would a man firing at close range with intent to kill have aimed for the spot where Mr. Devereaux’s bullet struck?”
    “Objection!” Abel Hansen was on his feet.
    “Sustained,” the judge growled. “Confine your questions to the witness’s realm of expertise, Mr. Snedeger.”
    “No further questions, Your Honor.” Snedeger turned away, the ghost of a smile flickering across his homely face. Emma knew next to nothing about the legal process, but even she understood that the lawyer had planted a seed of doubt in the minds of the jurors. So far, this trial was not going the way she’d expected.
    “The prosecution calls Miss Emma O’Toole to the stand.”
    Abel Hansen’s voice startled Emma out of her musings. Scrambling to collect her thoughts, she rose and made her way to the aisle at the end of the bench. The prosecutor had rehearsed the questions with her on the way to