The Sapphire Brooch Katherine Logan (best beach reads TXT) 📖

palm on top of his hand and drew small figure eights on the back of his hand with her fingertip. The touch was a tinderbox. Braham shifted in his chair and so did she. She reclaimed her hand, choosing to defer the spark which she knew could quickly roar into a conflagration.

“There’s something I’ve been wondering about,” she said. “Jack came back to find his journal. Did the police confiscate it?”

Braham shook his head. “Edward found the notebook and locked it in the safe. The police found Jack upstairs, dragged him outside, and tossed him into a heavily guarded wagon.”

She cringed. The vision of Jack dragged out by the police and then forced to wear a canvas hood would hammer relentlessly at the edges of her consciousness.

“In the letter Jack wrote, he said he lost the sapphire and was unable to travel again. Do you know anything about it? Did Edward find the brooch?” she asked.

“Jack might have hidden it. Edward said officers tore the house apart while doing a thorough search. When I see Jack, I’ll ask him,” Braham said. “If he believes one of the officers stole it, then I’ll have David and Gaylord get the names of the arresting officers. Once we know who they are, we’ll find the stone.”

“What happens if someone opens it?” Cullen asked.

“The latch is broken. It’s tough to open,” she said. “Most people wouldn’t notice the fine line around the circumference of the stone, and would miss the broken latch. A jeweler, though, would notice both.”

“If a police officer stole the jewelry from an assassin’s room and was caught, he might be implicated. I think he’d hide it until the trial is over.”

Cullen got up and stretched, twisting one way, and then the other. Charlotte compared the two men, their similarities and differences. Cullen moved and spoke with an ease Braham didn’t have. Although she hadn’t known him before the war, she suspected four years of fighting had stolen his spontaneity. Would he ever get it back?

Cullen picked up a paper and handed it to Braham “Do ye know where David is today? I’d like him to talk to the people on this list. It includes several newspaper editors.”

“He’ll be back after dark. He doesn’t want to be seen coming and going from here.” Braham perused the list. “Do ye have the motions ready for tomorrow?”

Cullen handed over a stack of documents. “This motion requests General Hartranft remove the hoods because they violate the cruel and unusual punishment clause of the Eighth Amendment. The next document is the writ of habeas corpus to be filed on May 13.”

“And if President Johnson signs an order cancelling the writ?” Braham asked.

“The third document is a petition claiming the president of the United States acted outside the bounds of his constitutional authority by suspending the writ of habeas corpus, and thus violated our client’s Sixth Amendment right to a trial by a jury of his peers.” Cullen frowned. “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen when we file this?”

Braham seemed to consider the question, and then nodded brusquely. “There’ll be an uproar. Can’t be helped.”

“We have to get the hoods removed,” Charlotte said. “It’s…it’s barbaric.”

“The country is angry right now, and there’s no sympathy for the conspirators,” Cullen said.

“I know,” she said, “but General Hartranft is using hoods and heavy iron balls indiscriminately. Some conspirators are hooded, some aren’t. It’s the same with the iron ball. From what we’ve learned, Jack has both. Forcing prisoners to wear hoods is cruel and unusual punishment, and in violation of the Eighth Amendment.” She paused, feeling suddenly helpless, and her throat was tight and scratchy with fear. Her plea emerged as a whisper. “You have to make them understand.”

“We will,” Braham said. “We don’t need all of them, though. We only need five. To convict Jack, they’ll need a majority, and a two-thirds vote brings an automatic sentence of death. We’ll get five to vote for acquittal.”

Braham turned to Cullen “What day will the verdicts be sealed?”

“June 30,” Cullen said. “The prisoners sentenced to death will be told on July 6 and executed on July 7. We have less than eight weeks.”

Charlotte thumbed through the stack of papers, looking for the file with the commissioners’ bios. She had studied them on the train. “I’ve read all the members’ bios, and I think you should speak directly to General Wallace. He has a brilliant legal mind. But what’s more interesting about him is his reputation is tarnished because of what happened at the Battle of Shiloh.”

“I know Wallace. He’s a good soldier. What happened at Shiloh was a misunderstanding.”

“Which is my point,” she said. “He’ll be able to identify with it when you argue Jack’s been wrongfully accused. But you have to get his attention. Our research indicates he was distracted during the trial, drawing sketches and writing letters. He’s a writer and, in fact, will write a famous book titled Ben Hur. If we can find one of Jack’s articles, maybe we can get him to read it.”

“Have ye seen Jack’s journal in the safe, Cul?”

“I didn’t pay any attention to what was in there. I’ll look.” Cullen ducked under the desk, shuffled papers for a couple of minutes, and then popped up again with a leather-bound journal in his hand. “Is this it?”

Charlotte nodded. “I bought it for him to use when we made the trip last December. Here, give it to me. I’ll read through it to see if there is anything we can use for an article.”

Cullen handed it to her, and she quickly fanned the pages covered with Jack’s legible handwriting, so different from hers, with rounded letters and wide, looping Ls. Her throat felt tight, and she slammed the journal closed. “I’ll look at it later.”

Braham squeezed her shoulder and must have sensed she didn’t want to talk about something so intensely private as her brother’s journal, so he changed the subject. “We have to keep in mind this commission is