CHAPTER 9
After seeing Grant and Brenner locked in separate cells of the basement jail, Mackey had Lynch bring him up to Judge Forester’s chambers on the first floor.
The building had the same ornate wood-and-stone work that Grant’s Municipal Building featured, but on a much larger scale. Where that building seemed like an imitation, the Lewis and Clark Building had the feel of the real thing. The halls were lined with marble and the walls adorned with wood paneling. Mackey noted the sound of their boots on the marble floor did not echo as loudly as they did back in the monstrosity Grant had designed.
Lynch pointed to a set of doors at the left side of the hall. “Those are our offices in there. Ought to be easy enough to find. It’s got ‘U.S. Marshal, Montana Territory’ right there on the door. Entrance to the courtroom is in the middle and Judge Forester’s chambers are to the right. He’s got another door inside the courtroom that leads to the same place, but that door’s usually locked when court’s not in session, which it ain’t now. You can head in over there, and his clerk will see to you.”
The surroundings were a bit ornate for Mackey’s taste, but he could get used to them. He would have to, since he intended on spending more time here now that Grant was out of the way. “I take it you’ve been using the marshal’s office for the past six months or so.”
“You take it correct. I’ll move back to my old office as soon as possible.”
Mackey was glad he did not have to tell Lynch to do just that. He might have allowed him to keep the office, but after their exchange on Broadway, he decided his subordinate had to learn his true place in the pecking order.
Mackey broke off and entered the judge’s chambers, quietly shutting the door behind him.
A fastidious-looking clerk with thick glasses popped up from behind his desk when Mackey introduced himself.
“I’m Mackey here to see the judge.”
“The judge is enjoying a late breakfast, but asked that you be brought in as soon as you arrive. Please wait here.”
Mackey looked around the clerk’s office while the young man disappeared down a hallway and knocked on a door. Every square inch of shelf and desk space was cluttered with books and ledgers and papers. He had no idea how someone could keep track of it all and was glad he did not have to do it. If the marshal’s office was in similar condition, he would have to make changes and quickly.
The clerk reappeared and beckoned Mackey to follow him. The marshal removed his hat and stepped through the swinging gate that led to the inner sanctum of the office.
Judge Adam Forester’s chambers were even more cluttered than the outer office. Every surface, including couches, tables, and chairs, was overflowing with stacks of paper and law books. He imagined a stray ash from one of Billy’s cigarettes would incinerate the place in a hot minute.
The only semblance of order was the judge’s desk, where a small space had been kept clear for the judge to eat and work. He was eating now, though all traces of whatever he had been eating had just been consumed.
Judge Adam Forester was a heavy man Mackey guessed to be at least three hundred pounds. His bald head bore a silver crown of unruly hair that spilled down into muttonchops that stopped just short of his chin. His heavy face made his deep-set eyes look even more so and his round, reddish nose bore the evidence of his reputation as a man who liked his drink.
A dirty white napkin had been tucked into his collar to serve as a sort of bib to prevent his meal from staining his shirt.
Judge Forester looked up at Mackey when the clerk closed the door behind him. “Well, look at what providence has sent me. The prodigal marshal. The great Aaron Mackey has finally seen fit to grace my chambers with his presence. You’ll forgive me for not rising to my feet to bow, but as you can see,” he gestured with chubby hands at his plate, “I’m currently indisposed. I find subjugation is difficult on the digestion.”
Mackey was beginning to think everyone in Helena was lining up to give him a hard time. But given Forester’s status, he decided to give the jurist a little more leeway than he had afforded Lynch. “I can come back later if you’re busy, your honor.”
“And run the risk of you disappearing for another six months?” Judge Forester dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “Perish the thought. With your prisoners now delivered, I fear you might take it upon yourself to rush back to the Station of Dover, where I would have to wait even longer to be granted an audience with the Hero of Adobe Flats.”
The judge motioned toward one of the chairs on the other side of his desk. “Pick whichever one has the least amount of papers and move them so you can take a seat. We have much to discuss today, you and I.”
Mackey shifted a pile of papers from the chair on the left and set them on the floor. He took off his hat before he sat down.
The judge untucked his bib and patted his mouth with it. “Forgive me for being flustered, but it isn’t every day a man in my position finds himself in the presence of such lofty company. Criminals and villains, yes, but rarely a hero such as yourself, much less a savior.” He looked down at his empty plate. “Why, I’ve heard so much about your exploits, perhaps you could refill my plate with loaves and fishes, much like that other savior from so long ago.”
Mackey realized he was gripping the brim of his hat too tightly and stopped. “You one of those judges who’s cranky when he’s hungover or are you always like this?”
Forester stopped smiling. “I like your tone even less than I like your lateness in attending to your duties here in Helena. You forget yourself, sir.”
“And you forget that the only reason either of us are in Helena is thanks to one man.” Mackey tapped the star on his duster. “The same man who got me this star and got you that black robe hanging on the back of your door.”
“Ah yes. Our dear friend Mr. Rice.” Judge Forester’s chair creaked as he sat back and folded his hands across his belly. “Did he tell you to give me his regards? He’s been sending me letters, too, you know. Veiled threats, more like it. He wants me to go easy on you about your absence from your duties here in Helena.”
He picked up a bundle of telegrams and letters tied in string. “In fact, I have them all right here.” And promptly dropped them in a bucket beside his desk. “You can see how much I value them.”
Mackey enjoyed watching the judge’s small display of power. It was easy to have contempt for a man who was almost three thousand miles away. “Pride goeth before the fall.”
“Only if practicality fails to lead at all, young man.” The judge wagged a finger at Mackey. “I keep forgetting you’re not just another frontier tough with a star on his chest and a gun on your hip. You’re an educated man. A West Pointer, no less, who knows his history and probably just enough of the law to be dangerous.”
“I’ve picked up a few things,” Mackey admitted.
“You’ve been taught in the ways of war and strategy and how to fight the red man,” Forester went on. “That is why I am sure you must know a lost cause when you see one.”
Forester’s ability to dance around an issue with words was beginning to make Mackey’s head hurt. “I’m used to fighting an enemy I can see, your honor, and I can’t argue against a point you won’t make. So, let’s quit talking around things and put a pin in the map so we can figure out which direction where headed.”
“That suits me just fine.” The jurist folded his hands on the desk. “I hope you’re prepared for a bitter disappointment, Marshal, because you have come an awfully long way and gone through a significant amount of trouble only to learn that the justice you seek is far more elusive than you imagined.”
Mackey felt a coldness begin to spread in his belly. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, sir, that I have no intention of finding James Grant or Alfred Brenner guilty of anything, much less of the charges you plan on bringing against them in my courtroom this week.”
Mackey almost came out of his chair, but controlled himself. “Every single one of those charges is valid. Every affidavit is completely legal.”
“Yes,” Forester said. “You’re surprisingly thorough for a frontier tough, but my judgment stands. They’re not worth the paper they’re printed on.”
Mackey tossed his hat on the desk before he crushed it. “You’re throwing them out? All of them?”
Judge Forester took his time answering it. “The charges you’ve made against Grant and Brenner are tenuous at best, even if, by some miracle, they all happen to be true. Brenner refutes the confession you say he gave freely. He claims you made him sign that statement under great duress.”
The coldness in Mackey’s gut now stabbed him there. Yes, he had put a lot of guesswork into writing up Brenner’s confession, but the man had signed it freely. “That is a sworn statement he made backed up by witnesses.”
“That statement is all that ties Grant to the conspiracy you say he committed against the Dover Station Company,” Forester shot back. “Without that confession, there is no basis to believe Brenner acted against you or played any role in the attempts made on your life. Yes, his confession was witnessed by Chief Edison and some of his deputies after he attacked you. The assault charge you have made against him will likely stand. However, since Edison assisted you in the coup that removed Mayor Grant from office—”
“Coup?” Mackey realized he had stood up. “That wasn’t a coup. That was a lawful arrest. The son of a bitch tried to have Underhill killed. He ordered Brenner and the Hancocks to kill me and my deputies. Hell, he almost poisoned Silas Van Dorn to death.”
Forester glared up at him from behind his desk. “You will control your vulgarity and your temper or I will have my bailiff arrest you.”
“Then I hope you’re not fond of him, because you’ll lose him if he tries.”
Forester shut his eyes and laid his head back against his chair. “You’re not making this easy, Marshal.”
“Sorry. Guess I’ve always had a hard time watching dirt get swept under the rug.”
Forester’s eyes sprang open. “There are no brooms in this chamber, Marshal Mackey, and certainly no rugs. Brenner’s attorney is challenging the validity of his confession. That confession is the only evidence you have tying Grant to the criminal charges you have brought against him. Without it, you can’t even place Brenner at the scene of any of the crimes of which you accuse him, and you have absolutely nothing on Grant. In short, you don’t have a case.”
Mackey could hardly believe what he was hearing. He had boarded the train with every belief that he was bringing Grant and Brenner to meet their fate at the end of a rope. Now it looked like they might be catching the next train back to Dover Station. “Men have swung with less evidence, your honor.”
“Not in my courtroom.” Forester sat back in his chair and shook his head, his chins wagging. “No, sir. I know you and Mr. Rice want me to be your hangman, but I’ll not bend the rule of law for any man, not even him. And certainly not for you.”
Mackey felt his body begin to shake and heard the quaver in his own voice. “This is rich. You’re a flophouse drunk Mr. Rice wrung out and sent here to represent his interests five years ago. He only put you on the bench to protect those interests. Don’t confuse the two, Forester. You’re no better than half the people you put behind bars. You’ve only been allowed to think you are.”
Mackey leaned forward until his hands reached Forester’s desk. “And what do you think will happen when I tell him you’re letting Grant and Brenner go? What do you think will happen when Mr. Rice changes his mind about you?”
Judge Forester looked down at his empty plate and pushed it aside with a heavy sigh. “How old are you, son? Thirty, thirty-one?”
“Thirty-five. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“It means you’ve seen a lot of life in your time, but not as much as I have,” Forester said. “You’re a smart man and a brave one, too, but that’s not going to be enough for you to overcome what lies ahead of you.”
“I’ve seen more of life than inside a judge’s chambers,” Mackey told him. “I’ve led men in battle and put them behind bars for the rest of their lives.”
“And a fair many of them in the ground, if myth is to be believed,” Forester added. “Is what they say about ‘Mackey’s Garden’ true?”
“Never liked that term myself,” the lawman said, “nor ‘hero’ nor ‘savior’ neither.”
“But they’ve stuck to you anyway,” Forester said, “despite your best efforts to shun them.” He held out his hand for Mackey to see, and it quivered as if he was riding in a bumpy coach. “You called me a drunk earlier, and you’re right. I stand guilty as charged. It took me a long time to admit that to myself. But as the years go by, a wise man begins to forgive his own shortcomings and, eventually, embrace them. Maybe even put them to good use if he finds himself fortunate enough to do so.”
Mackey’s headache was beginning to return. “What the hell does any of this have to do with letting Grant and Brenner go?”
“It has everything to do with it.” The fat man pitched forward and pushed himself out of his chair with great effort. He was taller than Mackey had expected, but not as tall as he. “You stand there, snugly cloaked in piety, youth, and bravery, and call me a coward and a drunk. You then revert to your true nature by threatening me with telling Mr. Rice about my decision that your case against Grant and Brenner is without merit. Yet you happily neglect to mention one simple, irrefutable fact.”
Forester held his hands out from his side. “That no one cares about Grant and Brenner, Marshal.” He held up a finger to caution Mackey. “And, before you say it, they care even less about justice, so don’t bother trying to use that tactic on me.”
“Grant’s guilty,” Mackey said. “He hired men to rob the same railroad he controlled. He robbed stagecoaches. He—”
“Prove it.”
Mackey could almost see the bedrock of the case against his prisoners crumble before his eyes. He felt himself growing desperate, and he did not like the feeling. “He poisoned Silas Van Dorn.”
“A matter Mr. Van Dorn wishes not to pursue for the sake of his family and business interests.” His eyebrows rose. “Next charge?”
Mackey saw all of the cards he held against his prisoners disappearing in his hand and played the only one he had left. “He tried to kill me in his house.”
“After you barged in there without a warrant and no credible reason to take him into custody. Yes, you claim to have Brenner’s confession, but we’re past that now. Grant was also severely wounded in the process and almost lost his arm. His attorney tells me he’s still considering whether or not to sue over the affair. Not just you, but the United States government, as you were a marshal at the time of the incident.”
Mackey caught something. “Grant’s attorney wouldn’t happen to be the same one Brenner is using?”
“It just so happens it is,” Forester told him. “Mr. J. D. Rhoades himself. Finest attorney in the whole Montana Territory. Hell, maybe this side of the Mississippi, depending on who you talk to.”
Mackey slowly lowered himself into his seat. He knew John David Rhoades and not from the articles he had read about the famed attorney’s exploits in The Dover Station Record.
Mackey had known him when he was a major in the army.
He had defended Mackey at his court-martial at Fort Concho.
Grant had been keeping something up his sleeve this whole time after all.
Forester looked at him. “I seem to recall someone telling me that you are acquainted with Mr. Rhoades.”
Mackey sank in his chair. “Yeah. I am.”
Forester selected a cigar from a box on a bookshelf next to his desk and offered it to Mackey. “May I offer you one?”
“Only if I can use it to burn this place down.”
“I’ve felt that way several times, my young friend.” The judge clipped the end of the cigar, struck a lucifer off the side of the bookcase, and lit it. “And we are friends, you and I, or at least we will be.”
Mackey looked at him. “You letting two guilty men go free isn’t the best way to get on my good side, Judge.”
Forester looked at him through the growing smoke as the flame took in the cigar. “I have no choice but to let them go free due to a lack of evidence on the charges you have leveled against them.” He held up a hand to hold off another argument. “What you brought me might hold up against anyone else, but not against the likes of Grant and Brenner. They have crossed paths with plenty of influential people in this territory. Men who have their eyes on other interests, larger interests, than seeing Grant and Brenner swing.”
Mackey had never fooled himself into believing he was a particularly smart man, but he was far from dumb. And although he despised politics, he was able to understand it when he saw it. “You mean statehood, don’t you?”
Forester grinned as he puffed on the cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth. “I knew you were smart. Yes, statehood is coming. Before the year is out, or so they tell me. And the sooner men like Grant and Brenner are forgotten, the better for all concerned. Especially where our mutual benefactor Mr. Rice is concerned.”
Mackey felt his temper begin to rise as everything Judge Forester had just told him slowly came into focus. “You mean his company. His investments. His money.”
“Not just Rice’s money,” Forester allowed, “but that’s the general gist of it. Men like Grant and Brenner remind people of this territory’s wicked past. And men like our friend Mr. Rice wish to focus on the territory’s future as well as the money that’s to be made there.” The judge opened his arms wide. “It’s the way the world works, son. It’s not always fair, but it’s quite predictable if you know what to expect.”
“Quit talking to me like I’m a kid,” Mackey snapped.
“No, you’re not a kid. That’s the problem. You not a man with a death wish or a thug with a badge, either. You’re a West Pointer, by God, and you’ll always be a soldier whether you want to be one or not. You need a mission to carry out. A goal to achieve. That star on your chest doesn’t change that. If anything, it lets you continue to be a soldier even out of uniform. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s as much of your strength as it is your weakness, just like the bottle is mine. Why, it will serve you well until it gets you killed one day. But by then, you’ll be old enough to see the bullet as a blessing.”
Forester looked down at his shaking, spotted hand holding his cigar. “I used to think old age was something to which one should aspire. It isn’t.”
He squinted at Mackey. “But until that day comes, I believe you’ve got the makings of a fine lawman. Exactly the kind of man this territory is going to need when statehood comes. The kind of man who can see beyond Grant and Brenner and let them be swallowed up by the past.”
“I’m not interested in hearing a recruitment talk, Judge. I had my fill of those in the army.”
“These are far from empty words, son. These are facts. The governor won’t last past statehood. The ranchers and the miners and the loggers will sweep that grinning idiot aside like old leaves when the time suits them. But men like you need to remain if this state has any chance of thriving. You’re not going to last if you won’t let go of the past and grab on to the future with both hands and never let go.”
“You mean let Grant go. Give up on Dover Station.” He shook his head. “Funny. I heard that speech from Mr. Rice a few weeks ago.”
“And now you’re hearing it from me but for a different reason. You and I owe Mr. Rice our positions, yes, but now that we have them, we owe this territory more. Mr. Rice is a good man but a wealthy man, and wealthy men are easily bored. They can afford to walk away when they get bored with things. He’s bored now. Bored with me and with you and this whole Grant-Hancock-Dover Station business. He’s built his fortune. He’s making money in Dover Station even if Grant was stealing from him. He used Dover Station to solidify his foothold in the territory, as if owning the railroad wasn’t enough. His focus is now on statehood, and nothing else matters to him. Nor, in all fairness to him, should it.”
Mackey did not want Forester’s words to make sense, but they did. “Why?”
“Because he has his role to play in statehood, just as you and I have ours. Important roles, if we have the wisdom to take them. If not, the same winds that blew in our favor yesterday will blow against us tomorrow. If Grant and Brenner hadn’t secured such capable counsel, things might be different. But they’re not, and Rhoades will use every means at his disposal to drag this out for as long as he can. At least until the referendum on statehood comes to pass. Powerful men want Grant and his kind forgotten, Marshal. And we need to forget them, too, if we’re to have any hope of shaping the future.”
Mackey felt his breath growing shallow. “And what kind of future will we have if men like Grant and Brenner can just walk away after all they’ve done? They’re guilty, damn it!”
“I know they are,” Forester allowed. “But I’ve read the brief Rhoades plans to present in court in a few days. Fine work indeed. Unless the prosecutor can come up with a convincing case, I’m afraid they’ll escape the noose for now. But I wouldn’t hold out much hope for their chances of a long life, particularly Grant.”
“Why?”
Forester moved out from behind his desk and sat on the edge of it close to Mackey. “Grant’s a clever man, but not nearly as clever as he believes himself to be. By bringing the Hancocks into Dover, he’s the sheep who has allowed the wolves into the pen so there’ll be more grass for him. But wolves do not eat grass. They eat sheep. And one day very soon, they’ll eat James Grant, too. I know you want to see him dead at the end of a rope. For what it’s worth, I believe he’s guilty of every charge you have made against him, but you can’t prove any of it.”
He dared to pat Mackey on the shoulder. “His position with the Dover Station Company has been filled by Mr. Bishop. From what I’ve heard, Grant is unlikely to be allowed to resume his position as mayor of Dover Station, and his usefulness to the Hancock clan has come to an end. It’s only a matter of time before they hang him for us. There are more ways to serve justice than in a courtroom, my boy. I should think you’d know that by now.”
Mackey had learned that lesson long ago. He had learned in his days at West Point. He had learned it among the silent sands and spartan lands of Arizona and Texas and New Mexico. He had learned it long before he had handed Darabont over to the Blackfoot warriors who buried the marauder up to his neck and let the red ants eat him alive for butchering their women and children and old ones.
Yes, Mackey knew justice came in many forms. He knew there was more to justice than the white man’s justice. But he had come to Helena hoping to find it anyway, because anything else had just been a waste of time.
Had he known it would turn out like this, he would have let Billy shoot Grant in his office all those months ago. Maybe Underhill would have still been alive. Maybe a lot of things would have been different.
“Maybe the prosecutor is better than you think,” was the only hope Mackey had left.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Forester said through the cigar smoke. “He’s my son and not exactly the swiftest horse in the herd if you understand my meaning. But miracles happen every day, so maybe he’ll surprise me.”
It took a few moments for Mackey to realize the judge had worked his way behind him and opened his office door. “Our business is concluded for today, Marshal, but I still have plenty of work to do. I’ll expect you in my courtroom the day after tomorrow, ready to give testimony should things get that far. I doubt they will, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.”
Mackey swept his hat from Judge Forester’s desk as he stood. “Hardly see the point in it now.”
“Point is that you’ve brought a matter to be considered before this court, son. It has to be officially adjudicated one way or the other. A lot of people are watching this case. They’re watching it the way a greedy son watches his father’s death bed. It can’t end soon enough to suit them, and they shall rejoice when it does.”
He actually patted Mackey on the back. “Don’t worry. Grant will eventually die in the gutter where he belongs. And if we work together, we’ll live long enough to see it. Come back tomorrow after you’ve settled in at the Hotel Helena. We’ll talk about all of the other matters of your office that deserve your attention then.”
The judge shut the door behind Mackey before he had a chance to ask him any further questions.
He found himself standing in the narrow hallway alone. Quiet. Like it used to be when he had led patrols through Arizona and Texas, hunting Chiricahua and Mescaleros and Comanche.
As quiet as it had been that fateful morning at Adobe Flats before the charge.
Alone with the finality of a closed door in his face.
He tucked his hat back on his head and made his way out of the office. The clerk did not bother to look up. And Mackey saw no reason to bid him good day.