ECLIPSE

CHAPTER THREE

"All rise!"

A loud rustle filled the sanctuary of the Green River Protestant Church as a standing room only crowd pressed into the pews and lined the walls. The center aisle was kept clear although a few insistent folks had to be reminded to keep an open path through the vestibule to the door. Val Crawford and his deputy, Oscar Sharpton, had blocked off one side of the entry with barrels as guns were checked in and stored. Tables were set up in the transept at the front of the church for Uriah Banks as the prosecutor on the right side, and the Meek brothers, wearing shackles on their feet, joined by their defense attorney on the left.

Twelve stern faced men rose in the choir loft. Mayor Higgs used the local voting registry to select a jury. Appeared to be a fair representation of the community apart from the absence of anyone of Mexican descent but then again, few of those had successfully added their names to the voting rolls. Among them, Murdoch saw fellow cattle rancher Hank Overman along with ranch hand Dale Gates, the foreman from Aggie Conway's Circle C, merchants including Lonnie Abbott and Jeremiah Thatcher as well as farmers Zekial Weaver and Bertram Smith.

The raised platform of the presbytery had a draped table with a cushioned chair for the circuit judge. A wooden chair for the witnesses sat to the left of the judge's table. At the base of the steps, a second chair with a smaller, uncovered table had been positioned on the same side of the church as the choir seats for the judge's bailiff; a large, middle aged man named Richard Dupont that Murdoch learned traveled with the judge for the notorious cases. The rancher had noted that DuPont kept a watchful eye on the Meeks since Val and Oscar were at the back handling the press of citizenry and curiosity seekers still hoping to push their way into the proceedings. The bailiff had not given up his holstered gun.

Although he had done his best to keep it off his face, Murdoch had been surprised by the crowd. Afterall, Lem Cable was a bit of a recluse and barely known until his death. Scott had reminded him that Banks had warned them that this trial wasn't about three ranch hands looking for nonexistent gold. Whether they agreed with the assessment or not, the Lancers were often on the tongues of gossips and the shooting of a former gunfighter and tale of a hidden, mute girl would keep the quilting circles and bar stools titillated for weeks.

Judge Vernon Ames swept into the temporary courtroom from the vestry. Murdoch knew the judge had arrived early yesterday and held court as he usually did in the saloon, all other business halted, hearing pleas, dispensing judgement, and issuing sentences on the misdemeanor and other small crimes that had beset Green River, Morro Coyo, and the surrounding areas over the previous two months.

The Lancers arrived in town late in the afternoon to check into the hotel then join Uriah Banks for dinner and last-minute instructions only to ride into the midst of a hullabaloo in full swing when the crowd swelled thinking the Meek brothers' trial had begun. Fights were breaking out as men sought entrance to see the trial first-hand—and some likely due to all saloon business being shut down—leading to new charges. The judge ordered his bailiff, Mayor Higgs and Sheriff Crawford to find a bigger venue. Elijah Lawson, who was observing the proceedings to extend words of comfort and hope to the drunks and disordered, offered the church, which was quickly accepted. Hester Lawson had been informed of this arrangement as the Lancers rode by and they, and the rest of the town, were privy to her blocking the front doors, waving her broom, wanting to know how Crawford and Higgs planned to keep the ruffians and riffraff out.

"Perra," Johnny murmured under his breath to which Murdoch had admonished, "Johnny! Manners!" His youngest glanced at Hester over his shoulder and then back at his father with a raised eyebrow before settling back in his saddle without another word. As the commotion grew louder—Val's voice shouted above it all threatening Hester and everybody else with a night in jail if they didn't clear out so they could set up the church for the trial—Murdoch decided he had nothing more to add.

When they entered the church, Murdoch felt eyes on him as the tallest man in the room that seemed to follow him as they made their way to the seats directly behind the table set aside for the prosecution. He rolled his shoulders as they waited while the room filled to capacity and beyond. Scott sat next to him, wearing his better black suit and tie, posture straight, looking every inch a respected rancher from the west with little of the citified stigma of the east coast remaining. Johnny, after an argument that likely woke any in the hotel rooms around them, wore a black waistcoat with matching solid black slacks and a starched shirt absent any embroidery. His bolero tie was loose beneath the collar as if thrown on in a hurry with no effort to rectify his more casual appearance. He insisted on staying at the back corner of the room leaning against the wall. At least his shirt was white and the braiding on the trim jacket a subdued black. The gray-haired rancher knew more of that color had to be sprouting on his head when he spied M.H. de Young, the reporter from The Daily Dramatic Chronicle, standing a few feet from Johnny with only two men between them, making furtive glances toward his son as he jotted continuously in his notebook.

Uriah Banks made his way to the prosecution table shaking hands as passed along the pews. Although he made his home elsewhere, as the usual attorney for the municipalities presenting evidence against the accused, he was well known and generally well liked by the upstanding citizens of the community. He wore his standard dark brown suit coat and slacks with a crisp white shirt and string tie. He arrived at his table and sat to peruse the papers he had methodically arranged on the tabletop.

When Yancy Jakes entered the nave and strolled confidentially down the center aisle, Murdoch, and everyone else, in the room watched with fascination as he laid his hands on the shoulders of Slate and Harrison Meek, whispering something that made each of them smile. He took his place on the hardwood seat next to Slate Meek. By Murdoch's assessment, he appeared to be everything Uri Banks had described and more. Although dressed in a jacket and tie, the rough weave of the cloth mirrored that of many of the working men who waited attentively for the entry of the circuit judge. While Uri studiously ignored him, a heightened buzz of conversation built in the room. Jakes was of average height, weight and appearance with brown hair and a chevron moustache. He was quite ordinary, but the man sported the proverbial "cat that ate the canary" smile that brought a frown to Murdoch's face.

"Ignore that man at your peril," Scott whispered. Murdoch hmphed his acknowledgement as Bailiff DuPont stood and ordered for everyone else in the room to do the same. The large room quieted immediately. Most of the attendees knew Judge Ames, and no one wanted to be removed from this trial.

Reverend Lawson and his wife, Hester, sat in the front pew behind the defense table. Hester's lips were pinched staring between Slate and Harrison Meek to see the judge's table and the witness seat next to him. Mayor Higgs was directly behind the Lancers, not wanting to be associated with the criminals' side of the court. Murdoch wondered if anything remained open in town given the faces he saw throughout the pews. It was a far larger crowd than any drawn for Sunday service. He was puzzled at the number of strangers he saw. Green River was a far cry from the size of Stockton and the Meek brothers were not even wanted men before their recent crimes. This trial should not have warranted the attention it was drawing. Uriah Banks had warned them that Jakes intended to make this far more than a trial about attempted murder, assault, and arson. It appeared his goal to bring more than local eyes to their town was working. His jaw clenched as he glanced at the defense table and saw Slate Meek's smug look as he, in turn, looked at Murdoch.

Judge Ames, eschewing the robes of the judiciary common in the east, made a notable entrance, nonetheless. His heavy black coat hung past his hips with a dark vest complete with golden watch fob accentuating his dress. A black cravat encircled his neck and billowed beneath his chin before tucking into his white shirt. The judge took his seat and pounded the gavel placed on the table for his use.

"Be seated. The court is now in session, the honorable Judge Ames presiding," Bailiff DuPont's voice filled the sanctuary and beyond.

"Thank you, Mr. DuPont," the judge said, removing the glasses that had settled on the tip of his nose and waved them at the crowd as he spoke. "Most of you know me and you know I won't allow any tomfoolery in my court whether we're sitting under that nearby mulberry tree or using this here pulpit."

Murdoch couldn't help but grin. He had known Vernon Ames since he arrived in the San Joaquin. They were both young men then, struggling to find their place in a changing landscape. Ames was a vital player as the Mexican hold on the land transformed to the new Californio. He was a young lawyer who knew the legal landscape of the Mexican government. His knowledge, bolstered by acumen laced with unblinking bluff, capably untangled the complicated land grants that had established the huge rancheros rising out of the Franciscan missions that first settled this part of the country.

Ames helped Murdoch, and other immigrants to the land, navigate the Mexican laws to secure their property in volatile times. The young newlywed with big dreams and his beautiful Catherine had dined with the man many times in those days. Ames had guided the young Scotsman as he maneuvered through land acquisitions that established Lancer. In turn, Murdoch had aided Vernon in sound investments helping to secure his financial stability. As for today, Vernon Ames looked at his longtime friend as firmly as he eyed every other person in the room.

"Let me warn all of you that I expect calm and quiet while we are in session. Don't think I won't clear out the lot of you if you can't listen dutifully as if I was the good pastor up here. You will follow the instructions of me and my bailiff, Mr. DuPont, to the letter or I will put you out for the duration of these proceedings provided I remain in this tolerant mood I am feeling. Be warned, I will throw any one of you in Sheriff Crawford's jail for contempt if you rile me.

"Crawford. Crawford!" Ames bellowed. Scott grinned thinking the judge and his father must have practiced that technique together through their years of friendship.

"Yes, sir," Val responded as he stepped into the nave from the vestibule after a few moments.

"I took notice of one of those daguerreotypographers just outside—is that what they call those fellas, Mr. DuPont? My mother would call them soul stealers, but I think we've moved beyond that, don't you?"

"Not sure of the proper name, Judge, but I saw him same as you, using that contraption whether folks wanted it pointed their way or not," the tall bailiff gestured toward the front exit although his eyes continually scanned the room with particular focus on the defense table.

"Good. I don't want to be giving my fine judicial orders when they aren't needed. Crawford, tell that fella with the funny looking box to pack up and move along. I won't be having my court turned into a side show."

"You got it, Judge," Val turned to leave when a man standing near Johnny stepped forward raising the pencil in his hand.

"Excuse me, Judge. M.H. de Young here of the Daily Dramatic Chronicle. With all due respect, sir, that man is with me, and we are within our rights to chronicle this trial. Freedom of the Press as proclaimed in the United States Constitution is guaranteed since California joined the Union in 1850." Murdoch and Scott exchanged glances knowing a puff of smoke had suggested a photograph had been taken as they approached the church. Johnny was a few steps behind them and likely caught in the same still. The young man went on. "I must insist upon our right to fulfill our duty to keep the citizens of this great state duly informed using all available resources including the daguerreotype."

The judge leaned back in his chair, spinning the stem of his glasses. "Mr. de Young, did you say? Since you don't claim to be an attorney, I'll take you at your word that you are a reporter. Both professions blow a bit of hot air, but you can inform the citizens of this great state that this judge demands order in my court including the path to get inside." A titter of laughter spread through the gallery as de Young rocked on his feet, opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it, and dropped his pencil back to his pad. The judge gave a curt nod as he continued. "Sheriff Crawford, move the daguerreotypographer and all his equipment back at least one hundred yards and let him know I'll be fining him for contempt if he tries to sneak up any closer."

"Yes, your honor," Val tipped his hat and disappeared among the crowd that had pushed forward into the building when the proceedings began. "Get back all of you!" the sheriff's familiar voice sounded as he moved out. "No one else is getting' in!"

The judge gave instructions to the jury, more words of warning to the gallery and then told Banks to begin. The prosecutor presented a succinct opening statement covering the charges against Slate and then those against Harrison. He ensured that the jury understood how their acts violated California law causing harm to people and property. In an effort to undercut what he expected from the defense strategy, Banks directed the focus on the choices made by the Meek brothers that could have been avoided by placing guilt firmly in the laps of the accused. Slate shook his head from time to time although his eyes stayed up studying the jury. Harrison rarely lifted his eyes from the table and squirmed enough that several in that jury saw the older brother elbow the younger's ribs which quieted him for a time.

While Scott had pulled forward in his seat while watching the twelve men in the court who mattered, anxiously absorbing Uri's plan for the prosecution, he felt his jaw tighten and his back stiffen as Yancy Jakes made his first appearance before the citizens of Green River. The man rose from his seat and began with an introduction of the job of a defense attorney and segued into the dire need for such a man. He started his presentation like a teacher conducting class, but his voice hardened with resolve edged in anger as he blared toward the jury, "The words of the law say that we are all equal with equal rights. You," his voice carried as he began pointing to men in the jury box, his arm pistoning in and out with every gesture, "you…you…," then turned his attention to the gallery, his volume rising to reach those in the street straining to hear, "you…you…." Jakes had his arm drawn back to his shoulder after pointing to the dour wife of one of the nearby ranch hands as he purposefully stared directly at Murdoch. He paused, shook his head then picked out a scrawny farmer in his best worn homespun shirt and overalls with his mouth slightly parted as the words mesmerize the crowd, "you. It is for YOU that the defense must be strong. Must be vigilant. Must be LOUD," Yancy banged his fist on the table between Slate and Harrison.

"The law says we are equal, but we all know that isn't true. We've all seen with our own eyes that some always manage to escape justice while others have the heavy hand of the law pressed upon them. Slate and Harrison are called the accused, but I will prove that they are the victims of a system focused on protecting the rich by sacrificing the poor caught in unintended circumstances beyond their control. I will prove that Slate and Harrison were… convenient marks… allowing your local law and all-powerful landowners to put on a show of justice for the rest of us while hiding their own dirty hands behind their very large backs.

"My name is Yancy Jakes and I promise you, as long as I am standing, my voice will speak for you, each of you who thought you had no voice." Jakes moved with purposeful steps to stand behind and place a hand on the shoulder of Harrison and Slate with his eyes locked onto the jury. "I promise that your plea of innocence will be heard."

Harrison turned a shaky head towards his brother while Slate wore an expression of a man haunted by fate as he silently but clearly mouthed the words, "Thank you Yancy."

Scott kept his eyes front as he leaned into his father and whispered, "Dear God, the man makes carnival barkers look inept."

"Perhaps he needs to remember he is staining God's House with those lies," Murdoch's lips barely moved.

The younger Lancer couldn't stop the half-grin as he replied, "I think Mr. Jakes would rephrase it as an alternative view of the facts." The grin faded quickly. Scott knew the next few hours would be difficult for his family.

Uriah Banks did not allow a moment to pass after Jakes final words, demanding the attention to refocus on him. He stood and announced authoritatively, "The State calls its first witness."

Sam Jenkins took the stand and under questioning described Lem's injuries leading to his death, the damage done to Dr. Poovy during his beating, and the bruises on Mattie from her rough treatment by Harrison Meek. Although he knew it was coming, Johnny remained quiet at the back of the church as he wrapped his arms around his chest and ducked his head when the doctor testified to his injuries from the shooting as well as the repercussions from inhaling water when he fell, unconscious, face first into the water exacerbated by breathing smoke when Slate set fire to Lem's cabin floor where he and Mattie hid in the basement.

"No further questions," Banks nodded toward the jury as Sam accepted a cup of water delivered by the bailiff after his lengthy testimony.

All eyes settled on Yancy Jakes as he stood, tapped his fingers against the table in front of him before bouncing up the steps to stand in front of Sam in the witness chair for his first cross examination.

"Dr. Jenkins, have you had occasion to treat Mr. John Lancer before this incident you have described."

"Objection, your honor," Banks drawled from his seat. "Relevance."

"I only need a few questions to establish relevance, your honor."

"I'll allow it. Don't make me regret it." Everyone, including Jakes, laughed. "You may answer, doctor."

"Yes," Sam answered with a glance toward his patient at the back of the room. Johnny kept his eyes on his boots, but the doctor knew very well how difficult this was for a very private man.

"Have you treated Mr. Lancer for gunshot wounds before?"

Sam scowled at the attorney with a glance toward the judge.

"Mr. Jakes?" The judge matched the doctor's scowl.

"Only a few questions, please," the defense attorney requested.

"Go ahead, doctor."

"Yes." Sam crossed his arms with a glare at Jakes for forcing a breach of the confidentiality he worked hard to establish with all his patients.

"So, doctor, you know firsthand that Mr. Lancer has been sought out and shot on more than one occasion?"

"Objection!" Banks rose to his feet and slammed his fist on his table.

"I'll withdraw the question." Jakes walked toward the jury and stood in front of them as he continued. "Dr. Jenkins, please describe the nature of the wound to Mr. Lancer."

"He suffered a gunshot wound that was aimed from behind him and at elevation," Sam gripped the arms of the chair, the annoyance clear on his face. Jakes placed his hands on the railing of the choir loft as his eyes scanned the men of the jury. "How could you know this or are you repeating what was described by your patient?"

"I. Am. A. Doctor, Mr. Jakes." Sam's expression had moved into anger as a red flush rose into his cheeks. "The bullet first struck the parietal bone at the back of the skull and moved forward across the sphenoid bone as evidenced by the spread of the impact. The bullet moved in a downward trajectory meaning the gun was above Mr. Lancer at the time it was fired."

"Now, wouldn't the initial impact cause the most damage suggesting Mr. Lancer was shot from the front?"

"No."

"Interesting. I would have thought it the other way around," Jakes shrugged, jauntily stepping down the steps as he continued to speak. "Your honor, I may need to recall this witness but no further questions. For now." The attorney smiled at the gallery as he returned to his seat.

Banks was going up the steps even before the judge offered him the opportunity to rebut. "Dr. Jenkins, on what do you base your analysis of the bullet wound you have described."

"Science. Forensic analysis gives even country doctors a greater understanding of the ins and outs of how things happen. Mr. Lancer was shot from behind by someone above him meaning they were in the rocky hills by the river. He would not have seen his attacker. There is no other explanation for the damage made by the bullet."

Among the murmurs of the seated crowd, Sheriff Val Crawford was called next and began his testimony intended to enter into evidence the sworn statements provided by Dr. Poovy and Mattie Cable.

"Objection, your honor," Yancy Jakes stood at his table, shaking his head. "We have heard from the good country doctor that Dr. Poovy had injuries to his face and body but only Dr. Poovy can testify regarding how those injuries happened. For all we know, the man was drunk and fell down some steps."

"Objection," Banks crossed his arms from where he stood next to Crawford's chair. "Defense maligning a victim is unacceptable. Dr. Poovy identified his attackers to Murdoch and Scott Lancer when they came to his assistance and provided a sworn affidavit in the presence of witnesses in addition to Sheriff Crawford regarding Slate Meek beating him…."

"Objection!" Jakes raised a finger into the air. "The prosecution is attempting to provide testimony!"

"I'm objecting to all of these objections," the judge deadpanned. "What about you, Mr. DuPont."

"Very objectionable, your honor," the large man agreed.

"Mr. Jakes don't bad mouth our victims. Mr. Banks don't give testimony. Both of you, get up here and talk to me," Judge Ames ordered. The defense counsel joined the prosecutor in front of the judge as the sheriff looked on. "Yancy, what is your objection to Dr. Poovy's affidavit?" Ames asked with his voice couched low enough to keep the conversation among them.

"Unless the prosecution intends to bring Dr. Poovy into the courtroom, my clients are being denied the opportunity to face their accusers. As attorney for the defense, I have the right to cross-examine."

"Vernon," Banks laid his hand on the judge's table, leaning forward, "in addition to the signed affidavit, the prosecution has several witnesses," tossing his hand toward Val then Scott and Murdoch, "who Sam Poovy told about his assault corroborating the affidavit. Slate Meek beat the man to extract information and that crime needs to be punished. Yancy can ask his questions of each of those witnesses since I will be calling them myself. The use of the sworn affidavit when the witness is unable to make an appearance due to extenuating circumstances has been acceptable when it is cut and dried."

"Well, who cut and who dried, Uriah? You?" Yancy scoffed loudly as he looked at the jury box and shook his head but kept his voice audible to only the small gathering before the judge. "I demand you present Dr. Poovy for my cross or this piece of …paper…be disallowed." Jakes reached out and picked up the affidavit making it visible to the attentive eyes throughout the church. "Now, Uriah, I know that you are a fine attorney who knows that your other witnesses—no matter how well connected they might be—are hearsay meaning they are unable to corroborate a written statement."

"Jakes, you know very well that Poovy was beaten by your client trying to force him to identify the location of John Lancer." Banks turned directly toward the smaller man.

"I know nothing of the sort, Banks, but you bring Dr. Poovy here to testify and I can ask him about it." Jakes spun to face Banks, even bending his knees slightly causing him to look up with defiance at his adversary.

Val heard the argument from his seat in the witness chair and stole a look at Johnny. Based on the rapt faces staring his way, the visual show was having an impact. Neither the jury nor the gallery could hear what was being said but the sheriff knew from the set of Johnny's jaw that he was aware it was a victory for the Meeks and the assault charge on Slate for beating Poovy could not be proved. He also didn't need to hear the rest of the discussion to know Mattie's affidavit wouldn't be allowed. He hoped Banks had a plan for that or Harrison would also walk away from assaulting the girl. When the judge confirmed that he could not present the affidavit as planned, he leaned back in the chair with a frown.

The remainder of his testimony for the prosecution detailing the arrest and investigation of the brothers went uninterrupted by defense counsel, although Val found himself back on his heels when Jakes took his turn at him.

"Sheriff Crawford, you indicated that my client, Clint Meek, stated that his brother, Slate, shot John Lancer." Val tilted his head waiting for the question. "Is that accurate, Mr. Crawford?"

Val's eyes narrowed slightly, recognizing that the attorney was removing his title and therefore, his authority. He decided to walk a little slow knowing this man was laying a trap by placing the assault charge out on a barrel for anyone to see, knowing he planned to jerk it back just as the jaws snapped around the sheriff making him look like the bear raging toward blameless brothers.

"Yep."

"When did this alleged confession take place."

"Nothing alleged about it. When I told Harrison why he was being arrested, he pointed his finger at his brother."

"He volunteered on his own that his brother committed a crime? Or did you force him to confess against his kin?"

"He volunteered mighty quick that he didn't commit the crime of shooting John Lancer, but his brother did."

"Could you be specific on how this so-called confession took place?" Jakes turned his back on Val and stared out at the gallery with a questioning look encouraging the rest of the room to doubt the sheriff's words.

"You keep talkin' as if what happened didn't happen. Deputy Sharpton was standin' right there. He can verify it all. Harrison was told he was being charged with attempted murder for shootin' Johnny Lancer and he said, "I didn't do that. Slate did." He even pointed straight at Slate who responded with some words thata'd make the judge bang his gavel if I told 'em to you just now."

Jakes spun to face the sheriff again. "So, Harrison Meek never said the words, my brother Slate shot …someone."

"He said what I said he said."

The attorney crossed his arms and moved in front of the judge's table back to the jury box. He scanned the attentive faces watching him and paused long enough to ensure the men knew an important question was coming. "Sheriff, are you aware of the circumstances surrounding the death of Clint Meek."

"Yep."

"Would you characterize his death as brought about by natural causes?"

"Guess so."

Jakes turned back, surprised. He did not receive the answer he wanted and fumbled before assuming the confident air he wanted. "Excuse me, Sheriff, isn't it true that Clinton Meek died from scattershot to the chest from a rifle?"

"Yep."

"Yet you just described this as natural."

"When someone walks uninvited into a man's home and he takes a scattershot to the chest, I call that natural." The laughter, including most of the jury, made Jakes scramble for his next question.

"Am I to understand that the murd…death of Clint Meek was not investigated?"

"Of course, it was investigated. An' the investigation showed that the only crime was the Meek boys trespassin' and breakin' and enterin'."

"Was John Mad…Lancer present at the Cable cabin when Clint Meek was shot?"

"Yep."

"Was John Lancer arrested while you investigated the untimely death of Clint Meek?"

"Yep."

Jakes's brow furrowed as he walked to face Val and firmly stated, "I must remind you that you are under oath so I will ask you again, Sheriff; was John Lancer under arrest while you did your investigation?"

"Yep."

"He was taken to the jail?"

"Nope. Johnny, I mean Mr. Lancer had serious injuries and his doctor ordered him confined to a bed."

"The jail has beds, does it not?"

"Neither me nor my deputy have time to do doctorin' and Mr. Lancer was taken to a place where he had both a bed and doctorin'."

"He was allowed to be arrested yet move about at will by staying at his large, comfortable ranch instead of the harsh confines of the jail?"

"John Lancer was unconscious and not able to be movin' around at all because of what the Meeks done. He wasn't goin' anywhere, and we knew where he was. When the prosecutor agreed there were no charges, he was released from custody and still remained hurt in his bed."

Jakes flipped his hand in Val's direction, dismissing his statement with a roll of his eyes at the jury. "Is it true that Harrison Meek had injuries when he was arrested?"

"Yep."

"Was Mr. Meek given the opportunity to remain in his own bed while he recuperated as well?"

"Well, the doc didn't confine him to a bed but if he would'a said his little bumps an' bruises were botherin' him, we could'a looked for a different bed for 'im. At the very least, we gotta a nice supply of Indian blankets, to soften up tha bed and keep 'im warm. If he would'a asked." Harrison's ears turned crimson while Slate's eyes saw red. "We try to accommodate the needs of all our jail guests."

Val held his serious look but was pleased to see the smile ghost across Johnny's face. At Uriah Banks's advice, he hadn't been allowed to speak with his friend for other than official business over the last couple of weeks but given the mouthing the Meek boys had been doing in their cells, he knew their lawyer was going after Johnny and the Lancers. He only hoped he had done enough to get the attention off the false trails Jakes was laying and allow Banks to drag the jury, as well as the rest of the crowd, back to chasing the proper quarry.