Previously: Booth shoots Lincoln and breaks leg in escape. Baker saves Booth’s life at Garrett’s farm. Booth sneaks away to Richmond, where he tricks a widow into caring for him. Lincoln’s friend Lamon accompanies the funeral train and seeks clues.
On his way back to his Steubenville hotel, Lamon stopped at a small tavern and bought a pint of whiskey which he sipped in his room until he fell asleep. The next morning he caught the first train to Washington, D.C.
The images painted by Christy filled Lamon’s mind. While incredible, the story rang true to Stanton’s character, Lamon decided. At one of the station stops, he bought a newspaper and read it as the train rumbled on toward the Capital. The headline said the trial for the conspirators would begin May 12th at Old Capitol Prison. Lamon frowned. A military court?
“Why a military trial when all of the accused and even the victims were civilians?” Lamon asked himself under his breath until the answer erupted in his mind: Stanton could control a military trial while he would have no influence over a civilian proceeding. The Secretary of War had an all-consuming desire to control everything; as a young man, he had even tried unsuccessfully to control death. Lamon took a pack of chewing tobacco out of his jacket pocket and stuffed a chaw into his mouth. Sometimes he could think more clearly if he was chewing the bitter stuff. He needed that clarity right now.
Just after a few moments, he understood everything. Stanton’s insatiable passion for control was the key to the entire conspiracy.
When Lamon arrived in Washington he went to the Old Capitol Prison. At the main gate he demanded to see the prisoners in the Lincoln assassination case.
“What are you?” the guard demanded. “You’re not another one of them damned reporters, are you?”
Pulling a badge from his inside jacket pocket, he pushed it into the guard’s face. “I’m Federal Marshal Ward Hill Lamon.”
“Mr. Lamon?” The man’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you were involved in this investigation, sir.”
“I was the president’s personal guard and close friend,” he responded with a growl. “I’ll be a part of any damned investigation into my friend’s murder that I damn well please! Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir. My apologies, sir.”
“Stop wasting my time. I want to see each suspect individually right now, and I don’t want any measly prison guard snooping over my shoulder!”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Right this way, sir.”
The guard led him through the prison, first stopping at the cell holding Mrs. Surratt. When the door opened, Lamon heard two women’s voices squeak in fear. When he entered, he saw Mrs. Surratt and a teen-aged girl clinging to her.
“And who, sir, are you?”
Lamon could tell Mrs. Surratt was trying to sound assertive, but a quiver in her voice gave her away.
“I’m sorry for having startled you,” Lamon said, bowing deeply. “I am Federal Marshal Ward Hill Lamon. I was President Lincoln’s personal guard and very close friend.”
Her chin jutted out as she turned her head away. “So you have come to ridicule me like all the others.”
“No, Ma’am, I am here to learn the truth, and in doing so I may be able to save your life.”
“And what makes you think you can save my life? That’s preposterous. You must think I’m a fool. I don’t even think you want to save my life.”
Lamon decided this approach was useless. He took a step back to compose his thoughts. Then he turned to look out the high barred window.
“Oh Mama, you’ve got to trust this man Mr.—Mr…” her daughter’s voice trailed off.
“Lamon, Miss. Ward Hill Lamon.” He chose not to look back to them just yet.
“Anna, be quiet. If I am to die, I will die with dignity, and you shall mourn in dignity and silence.”
“Do you remember a Miss Cordie Zook living in your boarding house, Mrs. Surratt?” Lamon turned at that moment to observe her reaction.
“Why, yes, I remember Miss Zook.” Her eyes flickered. “She worked at one of the Yankee hospitals, I believe. She died shortly before—before the incident at Ford’s Theater.”
“Then you knew she had a brother named Gabby who worked at the Executive Mansion.” Lamon tried to keep all emotion out of his voice.
“She said she had a brother. There were men’s clothing in her armoire. But I never met him.”
“And Private Adam Christy, did you ever meet him?”
“The name does sound familiar. Yes, he came to my boardinghouse after Miss Zook died. He said he was there to collect Miss Zook’s possessions for her brother. He was highly suspicious and very rude.”
“How so?”
“Well, I had never met this brother and—“
“And why is that? Why had you not met him? After all, he was living in your boardinghouse until—what? He wasn’t living there? This is all very confusing to me.”
“It was confusing to me also, Mr. Lamon. I only came to the boardinghouse to collect rent until 1863. My family lived in our home in the Maryland countryside until my husband died—I don’t know why on earth I am telling you this.”
“Because if you totally cooperate with me, I may be able to save your life.”
“Mama, believe him. Tell him everything.”
“Hush, child. After my husband’s death we moved into the boardinghouse. By that time, Miss Zook’s brother disappeared. Supposedly he was the janitor at the—the Yankee White House and had to stay there all the time. I never understood why.”
“Do you know if Private Christy ever met John Wilkes Booth in your boardinghouse?”
“I don’t remember. Mr. Booth was a friend of my son. He visited from time to time. I never paid much attention to the comings and goings of the boys. I had a business to conduct, Mr. Lamon.”
“I assume that will be the core of your defense, Mrs. Surratt?”
“I don’t think I want to continue this conversation.”
“Did your son or Mr. Booth ever mention the name Edwin Stanton?” Lamon watched her reaction.
Her mouth flew open as though in surprise. “Mr. Stanton? Why would they even mention Mr. Stanton?”
“Lafayette Baker?” Lamon felt that he might have struck a nerve and pressed her for more information.
“I’ve never heard that name.” She shook her head.
“He is a short, stocky man with red hair,” Lamon offered.
“The man with red hair?” Anna repeated in a gasp.
“I said hush.” Mrs. Surratt grabbed her daughter’s hand, but she pulled away.
“I hope you are a man of honor, Mr. Lamon.” Anna stepped toward him. “The night my mother was arrested, a short man with red hair came to our house. He tapped his foot the same way Wilkes said the man tapped his foot under the bridge.”
Mrs. Surratt pulled her back. “Anna, do not say another word! He told us not to say anything about that night!”
“But he says he can save your life—“
“He’s a damn Yankee! You can’t trust him!”
“The red-haired man is a damn Yankee, too, Mother! Do you trust him? If we have to trust a damn Yankee, I say trust Mr. Lamon!”
Mrs. Surratt pulled her daughter into her bosom and cried. “Mr. Lamon, will you please show common decency and leave immediately?”
Lamon went to the door and rapped on the bars. “Guard! I’m ready!”