<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/6/65/Judgehawkins.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Judge Warwick<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 11, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Sheriff's Office<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Matthew Ford, Bilton, Townsend, Closed<br/><hr/>Warwick followed the Sheriff back into the Sheriff’s office, settling in the middle of the room and awaiting for the two men to slump back into their seats.  He cradled his hat in his hand, and looked out to the street.  The miners were picking up the body of their fallen friend, and Warwick was saddened.  The letter of the law, perhaps, but not the spirit of it.  Coleman wouldn’t have simply walked away once it was clear his duty had been done.  Bilton might be tough, but he was happy to cool his heels until circumstances forced him not to.<br/><br/>He looked back to the Sheriff, and glanced down to the gleaming, newly minted badge on his breast.  Coleman had worn the same badge for all the years he’d protected and served.  It had been a dirty, tarnished thing, but he’d never replaced it.  Warwick had expected him to snatch it up the moment he’d been given the office, but there was… some relief in not seeing it strapped to the man’s dirty coat.<br/><br/>Even if he didn’t care for the new law in town, he would have been revulsed to see it on Bilton’s vest.  He considered for a moment, and Bilton eyed him.<em>Why are you still here?</em><br/><br/>“The trial,” said Judge Warwick a small smile.  “The twenty first.  I’ll begin assembling a jury now.  Obviously, everyone in town has heard rumors about what happened, but the presentation of evidence and appearance of the arresting officer in court will be mandatory.”<br/><br/>Bilton’s eyes narrowed at mandatory.<br/><br/>“I’ll see if my schedule’s free,” he said.  “But you’re wasting your time.  She was the only one on that whole damn mesa.”<br/><br/>Warwick tilted his head.  “No one denies she was there, Bilton.  But opportunity is only one part of the triangle of reasonable doubt.  Means, motive, and opportunity.  I believe it is rather specifically the<em>means</em>that is in question,” he said dryly.  “And it is the prosecution’s burden to prove such means.  Motive – “  He glanced back towards the jail cells, where Dolores’ voice could be heard singing softly again.  “Insanity is a motive, in certain circumstances.  But I suspect the prosecution might have some difficulty with that as well.”<br/><br/>Bilton’s scowl deepened.  “Got a woman in a coma and a dozen bodies on this, Warwick.  Got the entire Whateley family looking slant-eyed at me when they cross the street, and you want to let that little bitch go?  You realize how that’s gonna make<em>all</em>of us look?”<br/><br/>Warwick was impassive.  “It will make us look like men seeking justice, Sheriff.  Men capable of acknowledging mistakes.”<br/><br/>Bilton glowered.  “People in this town are gonna string her up by a noose if we don’t.”<br/><br/>Warwick’s gaze never faltered.  “Perhaps you should have considered that before you charged her for the crimes.  Your… vanity is not my concern.”<br/><br/>Bilton rose, his hands flattening on his desk.  “We’re on the same side, Judge.  You make us look like idiots, and I promise you ain’t gonna like how it plays out.”<br/><br/>Warwick didn’t flinch.  “Where are you on the Coleman investigation, Sheriff Bilton?”  There was no answer, only an angry gaze.  “Have you made any progress in discovering who sent an assassin into my home?”  His head tilted.  “I don’t even recall you asking me for a statement.  No, Sheriff Bilton.  I don’t like how this is going to play out.”<br/><br/>Warwick gave a dark smile.  “But where are my manners?  I brought you a present to commemorate your swearing in.  Not much, I know, and a bit belated.”  He reached into his pocket, drawing out a small package wrapped in brown paper.  “But I thought you might be running short of them.”<br/><br/>He set it down on the desk, and turned to walk away, setting his hat on his head.  He gave a small nod to the waiting ex-officer and his wife.  “So sorry for the delay.  Come, my home isn’t far and you both look exhausted.”  He gestured down one of the roads that led off the town square, down a street that ended with an iron bridge that looked upon an enormous southern plantation.<br/><br/>“This is the Tracks,” he explained.  “Down the road you’ll find the Whateley estate.  Head west and you’ll arrive in one of the nicer areas of town.  West of it is most of the shops and entertainments built for the miners.  A rough place, but the miners are this city’s lifeblood, and Miner’s Peril is its beating heart.”  He looked to them with a small smile.  “Anything I can carry for you?”<br/><br/>Inside, Bilton watched the Judge go, and reached for the paper package.  It was light to the touch, and he unwound the twine and opened up the paper.<br/><br/>“What’d he bring ya?” asked Townsend, rising and glancing at the contents.  Bilton scowled as a dozen black handkerchiefs, neatly folded and pressed, spilled across his desk.<br/><br/><div align="center"><em>End scene</em></div>